Forging ahead with fictional endeavours: ~ Write a life on a page and hurry not to its grave; abhor not the coming age, for eternal is the next page. ~ Read what you will, I hope you will enjoy reading as much as I do writing.

Posts tagged ‘parody’

Directionally challenged

rattleI had fun with this one, I can’t lie.  It’s fiction with a musical interlude.  Sing the short verse to the tune of postman pat. It’s a riot!  The photo prompts and story started have been borrowed from Monday’s finish the story. If you’d like to join head on over.

Directionally Challenged

“Diamond Jack had his hideout next to the Rattle Snake River.”

Diamond Jack, Diamond Jack

Diamond Jack and his grey and black hack.

Early in the evening, just as day is leaving

He rustles all the cattle in his truck.

Diamond Jack, Diamond Jack

Diamond Jack and his grey and black hack.

All the owls are screeching

And the night is leaching

Jack feels he’s a very wealthy man

Everybody knows Sheriff Colt’s villain,

all the farmers cheer as Colt dogs the fleeing man

But Colt can never be sure,

Where the cattle are going (lowing)

Perhaps (whip crack)

off to foreign shores.

Miss Colt placed her chalk down. “Diamond Jack was a notorious cattle rustler, and his feats have become part of local folk lore. Can anyone tell me why Sheriff Colt failed to find his hideout?”

Tentatively a mousy girl put her hand. “Don’t you know, miss? Your grandpa got lost!” Miss Colt chuckled; the family secret was safe for another year.

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Bombs and flowers

I was helping to stuff envelopes with letters and various pamphlets today for a full four hours, so I apologize in advance for the extra insanity below.  I have borrowed the writing prompt from the poets and the peddlars, and I only hope it’s not too hard to read.

At the dawn of the steam age, as railroads are laid down and steamers begin running the rivers, mages realize that they can transmit some form of magic (of your choosing — communication, electricity, gaseous death clouds, etc.) through the rails. The only downside to this is that trains scramble the magic flowing through the rails as they run over them (and also that railroads don’t go everywhere, but that’s a given).

Breeze Howler spun the tuner of his radio, eye twitching convulsively as each news station was bereft of surprise terrorist attacks. “Obsidian!” He yelled. From a side door a tall gentleman dressed in military cosplay with the bearing of one truly brow-beaten slid into the room. “Please call me Robert, Sir.”

“You sent my brother his present did you not?” Breeze Howler sniped.

“Yes, Sir. It was sent by rail. It should have arrived -” There was a brief pause as he flipped through a diary that appeared out of a pocket, “2PM CE time.”

“Really?! Then where’s the BOOM-BOOM? Where’s the Noxious Death?!” Breeze Howler cried, now pacing backward’s and forth on a plush rug that showed signs of this abuse many times before. Robert readjusted his glasses nervously. “It seems the GasBoomer v3 rematerialized as a large, ornate arch composed of flowers due to a train cross over at Hadlington international,” Robert reported; ready to dodge at any given moment. Instead of the angry projectiles he expected, it look like there were tears in his employer’s eyes. Grasping at straws, Robert spoke up, “It seems your brother sent a message in return.” Robert met, not the eyes of the grown man, but the eyes of a petulant teen. With a deep breath Robert continued, “Tracey, I’m delighted that you have finally given us your blessing and seen fit to welcome Judy into our family, but I’m afraid the ceremony was yesterday. It looks like there was a mix up with the dates. Still, we were both grateful to receive your gift and will stopping by ‘your lair’ on our way back from our honeymoon. See you soon, Harry.” Robert looked at ‘Breeze Howler’, only to discover the man had deflated into a ball on the floor. “Master Breeze Howler?” Robert inched closer and place a hand on ‘Breeze Howler’s’ shoulder, “Tracey, are you okay?”

“Robert, can you get my rocket ready?” Tracey replied. Robert sighed and put his arm around the fragile man’s shoulder. “I could. But do you know what works better for stolen crushes?”

“What?” Tracey sniffled.

“Booze.”

