Everybody Wants to Go to Heaven

I apologize for posting twice in a row so closely together, but you see, a couple of things occurred.

First off, I had to get myself out of the fumes left behind by my last piece as quickly as possible, so as to let the past be past. Secondly, the Friday Fictioneers prompt this week almost screamed at me an immediate conversation, held between two mates (and quite possibly dolt-savants.) A conversation that – after a ton of whittling to get it down to the 100 word limit – follows…

copyright – Adam Ickes

Right. The arrow’s quite obviously pointin’ upward, now i’nt it?

But whatuvit?

Weellll, obviously it implies we’re goin’ to ‘eaven.

Bah! Don’t mean that a’tall. The bloomin’ thing IS red after all, i’nt it?

And whatuvit?

Well, i’n’t red the color of ‘ell itself?

Not like they’ve got that copyrighted or anything.

Don’t know ’bout that. I’m still not goin’.

Then what? You’re gonna stay ‘ere? Be a ghost?

Yeah. Reckon if this WAS really ‘eaven’s gate, it’d be otherwise constructed anyhow.

How’s that?

Way I figure, He’d make it more accessible-like, seein’ as He KNOWS I’m deathly scared of bridges regardless…

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I hope you enjoyed – and today’s song is “Reader’s Choice!”

Choose from either Loretta…

Or from Love…

109 Words Plus A Sentence: Ghosts Of Dachau

Once again, I am “mashing” my response to Master Class 2014 with the Friday Fictioneers prompt, and I do this for two reasons primarily.

Firstly, it permits me to somewhat “jump” the 100 word requirement for the latter. And secondly, it allows me to once again recommend that most of you should really try your hand at the former.

As always, I hope you enjoy, experience.

Copyright – Sandra Crook

I observed the shit-stained haystack once more.

Had its movement been caused by the mere trundling of the cart, or were itchy passengers buried within?

As I wondered, I pondered… what are we doing? Why are we doing this?

I’d killed before. But he, a soldier, was armed with the same professional bloodlust as I. I would never forget, as out of breath, he dropped both arms to his side, still gripping the knife in his left hand, while his brain slowly acknowledged my round, that had just torn through it.

Yes, I’d killed before. But this was different. These, mere civilians.

Children.

Children deemed unfit due merely to their heritage, their identity, their God.

Our God.

My Gott…!

I closely observed the haystack once more, before waving on the shit-stained skittish driver with his dubious cargo, whispering to no one as they pensively passed, “Gott Sie segnen…”

•••

It’s no great secret that I plug-in a song at the end of every post, and it’s also no great secret that I never really push it upon you. But just this once, please, listen…

.

Chokehold

Copyright – Janet Webb

She look better now?

What?

You had a few drinks. Does she look better now?

I suppose… maybe a touch?

So, she might be your type?

Maybe? But listen, I’m not really in the…

Oh yeah you are. They ALL are.

Are what?

“In tha market.”

Honestly, I’m really quite…

Happy? Yeah, they all think that too. But that’s only cuz you haven’t met “The One” yet.

I really don’t think that I need…

Oh yeah, you do. You ALL do.

Say… what’s your game anyway? Are you some sort of devil or something?

Devil? I’m no devil chump. I’m freakin’ Cupid.

•••

Combining the cocktail with the woman seen “through it,” I decided to have just a bit of fun with this week’s Friday Fictioneer prompt, in honor of what is possibly the most non-sensical holiday we have as a species. I hope you enjoyed!

To Sir… With Love.

Copyright -Claire Fuller

You have nothing?

Yes sir.

Excuse…?

Err, I meant “no sir…” no, sir.

No occupational status?

No sir.

Valid credit implants?

No… sir.

Spousally designated partner?

No.

Biological offspring?

Nonemore.

Adopted…

NO. No sir.

What is your current worth to society, citizen?

Zero, sir.

And to your non-existent family?

Zero.

And yourself?

Well, a great deal, actually sir! You see I…

Excuse…?

Err, I meant “zero sir…” Zero.

You’ll be liquefied at the food distribution workshop, nourishing the citizenry while realizing at least a small profit against your zero value. Is this understood?

No sir.

Excuse…???

Yes sir. I meant… yes, sir.

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Written in response to both this week’s Friday Fictioneers and (my first time EVER!) Velvet Verbosity prompts. Please also take the time to check out my “second to last” honest-to-Goshicles blog post (shared with my dear friend, Elena Caravela), located here.

My last (honest-to-Goshicles as well, of course!) post is coming soon.

A Cottage for Sale

Copyright – Björn Rudberg

You’re moving, then?

Yes.

To that house?

Yes.

That house, directly to the right of us?

Yes.

But, you’ve hardly moved, at that point.

Yes.

But the new house is prettier.

And?

And?

Well, “newer” of course.

And that’s enough?

Yes.

That’s enough.

But you loved the old house. It was good to us.

“Good” isn’t new. New’s what counts.

That’s a shame, really.

Believe me or don’t, I couldn’t care less.

You’re implying that old is bad then?

Yes.

No.

It’s just not… well it’s not new, And new’s what counts.

But… I’ll miss you.

OK.

Still, you’re moving, then?

Yes.

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Rochelle, I would like to thank you so much for talking me “off the ledge” as to my abandoning Friday Fictioneers, as I do so love it and the writing community that surrounds it. And an extra special thank you to a Fictioneer I’ve been long jealous of, Björn, for providing a phenomenal prompt with which to return!