Kreative Kue 250

Kreative Kue 249 asked for submissions based on this photograph:

John W Howell is the author of the John Cannon trilogy of My GRL, His Revenge, Our Justice and Circumstances of Childhood, co-author of The Contract, and blogs at Fiction Favorites.

After Work by John W. Howell © 2020

“Geez, Frank. I didn’t realize this watering hole was so popular.”

“I didn’t either. When I asked you to stop after work for a couple of drinks, it was beyond me that it would be so crowded.”

“Well, we might as well make the best of it.”

“Yeah, let’s crowd in and see if we can snag a drink.”

“By the way, I still am pleased you asked me to join you.”

“Aw think nothing of it. It has been too long. We’ve been working together for how long?”

“I guess it is over a year.”

“Yeah, see. That’s what I mean. A drink together has been long overdue.”

“How is your work going? Since you left the department, I have kinda lost track.”

“Oh, it is pretty much like when I was in the department. You know, find new ways to make things work.”

“I never did understand why you transferred out.”

“Well, that is a little hard to believe, George.”

“What do you mean?”

“Weren’t you the one who came in and took my job?”

“Well, that was not up to me, Frank. I just did what the boss told me to do.”

“I know how that is. I think Benedict Arnold said the same thing before he dropped through the trap door.”

“Trap door? What are you saying? Hey, where is everyone going?”

“Looks like the tiger is upon us, Kid. I wish you well. I hope you have been doing your wind sprints while not kissing up to the boss.”

“Well, here is a newsflash for you, Frank. You’re not going to outrun that tiger.”

“Well, you see, Frank. I’m not worried about outrunning the tiger.”

“So, what are you worried about?”

“Outrunning you. See ya. Best of luck.”

---

This from Na’ama Yehuda, who blogs at https://naamayehuda.com :

One With The Herd by Na’ama Yehuda

It was never about the things he wanted to do.

It was never about where he wanted to go, what pasture he preferred, which direction he wished to head.

Conformity. Yeah, he knew all about it. How it was the only way to herd.

Still he found small ways to rebel: He’d lie down when others were grazing, chew his cud while the Head Honcho was patrolling, turn his backside to the wind when it went against every custom to do so.

“You will get yourself kicked,” his mother, who has long given up on instructing him but still couldn’t help herself from trying, lowed in his ear.

“Or eaten,” his sister, grown and soon to mother her own, added.

Their mother’s eyes were sharp horns of disgust at the sacrilege. One did not talk about becoming prey where one was already primed to be the hunted.

He shrugged and refused to turn his nose into the wind, though he could not control the small twitch of his ears, flattening to try and discern danger.

The cows, one young, one old, left to graze at the edge of the parched field.

He remained with his head petulantly bowed, feigning disinterest in any thing ahead. He’d been born to the herd. Without it, he’d be dead.

But it did not mean he had to be one with the herd.

---

And from Kristian, who blogs regularly at Tales from the mind of Kristian, this poem:

Photo Fiends — A poem. © Kristian Fogarty 14th February 2020

As they gathered in a crowd so thickly,

One looked up and shouted “Quickly!

It’s those tourists back again, once more,

To take our picture, What a bore.

Let’s stampede before they turn and click,

Those photo fiends just make me sick!”

But, too late, they’d got their photograph,

A load of Wildebeest and not one giraffe.

---

My effort was

The gnus at ten

“Get up.”

“Can’t be bothered.”

“You do as you’re told, Gerald. Get up or there’ll be no food for you this day.”

“Don’t care.”

“Don’t care was made to care. Now GET UP.”

“What’s the point?”

“What’s the matter with you today, Gerald? You aren’t usually like this.”

“I dunno. I’m just… bleugh!”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Come on, pull yourself together. You can’t lay there all day.”

“Why not?”

“Gerald. I’m starting to worry about you. Tell me what’s wrong. I promise I’ll just listen. You can be straight with me – I won’t judge you, whatever you say.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Okay. You know what our lifespan is, don’t you?”

“Yeah – twenty years.”

“And you are aware of how old I am?”

“Of course – it’s your tenth birthday today. Why?”

“Because, Mother dear—”

“We aren’t deers. Technically, we’re antelopes, though you’d never know it to look at us.”

“Dear, not deer. Can’t you even spell? Anyway, to answer your question—”

“Which one?”

“The one you just asked me.”

“What was that?”

“Why it matters that I’m ten, for pity’s sake. Can’t you remember anything?”

“You wait till you start going through the change. You’ll soon find out what it’s like.”

“I don’t think so, Mother.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m a male. We don’t go through the change.”

“What do you do instead then?”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. We live for twenty years, yeah?”

“We do.”

“And I’m ten, right?”

“I still don’t get what you’re saying.”

“I’M HAVING A MID-LIFE CRISIS!”

---

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 keithchanning@gmail.com 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 next Monday.