Sailor Spoon – Sunday Photo Fiction

boatToday’s second challenge prompt is borrowed from Sunday Photo Fiction. This piece is actually flash fiction but given I saw the prompt and could not stop thinking about a ‘Sailor Moon’ episode I saw when I was a preteen I’m no longer sure whether to categorize it as fan-fiction or flash fiction with a pop culture reference. Either way I tried to make it funny.

John braced himself as cruise ship rolled with the waves. Sure enough, Tamara pin-wheeled backwards into his arms. The impact drove an unladylike belch from her slight frame. Geh, alcohol breath. “’scuse.” Then she was off again, mojito in hand, making a bee-line for the stage. John hurried after her, cursing, not again.

Too late! Tamara had already snatched the mic from bemused entertainers, filling the room with her off-key, static-filled singing. “FightING EVIL ‘cup Moonlight, FINDing luuv ‘cup ‘aylight, EVER ‘running ‘cup eel fright, she ‘cup Sailor Spooon!” At this point John managed to wrestle the mic her grip, only to have her throw her arms around his neck, dragging him to the floor. “’Uxedooo ‘Ask!!!”

It was then an icy voice breathed in his ear, “I’m sorry, sir, but I’m going to have to ask you to escort the Lady back to her suit.” The chill crept straight to the base of his spine. He threw the drunkard over his shoulder and vowed to never take her drinking again.

Mirror Mirror: Picture It & Write

picwri

My first piece for today is a poem! It’s unusual for me to look at a prompt and produce poetry, though I am not adverse to writing it. This was inspired by today’s Picture It and Write photo prompt, which I have to say is quite a nice piece to work with – I feel like I could manage a few other pieces based on it alone. Any way, here you have ‘Mirror Mirror’, a piece I think quite a few of us will be able to relate to.  I just hope you can see that satirical side of it and not flame me. Please!

Mirror Mirror

Tell no lies

With these eyes

I could be thinner

Mirror Mirror

Tell the truth

I’m no sleuth

But I need no dinner

Mirror Mirror

What’s that upon my cheek

Oh my outlook is so bleak

Surely this is in error

Mirror Mirror

Just another peek

Yersterday’s bubble&squeak

The issue’s becoming clearer

Mirror Mirror

This is not my physique

I can’t survive my own critique

Gym visits you do trigger.

Croc Bait

daintreeHere’s another episode of Jason and the Darwin Awards.

The dingy idled along the daintree river, gliding past the mangroves. The teens’ supplies included tackle, rods, bait, and of course, an esky chock full of icy beer. The bitter icy notes of beer contrasted sharply with sharp vegetation-scented heat of the summer as cast their lines into the water. Jibes and stories alike shot back and forth as the pair consumed tinny after tinny. Suddenly one shot up, pointing at the leathery back of a croc lazily drifting towards the boat. “Hey, Jase, look!” Jason steadied himself against the rocking of the boat and grabbed the spare oar from under his feet. “Let’s see how quick it’s reflexes are,” Jason drawled, standing up oar in hand. John raised an eyebrow as sardonically as possible given his drunken state and replied, “Jase, mate, if old man croc doesn’t take off your hand the next round is on me.” Jason grinned and leant over the edge of the dingy, clutching the edge with one hand and oar outstretched with the other. With the delicacy of an injured bear he tapped the croc with the oar, snapping himself back to avoid… crocNothing. The shifted to eye the pair with glinting orange orbs. John broke out into guffaws. “Tch,” Jason elbowed John in ribs. The croc watched their behaviour with a patient anger, drawing imperceptibly closer. Jason leant out a second time and whacked at the croc more vigorously. Before he even had the chance to blink the croc lurched out the water, crushing the oar with a powerful snap of its jaws, dragging Jason straight overboard. John swore and helped Jason out of the river, just ahead of the croc’s second snap. Without a second to spare, the pair had the dingy motor running and shot off down the river, still cast lines trailing behind as they escaped the angry croc. Jason silently vowed, never to mock Steve Irwin again.

Sweet Brain Damage Chapter 1 Part 3

concussedLinks to previous sections can be found here: Sweet Brain Damage contents page.

