Tag Archives: photo

Extras Wanted

When he had first read the newspaper advert, he’d been all for it. Sure, it was only a role for drive-on extras, but you never know where these things might lead. For all he knew he could have ended up as the next Optimus Prime – complete with shiny new paint job and Megan Fox draped over his full leather interior.

Geoffrey Prime, he thought, had a good ring to it.

Yet here Geoff sat for the 13th day in a row; oversized props glued to his once pristine chassis and a clapped-out rust-bucket with verbal diarrhoea for a parking buddy.


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.

image

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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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Stone the crows

“I wish I was immortalised in stone,” mused Henry.

Chris pondered this strange statement from his friend. He’d heard some odd waffle from his companion over the course of 67 years, but this was right up there.

“But you wouldn’t be able to move,” he offered. “You’d be encased in granite or marble, or limestone. You’d be stiffened beyond all reasonable realms of movement. You’d be stuck solid, wherever you last stood, for hundred of years to come. And that’s without bringing the pigeons into consideration.”

“Shit,” Henry conceded. “Not only that, but I’d probably miss the next World Cup.”

 


Somewhat late to the party this week – having had some time off. Still, here is my offering for Friday Fictioneers.

claire-fuller-3

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Your mum

– Tap the icon. Yes.
– No, not that one. The other one. The one with the camera.
– Have you got it?
– Ok, yes. The camera icon.
– Icon.
– Eye. Con.
– It’s a graphic. An image. A little square. It represents the app.
– Yes.
– Yes, an app.
– An application.
– It’s a little programme inside your phone.
– No.
– No, not like Eastenders.
– A computer programme.
– Yes.
– No, I know you’re not on the computer.
– No, I don’t want you to turn the computer on.

– Have you turned the computer on?
– Mum?
– Mum, turn the computer off.

– Are you looking at your phone now?
– Ok, good.
– Tap the camera icon. The square. The square with an image of a camera in it.
– Got it?
– Have you got it?
– No, a camera. Not a tap.
– No, I know there aren’t any pictures of taps.
– I meant touch. Touch the square with a camera in it.
– Ok. Great.
– Now, I need you to take a photo.
– Take a photo.
– Take…
– Take a…
– What do you mean, “where do you take it from?”
– No I…
– Mum?
– Mum?

– Where did you go?
– The back bedroom? Why?
– Mum, why did you get the big photo album?
– No, I didn’t.
– No. I said, “take a photo.”
– What do you mean, “which one?”
– No, I don’t want you to take a photo from the album.
– Yes, with the phone. You wanted to show me the new carpet.
– Ok. No, I understand
– It’s very complicated, yes.

– No, no, I’m still here.
– Do you have the camera app open?
– On your phone, yes. Does the screen look like a camera.
– No, you’re right. It looks like your table. Yes, that’s right.
– Yes, sorry, I should be clearer.
– So press the button and take the picture.

– Have you taken it?
– Have you?
– I’m not rushing you.

– Have you…
– …ok good.
– Now you need to send it to me.

– No.
– No mum, I know your printer is broken. I know. That’s not…
– Mum…
– Mum…
– Mum. I’ll fix your printer the next time I see you.
– Yes.
– That’s right.
– I need you to email it.
– Yes, like you did with the photo of dad and the bucket of fire.
– Mm. How is he now, by the way?
– Still sore? Well it did go all the way up his thigh, to be fair.
– Yes, yes it was a bit silly.
– I know, yes, he can’t hold it like he used to. You’re right.
– Have you found the email button?
– The arrow. The share arrow. No, not like Robin Hood.
– No, I know it doesn’t say “share” but that’s what it does.
– Ok, have you touched that button?
– The share button. The arrow.

– Good. Ok, now the email button.
– Yes, the one that looks like a letter.
– Write my name.
– No, MY name. Yes. My name.
– No, not “myname”. Type, Peter.
– Ok?
– Ok.
– Now send it.
– Send.
– Press send.
– Yes, send.
– Ok. Got it.

– Yes. Yes, that was easy, wasn’t it.

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