Kreative Kue 315

Kreative Kue 314 asked for submissions based on this photograph:

04-06-2006 09-29-39_0026a

John W Howell is a multiple nominated and award-winning author who blogs at Fiction Favorites. Details of John’s books can be found on his Amazon author page

The Job by John W. Howell © 2021

“Would you look at that.”

“What the mess?”

“No, the dog.”

“What about him.”

“He’s sound asleep there.”

“Yeah, so what?”

“I hired him to empty all those boxes.”

“Well obviously he is not doing the job you hired him to do.”

“That’s obvious.”

“How much are you paying him?”

“$14.00 an hour.”

“Doesn’t seem like you are getting your money’s worth.”

“No kidding. What should I do?”

“Why don’t you hire him to sleep? I think you can get him at a cheaper rate.”

“I guess it’s my fault in the end.”

“Why’s that?”

“I should never have hired a dog to do a man’s work.”

“You open to being a little more broad minded?”

“What do you mean?”

“You said ‘man’s work.’”

“Yeah,so what?”

“Could a woman do the same work?”

“Sure.”

“You still paying $14.00 an hour?”

“I would like to, yes.”

“You just found the dog’s replacement. When can I start?”

“How about now?”

“Can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Need a nap.”

“Off the clock?”

“What are you paying the dog?”

“haven’t decided yet.”

“When you do I’ll nap at the same price. See ya.”


Tien Skye, who blogs at From the Widow Seat offered this tale. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

(Untitled) © 2021, Tien Skye

“Well, go on! Look at what you did!”

Cooper only laid his head down and whined.

“You are such a bad boy. Bad boy!” I continued relentlessly. “Don’t hide your face when I’m talking to you! Look around you! What did you do, huh? What did you do?”

Naturally, Cooper continued to ignore me and buried his head into the paper.

“Well? What are we going to do with all this, huh?” I questioned him in a scalding manner.

Cooper finally looked at me with those puppy eyes that he was too old yet completely suitable for. “I ordered the paper that you told me on Amazon and even managed to get them shipped. I just forgot it’s toilet paper that you wanted!”


My effort was:

It’s a Wrap!

“What are you doing, Hobie?”

“Quiet, Dad; please.”

“Hang on, fellah. You don’t tell me to be quiet. Now come on. What are you doing?”

“Ignoring you. mostly.”

“You have no right to ignore me, matey.”

“And yet you have the right, knowing I’ve been going blind for years and now have no sight left, to drag me from the home where I know the exact location of everything and could manoeuvre around the house without bumping into anything, and dragging me to this new house. I have no idea where anything is and I keep bumping into stuff. I don’t even know where the door is when I need to go out and relieve myself. So don’t talk to me about rights!”

“Steady on, old chap. You’ll love it here. No more having to walk along busy roads—”

“With which I was familiar.”

“No more being confined to a small back garden—”

“Which I knew my way around!”

“But there’s a big field attached to this house – almost an acre. You can walk around it to your heart’s content.”

“Yeah, and have no idea how to get back again.”

“You’ll soon get used to it, Hobie Would it help if I put up something that will make a bit of noise so you’ll be able to work out which direction to go?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether you’ll ever stop talking and give me the chance to listen to something else.”

“That’s hardly fair.”

“Isn’t it? What are you doing now?”

“Talking to you.”

“Exactly, whilst I’m trying to listen out for something.”

“What are you trying to hear?”

“This paper. It hasn’t made a sound yet.”

“What sound do you expect it to make?”

“Duh. What sort of paper is it?”

“Hahaha. I know what you’ve done.”

“What?”

“You heard me tell Mum about it, but obviously didn’t see the label.”

“So?”

“It’s wrapping paper, Hobie… wrapping with a W.”


P1030086a

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.

Sunday serialisation – Rory (ret’d) 16.3

Rory Rogerson is 67; an overweight, unfit, retired ‘protection officer’ (that’s PC for hired muscle). He is also a prolific and, by his own reckoning, successful author of crime fiction.

Penny (60) is his headmistress wife and Charlie Watkiss is the bloke next door.

Together, they make a formidable team!

 

Rory (ret’d). Chapter sixteen, part three.

“My God,” Charlie said looking around the boy’s bedroom, “this is the most disgusting thing I have seen since… since—”

“Your bedroom when you were a teenager, perhaps?”

“I can’t have been this bad,” he said.

“I’ll bet you could. I know I was. Embarrasses me now, of course, but I think this room is typical – just a normal teenaged boy’s hovel.”

We searched through the room diligently. No stone, or sock, in this case, was left unturned. There is no way that anything in that room escaped our gaze.

“Did you know Joffrey has a motion-activated webcam in his room?” I asked his parents when we got back downstairs.

“No, I didn’t,” Nobby said. Was it my imagination or was he discomfited by that information?