Rose took out her frustration on court. Abigail figured she would. Abigail had spent the game dashing around her zone like a startled bird. Rose was doing her best to constantly challenge Abigail’s ability to intercept the ball; ironically she was making a better player of Abigail, even if it resulted in exhaustion and painful muscle spasms on Abigail’s part. However the intense play was taking it’s toll. Sweat rolled into Abigail’s eyes a little frequently and her foot work was definitely beginning to slow. Abigail blinked, momentarily blinded by the stinging of sweat. She started as her name was called and scrambled to catch the netball a fraction too slowly. The ball bounced away, and Abigail tripped over her own feet trying to recover. With a whack she managed to connect her brow with an elbow and next thing she knew she was on the ground semi-concussed. At least she was sure she concussed because that was the only reason could explain why she felt like she had floated before hitting the ground.

The why of the apple: Sunday photo fiction

This one is for Sunday Photo Fiction.  Reductionism is not good, but ocassionally it can be fun. 😉 

“God, this place is boring.”
“Go occupy yourself, child, I’m busy creating Earth.”
The anglel pouted. God wasn’t finished with heaven yet. Everyday was the same. God hadn’t given it feeling yet. He glared down at the tiny beings on the newly created world. What was so good about them? Angels where so much finer, they deserved the attention! And, damn it, he would not be ignored!

Lucifer decided it was time to shake up heaven.

Light reading: picture it and write

This week’s picture it and write, thanks Ermilia.

“…Platform 9 3/4. Make sure you don’t miss it.”

“Miss what?” His words feel on deaf ears as the faceless giant retreated into the distance. The chaos of the train platform added to his bafflement. Where’d the party go? The crowd go tighter and tighter as he was shoved through what seemed to be an ordinary column. Dylan reeled, finding himself face down in a ditch without warning. When the crushing pressure snapped Dylan awake he could help wishing j.k.rowling had written lighter books.

Sweet Brain Damage Chapter 1 Part 2

netball

Links to previous part can be found here: Sweet Brain Damage Contents page

Abigail kept her word. Kitted out in her netball uniform and stood in front of her open locker she discreetly made a few well placed comments to certain individuals who were guaranteed to have Tim’s name doused in mud within the hour. A shrill whistle indicated it was time to get out onto the court. Abigail shoved her mobile in her bag and jumped back just as the locker door almost slammed shut on her hand. Abigail did not have to look to know who had just attempted to injury her. She smelt peppermint shampoo. Abigail turned to her sister, Rose, with a placid expression. “Was my locker door in your way, Captain Rosie,” she said in deceptively sweet tones. Anyone listening would take ‘Rosie’ as a sibling pet name. It was, however, a pet name Rose despised with a passion. “You should be on court already, but if you have something more important to do we can always find someone else to play Wind Defence,” Rose replied with a daggered coolness. Abigail motioned to the locker room door, “After you, we can hardly practice without our Centre after all.” Abigail smiled, knowing her attitude was far more frustrating for her older sister then any payback.

The XXXX files

Image

Another installment of Jason and the Darwin Awards.  Jason and the Darwin Awards episode list.

The Ute barrelled down the highway. Jason went with the flow of the traffic, accelerator jammed too far down; if you weren’t 20km over the limit, you should just get off the road. Steering with one handed, Jason swigged the last drop of XXXX from can before tossing the empty out to the wayside. “Hey,” he said to the bloke in the passenger seat who was dirtying the dashboard with his boots, “Pass us another tinny, will ya.” In silent reply his mate handed Jason another XXXX from the esky taking up the passenger side foot space. Gripping the wheel and beer can in one hand Jason tried to pull the ring tab. “Shit,” he swore, “Johno, take the wheel for a sec.” John leant over to grip the wheel, now forming a boomerang shape from the dash to steering wheel. Jason quickly open the can, but he was nowhere near quick enough – somewhere between releasing the wheel and John taking control they had drifted into oncoming traffic. Horns blared and the can fell; Jason did not even feel the cold liquid soaking his stubbies. Eyes white with fear Jason scrambled to shoot back into the left lane, turning the speeding vehicle so sharply it nearly ended in a roll, avoiding the impending collision by the narrowest of margins. He live to breed another day.

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