Category: Kreative Kues

Source unknown…

“Are you sure this is the right road, Georg?”

“I think so, Sergei. The voice in my ear is telling me which way to turn, which road to follow.”

“And it said to follow this road?”

“Of course.”

“What is this voice in your ear and why don’t I have one?”

“Don’t have time to talk about that. Another message is coming through.”

“What’s it say?”

“Keep right on.”

“You sure?”

“Yup.”

“Really?”

“That’s what it says.”

“But who are all these people at the sides of the road, and why are they waving at us?”

“No idea, mate. Don’t suppose it’s us they’re waving at, anyway.”

“Who else?”

“There must be someone else coming after us. Let’s face it, who wants to come out to see a group of mates out for a bike ride?”

“Anything else on today, on this road?”

“I should say so. The Tour de France is passing through later this afternoon.”

“That must be what all these people are here for.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me.”

“Georg, you don’t suppose…”

“They think we’re professional racers? Nah. We’d not be playing ‘follow my leader’ if we were, would we?”

“S’pose not. Still. I’m interested in the voice in your ear. Some sort of satnav, is it?”

“No idea. It’s just there, telling me stuff.”

“What sort of stuff?”

“Like which way to turn, and other stuff too.”

“Other stuff? Like what?”

“Usually things that help me decide what I’m supposed to do.”

“Ahh! Which one is it: Google Assistant, Siri, Cortana or Alexa?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, mate.”

“Tell you what. When we stop, would you let me borrow the earpiece, so I could hear it?”

“Earpiece? What earpiece?”


I wrote this in response to Kreative Kue 175, issued on this site earlier this week. Feel free to join in; just follow the link.

Kreative Kue 175

Kreative Kue 174 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:

Friday by John W. Howell © 2018

“We need to make this a good fight, Sasha.”

“Why is that, Pradeep?”

“There’s a guy up in the stands with an iPhone?”

“Should I turn around?”

“No, take my word for it.”

“What about him?”

“He is a Bollywood producer.”

“You’re kidding. How exciting.”

“I think he is videotaping our performance.”

“How cool.”

“So quit dancing around and come at me.”

“Wait a minute. I’m dancing around because I don’t have a sword like you.”

“You are supposed to use your staff like a Ninja and take me out.”

“And what are you going to do?”

“Use my sword like a warrior.”

“Like we practiced?”

“More or less.”

“How much more and how much less?”

“That guy up there will want action. It is hard to fake a fight.”

“Are you telling me this is for real?”

“No not for real. Just almost real.”

“Good grief. I’m getting out of here.”

“Stand where you are unbeliever. Defend yourself.”

“Unbeliever? Hey, Pradeep. It’s me Sasha, your brother.”

“Lies all lies.”

“For heaven’s sake. Put that sword down.”

“Okay, Sasha you can relax.”

“Why?”

“The guy is gone.”

“You were going to come at me with that sword, weren’t you?”

“Well, yeah. How would we stage a convincing fight if I didn’t?”

“I would think we would have time to practice.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter anymore—”

“What are you looking at?”

“The guy is back.”

“Does this mean?—”

“Defend yourself, unbeliever.”

“Great.”


My effort was:

Matchless.

“You know I like to spend time with you when I’m in the region, Rajesh, but must we really come to watch this fighting? I could have spent the evening at home with Priya, which I know she would have preferred.”

“Listen to me, Sanyam. This is not just fighting, this is Kalaripayattu. It is an essential part of our heritage. It is the oldest and most scientific martial art form in the world.”

“Look at it, man. Whatever fancy name you give it, it is still fighting. Look at them; they are using weapons. They could hurt each other. Badly.”

“What you are seeing, my friend, is a performance art. No-one gets hurt.”

“So why the weapons?”

“These men are highly skilled. They look as though they are attacking each other with weapons, but none ever strikes home. It is like a dance, but highly disciplined.”

“So what is the point of it?”

“What is the point of any art? When a painter makes a portrait, what is it for but to be looked at? When a musician plays his instrument, what is it for but to be listened to? This is the same. It is an art form to be appreciated, but is also an indispensable part of our cultural environment – like Kathakali.”

“Kathakali I understand. It tells a story. Even though I am not from this region, I can learn some of its history from the Kathakali and from other dramatic works. This fighting, even if it tells me that the practitioners are incredibly skilled and disciplined, gives me no real information.”

“I have another reason for coming, too.”