“I took the liberty of connecting to its feed,” Charlie said, bringing the feed up on his phone then cast it to the large flat-screen television on the lounge wall, “As you can see, it’s inactive now but,” he moved his fingers over the time controls, “here’s the two of us looking carefully through all his possessions a few minutes ago.” Zosia looked fascinated, but I’m convinced Nobby’s fidgeting revealed him to have been most uncomfortable with what he was seeing.

“It’s not very clear though, is it?” Nobby said defensively.

“Oh, I can sort that,” Charlie said and after a few manipulations, the image became clearer and sharper.

“Oh.” Not a happy policeman, it seemed.

“Let’s go back a bit farther,” Charlie said.

“No need,” Nobby interrupted, “I think we’ve seen enough.”

“I haven’t,” Zosia said, “please… carry on.”

Charlie flashed back through the feed. “And this was four nights ago—”

“That’ll be the day before I found those things, I think.”

“Oh, look,” I said, my voice tinged with sarcasm, “Is that a certain Detective Chief Superintendent I see coming into the room. I wonder what he’s… What’s that in his hand? Is it, by any chance, an evidence bag?”

“That’s enough. Turn it off NOW,” he yelled.

Charlie stopped the feed.

“You do know,” Nobby said, “that none of this would be admissible as evidence. Not only have you searched my son’s room without even the pretence of a warrant—”

“Don’t need one,” I said, “we had the householder’s permission.”

“But you certainly didn’t have my permission to hack into my son’s computer to steal his feed.”

Zosia stood to her feet. “He has mine. I’ve seen and heard enough. For years, I’ve been ignoring and denying rumours about you, Nobby.”

“You can’t ignore them and deny them. If you deny them it’s not ignoring them and—”

“Shut up, you pompous old fool. You’re the worst kind of person possible, Nobby – a bent copper.”

“There’s no proof. Nothing that would stand up in court anyway, and as my wife, you can’t be made to testify against me.”

“I wouldn’t need to be made to testify against you, Mister. I’d volunteer. Happily.”

Nobby stood up and stormed out of his house.

“Get back here and face the music, you coward,” Zosia shouted after him as his car sped away from the house. “Can’t you go after him?” she asked Charlie and me.

“We don’t have the power,” I said.

“But we do have a full recording of our entire conversation, as well as the video footage.”

“But he’s said that’s inadmissible.”

“Not if you or Joffrey authorise us to take the footage and to record the conversation, Zosia,” I said.

“I would, but it would make me feel bad, turning on Nobby after thirty years, but what else can I do?”

“We’ll get this through to the appropriate people for investigation. Goodness knows what else they’ll turn up. Can you think of any reason he’d do this to his own son?”

“Thinking about it, after the arguments that have been going on between those two, I’m surprised Joff hasn’t physically attacked his father already.”

“Would he do that?”

“No, he wouldn’t,” she said, “He’ll shout, he’ll rant, but Joff would never attack anybody, especially not family. I was expecting him to move out soon. I wonder…”

“What are you thinking?”

“It may be nothing, but I’m wondering whether Nobby cottoned on that Joff was thinking of moving out and decided to take a kind of pre-emptive revenge.”

Charlie looked sad. “I hate to say it, but that sounds very much like the Nobby Stokes I’ve dealt with over the years. The word vengeful doesn’t begin to describe him.”

“But he’s nothing like that at home, usually.”

“Sadly, that’s often the case. Nobby the father and Nobby the copper are two separate people.”

“Are you suggesting he’s schizophrenic?”

“Probably not. His life is likely led in two compartments and something made the one leak into the other. Where’s Joffrey now?”

“He should be home in half an hour. Can you stay with me until he is? I don’t want to face him alone – he won’t necessarily believe me.”

“Of course,” I said, “I’ll make us some tea.”

Random Limericks 41

canstockphoto12290151300.jpg
© Can Stock Photo& damedeeso. Used with permission

Limerick, a popular form of short, humorous verse that is often nonsensical and frequently ribald. It consists of five lines, rhyming aabba, and the dominant metre is anapestic, with two metrical feet in the third and fourth lines and three feet in the others. Encyclopaedia Britannica

A series of (non-acrostic) limericks produced in response to various prompts.

These will appear on Saturday mornings wherever possible.

Let me know what you think.

 

BORBORYGMUS

for Kristian – https://talesfromthemindofkristian.wordpress.com/2021/06/01/borborygmus/

Borborygmus; how’s that for a word?
At first hearing, it sounds quite absurd.
To make it quite clear
It’s the sound that you hear
When the gas in your insides is stirred.

VICTORY

for Kristian – https://talesfromthemindofkristian.wordpress.com/2021/06/03/victory-2/

Before you start popping champagne,
Just try to run this through your brain:
The glory of victory
Is oft contradictory;
You may lose a lot more than you gain.

ORDINARY

for Kristian – https://talesfromthemindofkristian.wordpress.com/2021/06/04/ordinary/

While taking development classes,
I looked through my “realist” glasses.
Just an ordinary slob
With an ordinary job.
It’s like fighting my way through molasses.