Kreative Kue 165

Kreative Kue 164 asked for submissions based on this photograph:

My thanks to John W Howell, author of the John Cannon trilogy of My GRL, His Revenge, Our Justice and Circumstances of Childhood, and who blogs at Fiction Favorites, who sent:

The Mission by John W. Howell © 2018

“It’s a dud.”

“Hold on. It may take a while for the signal to reach the device.”


“Okay let me look. Humm.”

“Humm what?”

“It looks like one of the leads has come undone.”

“What the hell. I made sure I had those damn things were attached.”

“Sure you did dear. This reminds me of the time you said the parachute was packed correctly.”

“Well, okay, you got me there.”

“Good thing the reserve worked or I’d be somewhere else.”

“I hope someday we will forget that mistake.”

“Which brings us to today’s mistake.”

“Uh. How am I going to go all the way back down there and connect the wire without blowing myself up?”

“You have to first take the white wire off. That will reset the impulse. Then you connect the red wire first and the white second.”

“Oh man. It took me six hours to get to the base. ”

“I would get going then.”

“You have forgiven me on that parachute thingy right?”

“Yes, m’love. I have forgiven the parachute thingy.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. I would move out now if I were you.”

“Okay then. I’ll see you in six hours.”

“Sure you will.”


“Nothing sweet. Six hours it is.”

“I Love you.”

“Love you too.”


“Bye now.”

My effort was:

Bridging time

“Take a look at that bridge, Poppy. What d’you reckon to it?”

“It’s long… very long. So long I can’t see the end of it through the mist.”

“Two and a half kilometres give or take. High, too. Apparently one of the supports stands 343 metres above its base in the valley. That’s 23 metres taller than the Eiffel Tower.”

“Full of facts today, aren’t we?”

“Don’t know about you, but I have a few more tidbits for you.”

“Such as?”

“Such as Sir Norman Foster designed it.”

“Isn’t he a British architect?”

“He is. He teamed up with a French structural engineer called Dr Michel Virlogeux.”

“Well, colour me fascinated.”

“Thought you would be. Did you know it was opened to the public three years and two months after construction began?”

“That doesn’t sound long for something that big.”

“It wasn’t. And it opened nearly a full month ahead of schedule. Go on. Ask me how much it cost to build.”

“Okay, I’ll bite. How much did it cost to build?”

“Just shy of four hundred million euros.”

“How much?”

“Just shy of four hundred million euros.”

“It’s a fabulous structure, but there must have been other things, better things they could do with that much money.”

“Have you ever had to drive down into the valley and back up again?”

“Can’t say I have.”

“Believe me, it’s money well spent. Avoids traffic jams in the valley, saves fuel and knocks hours off the journey time.”

“Is that important in such gorgeous country? I mean; look at it. Who’d want to rush through that.”

“If you’re on holiday, touring in this area, probably not. But not if you’re headed to the south coast, or to Spain; and not everyone is a tourist. Especially in winter, when the snow and ice can make the valley route not an option. Nightmare for truckers.”

“Okay. You’ve made your point. Perhaps it wasn’t a waste of money, after all.”

“I’ll tell you what else. Do you know, if you look to the left past the city, you can see into the Gorges du Tarn and beyond that to the Gorges de la Jonte, where there’s a large population of vultures – Griffons, Egyptians and Cinereous?”

“I thought you only saw vultures in the Pyrenees or the Alps.”

“And here. They’ve been working for decades to reintroduce them after they were all shot out early in the last century.”

“Wow. Ron – can I ask you two little questions?”

“Sure, Poppy. Ask away.”

“Well. First, how do you know all this stuff?”

“That’s easy. I’ve been here before, and I was so impressed that I read up about it.”

“The bridge or the vultures?”

“Both. What’s your second question?”

“Why are you telling me all this right now, rather than when we get back on the road? And why are you standing up there to tell me? Come down.”


“Why not?”

“For exactly the same reason I’m spending as much time as I can telling you stuff.”

“And that’s because?”

“I had a bit of an accident when we got up here and I’m waiting for it to dry out in the sun.”

“The big puddle down there? No-one will know that was you.”

“No, they won’t. But you will if I can’t get the sun and wind to dry the front of my trousers!”


On to this week’s challenge: Using this photo as inspiration, write a short story, flash fiction, scene, poem; anything, really; even just a caption for the photograph. Either put it (or a link to it) in a comment or email it to me at before 6pm next Sunday (if you aren’t sure what the time is where I live, this link will tell you). If you post it on your own blog or site, a link to this page would be appreciated, but please do also mention it in a comment here – pingbacks don’t often work.

Go on. You know you want to. Let your creativity and imagination soar. I shall display the entries, with links to your own blog or web site, next Monday.


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