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

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

•••

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

Choose from either Loretta…

Or from Love…

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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.

hay-bales-sandra-c

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

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

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.

•••

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

bjc3b6rn-19

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.

•••

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!

Playing With Love

This is it, my secret clubhouse! Now you’ll know the whole of me…!

Copyright-Dawn Q. Landau

Copyright-Dawn Q. Landau

This?

Yes, this!

Seems a bit worn down. Useless.

Well, I’m not certain about that, and it IS mine.

All yours?

All mine!

I think I’ll take it. Yeah, I want it. It’s mine.

But I was only sharing. I wasn’t actually offering…

I don’t care about that. I want it. I own it now.

But… I loved it.

You shoulda kept it secret then. Like I did all my loves.

But I already gave you everything…

Yeah, well you’ll think better next time now, won’t ya?

•••

As the above may (in my usual convoluted and overly dramatic fashion) indicate, this will be my last foray into the Friday Fictioneers clubhouse.

I would really like to thank Rochelle and the rest of my fellow Fictioneers for the support and sense of family that you’ve provided me with while we’ve been together.

I’ll miss you – God Speed.

Bad Old World

Where some see doors, others hear voices. And just as doors can be either opened or closed, voices too, can be listened too or ignored. And in either scenario, every once in a great while, a person can have that glimpse backward, one just long enough as to realize that they will never return to the bad old world…

That was where this week’s Friday Fictioneer prompt took me, and here is the hundred plus words that resulted from that train of thought. I hope you enjoy…

100_7320-1

Copyright – Rich Voza

Justin… I can’t stand it anymore, the jumble-fuzzy goin’ on up in me ‘ead. It’s too noisy, a right muffled-roar cacophony, it is.

C’mon, you’ve gotta get yerself outta there, is what.

Outta where?

Outta your ‘ead, is what. You’ve a bad case of listening too much to yer own voices, mate, n’ not nearly enough to others.

What others?

Yer friends. Yer tribe. Yer voices of reason. Y’know, all them blokes what tells you how nice n’ good n’ beautiful on the inside you is.

Oh… But they’re just being nice.

Right they are! And why’dya think they’d be doing that, then?

Hmmm. Supposin’ it’s maybe they be taking a shine to me?

The real You, they do!

Justin… Are they right in doin’ so?

I suppose you’ll never know, not until you do likewise.

•••

(yes, you’ll have to listen to the song to see how the story ends.)