Monthly Archives: September 2014

Captain Boris Picklefox

The sirens wailed.

“Thirty seconds until self destruct.”

Captain Boris Picklefox stared, wide-eyed, at the blinking console.
He knew that he knew which button to press in precisely this situation; he’d been shown at the start of his first week in charge of the Galactic Cruiser and every second Wednesday since.

He extended an arm and hovered his hand over the buttons, sweeping from left to right, hoping his fingers would work in much the same way as a dowsing rod.

Nothing.

“Ten seconds until self destruct.”

Captain Boris Picklefox closed his eyes, licked his lips and made his choice.


This piece was submitted as part of Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. 1 photograph. 100 words. Often with over 100 people taking part.

bottles-marie-gail-stratford

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The BBQ

The invitation had said 3pm. Paul arrived at 2.
Three hours later, and with barely a spark, Kevin was sweating.

The plan was to light it, make sure the coals were white hot (he’d read that somewhere) and then begin cooking. By the time people arrived, he’d be half way through the cook.

This would, Kev thought, have two benefits:

1) People could eat straight away.
2) Ladies would admire his amazing BBQ skills.

By 6.30pm everyone, except Paul, had left.
Reluctantly, Kevin sidled over to him and silently slid a slice of Double Pepperoni from the warm box.

 


 

This piece was submitted as part of Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. 1 photograph. 100 words. Often with over 100 people taking part.

 


campfire

 

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The Carpet Cleaner

As the millionaire Chairman knelt on the ground
the workers around him could do nothing but frown.
For the silver haired leader, an octogenarian,
was restoring the carpet to a sparkling new state again.

With more cash in the bank than the east side of Surrey
he scrubbed at the carpet with blood, sweat and hurry.
When asked why he didn’t just replace the duff tile,
he looked up and responded with a wink and a smile,

“It’s the little things, dear boy, that lead to the big.
If I replaced every carpet, each time Sue dropped a fig,
I’d never have got to where I’ve got to today
(with Rita in Gloucester, and Joan in Herne Bay.)”

“Take care of the pennies and the pounds, they will follow.
A carpet cleaned here, means Sushi tomorrow.
Or lobster with Megan, in Clacton-on-Sea,
You’ll be tickling the rich, boy, take it from me.”

 

carpet-tiles-12.43.18-PM

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