“What is that?”

“You see those two in the arena now?”

“What of them?”

“The guy on the left is my cousin Krishnan; the other is another cousin, Ramesh.”

“Fascinating.”

“Don’t mock me, Sanyam. Do me one favour, will you?”

“What favour?”

“Hold my phone for me. No, hold it up in front of you so I can see the picture on it. That’s it. Keep It there.”

“Okay, but why?”

“Because when they are in exactly the same positions as in that picture, I want to take a photograph with my camera.”

“Again, why?”

“Because Krishnan likes that photo and has asked me for a copy. I need to make it exactly the same, otherwise it won’t be a true copy, will it? Nearly the same isn’t good enough.”

“Tell me, Rajan, how many photos do you have on that phone?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Probably hundreds, maybe even thousands. It isn’t a new phone, you know. I am not like you, I can’t afford a new phone every year.”

“Okay, but what happens if your phone has a problem and you lose your photos?”

“It’s okay. I would be able to get them back again. They are all backed up to the cloud.”

“How would you get them back?”

“Just copy them from my computer.”

“How? Is your computer in the cloud, too?”

“Not exactly, but something like. My computer synchronises with my cloud account.”

“Now, don’t take this personally, Rajan, but I think you’re missing something here.”

“What?”

“If you have these photos on your computer, why can’t you just email them to your cousins.”

“I think it is you that are missing something, Sanyam. He doesn’t want a copy of what is on my computer, he wants a copy of the picture that is on my phone. Now hold it still, we’re almost there.”

 


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 – 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.

Matchless

“You know I like to spend time with you when I’m in the region, Rajesh, but must we really come to watch this fighting? I could have spent the evening at home with Priya, which I know she would have preferred.”

“Listen to me, Sanyam. This is not just fighting, this is Kalaripayattu. It is an essential part of our heritage. It is the oldest and most scientific martial art form in the world.”

“Look at it, man. Whatever fancy name you give it, it is still fighting. Look at them; they are using weapons. They could hurt each other. Badly.”

“What you are seeing, my friend, is a performance art. No-one gets hurt.”

“So why the weapons?”

“These men are highly skilled. They look as though they are attacking each other with weapons, but none ever strikes home. It is like a dance, but highly disciplined.”

“So what is the point of it?”

“What is the point of any art? When a painter makes a portrait, what is it for but to be looked at? When a musician plays his instrument, what is it for but to be listened to? This is the same. It is an art form to be appreciated, but is also an indispensable part of our cultural environment – like Kathakali.”

“Kathakali I understand. It tells a story. Even though I am not from this region, I can learn some of its history from the Kathakali and from other dramatic works. This fighting, even if it tells me that the practitioners are incredibly skilled and disciplined, gives me no real information.”

“I have another reason for coming, too.”

“What is that?”

“You see those two in the arena now?”

“What of them?”

“The guy on the left is my cousin Krishnan; the other is another cousin, Ramesh.”

“Fascinating.”

“Don’t mock me, Sanyam. Do me one favour, will you?”

“What favour?”

“Hold my phone for me. No, hold it up in front of you so I can see the picture on it. That’s it. Keep It there.”

“Okay, but why?”

“Because when they are in exactly the same positions as in that picture, I want to take a photograph with my camera.”

“Again, why?”

“Because Krishnan likes that photo and has asked me for a copy. I need to make it exactly the same, otherwise it won’t be a true copy, will it? Nearly the same isn’t good enough.”

“Tell me, Rajan, how many photos do you have on that phone?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Probably hundreds, maybe even thousands. It isn’t a new phone, you know. I am not like you, I can’t afford a new phone every year.”

“Okay, but what happens if your phone has a problem and you lose your photos?”

“It’s okay. I would be able to get them back again. They are all backed up to the cloud.”

“How would you get them back?”

“Just copy them from my computer.”

“How? Is your computer in the cloud, too?”

“Not exactly, but something like. My computer synchronises with my cloud account.”

“Now, don’t take this personally, Rajan, but I think you’re missing something here.”

“What?”

“If you have these photos on your computer, why can’t you just email them to your cousins.”

“I think it is you that are missing something, Sanyam. He doesn’t want a copy of what is on my computer, he wants a copy of the picture that is on my phone. Now hold it still, we’re almost there.”


I wrote this in response to Kreative Kue 174, issued on this site earlier this week. Feel free to join in; just follow the link.