Kreative Kue 183

Kreative Kue 182asked 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, co-author of The Contract, and who blogs at Fiction Favorites, who sent:

Camouflage by John W. Howell © 2018

“Sush, someones coming.”

“I don’t hear anyone.”

“I have this super sense of hearing. Trust me. Stop chewing that gum.”

“How did you know I had gum in my mouth. I barely chewed it.”

“I could hear your molars coming together. If I can hear them so can they.”

“Okay, then. I’ll spit it out.”

“No don’t. The sound of you spitting can carry for miles.”

“For you maybe. How many people do you think have your hearing sensitivity.”

“You want to take a chance there is one?”

“You make a good point. I’ll not chew.”

“Thank you very much. Can you hold your breath?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Now you are going too far.”

“Sush. Your blabbing is going to get us killed.”

“You really think those folks are going to kill us?”

“Do you know what they do to others like us?”

“No, I can’t say I do.”

“I have heard sometimes they cut off your skin while you are alive.”

“My God. That is horrible.”

“Also they put you in hot water after cutting you in half.”

“In half. That’s barbaric.”

“One guy told me, and he swears it’s true that he witnessed a group being drawn and quartered.”

“Okay, I’ll stop breathing. How close are they?”

“I can hear their young ones screaming as they run ahead.”

“Why do they do that?”

“I don’t know I think they use their young to draw fire in case of an ambush.”

“So how close?”

“A few hundred feet. They are also carrying baskets.”

“Baskets what the hell for?”

“Prisoners. Those they don’t kill and eat immediately they take as prisoners to torture and kill later.”

“I think I’m going to cry.”

“They could miss us if we keep quiet. Who knows, they may be more into those poor apples in the next forest. If so we will be spared.”

“Where are they now?”

“I think they are going for the apples.”

“Thank God. We pears live another day.”

“Yeah, they are hitting the apples. I can hear them screaming. We dodged the bullet today. Long live the pears.”

“Long live the pears.”

“Sush. Whisper. The hairless apes could still find us.”


My effort was:

Jingly bells

“You know, Jimmy, I can’t look at that tree without thinking of my favourite TV programme from when we were young.”

“When we were young? How long ago was that then, Eth?”

“Ooh, I don’t know. A very long time ago. Back in the days when we were bringing up the children.”

“Don’t I always tell you, Eth? You shouldn’t have eaten them.”

“Yes, you do, Jimmy. And I always laugh, don’t I?”

“That’s what I love about you, Eth. Always have. You know my jokes aren’t funny, but you laugh at them anyway.”

“That’s because I love you, you daft old fool, and I know it makes you happy. That’s why I do it.”

“Anyway, what’s this television programme?”

“You know – the one with whatsisname… Calloway in it.”

“Cab Calloway? Him as did Minnie the Moocha? That’d be the Blues Brothers, I’ll be bound, except that was a film, not a telly programme.”

“No, not him. Ooh. I know. Butch Cassidy.”

“That’ wasn’t a programme, either, Eth. That was a film, too. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Coupla bloody eejits riding around on bikes singing about raindrops. Bit soft, if you ask me.”

“No, not that, either. There was a bunch of them. A whole family.”

“I know. Brady Bunch. Goodnight, Elllie-May, goodnight Bo.”

“You silly old bugger, Jimmy. That’s a bit of The Waltons, a bit of The Beverley Hillbillies and a bit of Dukes of Hazzard.”

“Well, you know what I mean.”

“Shall I tell you the saddest thing, my love?”

“What’s that?”

“The saddest thing is that I think I do know what you mean. Ooh, I remembered. He was a singer – pretty boy, as I recall.”

“But you can’t remember what he was called.”

“That’s just it. I do. David Cassidy. That was his name. Yes, David Cassidy. Hee-hee, I remembered. Now who’s a daft old duffer, eh?”

“I remember him, too. Didn’t he marry that Kylie – the young motor mechanic?”

“No, that was Jason Donovan on Neighbours – that Aussie show.”

“Still going on, that one.”

“Are they still in it?”


“Jason and Kylie, of course.”

“Not for years. I accidentally saw it once and didn’t recognise anybody.”

“When did you see it?”

“Most days.”

“So you’re watching it regular, like?”

“I call it my guilty pleasure.”

“Is it any better than it was?”

“Hard to say.”


“I don’t follow the story. I only watch it for—”

“You don’t have to tell me, James Birthwaite. I know you too well. You only watch it for the pretty girls. That’s your guilty pleasure, isn’t it?”

“Stop trying to confuse me by changing the subject. What were we talking about before you got me all worked up?”

“Ermm. Let me think…”

“I got it! You were saying that tree reminds you of a TV show.”

“Oh yes.”

“Which one? Have you remembered?”

“Yes, I have. It’s The Partridge Family.”

“How on Earth can that remind you of The Partridge Family?”

“Duh. Pear tree? Partridge?”

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.

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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