Tag Archives: Sunday Photo Fiction

Chivalry in decline…

195-03-march-19th-2017

‘We’ve been over this a dozen times Gregory. I grow tired of repeating myself.’

‘Yes, and I apologise for the inconvenience, but surely there’s a more mutually beneficial way of sealing our union than a duel to the death with an opponent famed throughout the land for being able to pull a man’s arms out at the sockets. Don’t get me wrong – I’m not saying that you’re not ‘fair’ enough fair-maiden…’

‘Now Gregory, you know how I despise double-negatives!’

‘Yes…but under the circumstances of my imminent, garish dismemberment one might expect to be granted a little leeway?’

‘To win my hand you must prove your worth.’

‘But why must I be the greatest warrior? Why can’t I bake you the greatest cake? or sow you the greatest quilt?’

‘The crowd grows restless my love.’

‘OK…well, in that case…let me just go…check…that…my sword has been sufficiently sharpened.’

‘…And you’re not going to leap onto the fastest horse you can find and gallop away like the last lot?’

‘Upon my honour fairish maiden…’

 

(172 words)

Written for: Sunday Photo Fiction

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Someplace Else…(Sunday Photo Fiction)

194-03-march-12th-2017

‘Their greatest trepidation when embarking upon the 250-year mission was that the folks back home would simply forget about them, and their fears were well-founded. With the pace of  life of being what it is – ever more rapid and introspective, they were presumed lost. The technology was unproven over such a duration and their dormant bodies wouldn’t stir for many decades, if at all.

When the signal arrived the government deciphered it using an analog device they borrowed from a museum. Before them, in gloriously grainy splendour, stood a solitary astronaut. There were no words and no movement. What did it mean? Had they been successful in their colonisation, or had everything gone disastrously wro…’

The young man paused the tape.

‘Granddad made this shortly after the Aurora programme was cancelled. They let him keep the suit, and the rest he mocked up in the attic with bin bags and tinsel.’

‘Why an earth would he do such a thing?’

‘To hang onto the path-not-taken I guess. His desire was to die heroically out on the frontiers of the unknown…and instead he’s sitting in a lawn chair talking to himself, repeating over and over again…heaven’s door slammed shut.’

Written for: Sunday Photo Fiction

Photo: © A Mixed Bag 2012

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