“A Single Bullet Deleted His Future.”
It was a contest like no other.
Testing nerves against the myth of the graveyard: Spend a night there, without letting the ambient atmosphere unnerve you. None lasted through the night. Either fear claimed them, making them run.
Or the graveyard did.
Word Count: 42
“Cuppa Joe: Someone’s Routine; Somebody’s Dream”
The Sun’s Hot Anger
Makes The Homeward Road Sizzle
Roasts Bottom of Feet
It was a slow sunday, just the way I like it.
It started off with a bright, boozy brunch. The food was as good as if not better than the merry conversations at the table. My head still floating with a mild buzz, I decided to visit the museum. It always transported me to the past. I walked through all the exhibits, taking my time to read all the descriptions. The solid, factual language used, was a nice change from the flowery words I was used to at work. After spending a couple of hours at all the exhibits, I made my way to the technology wing. This was my favourite section. As I observed the handheld devices, I remembered the smartphone era from my childhood. We still had to touch the screen. Today, my brain-link glasses do it all for me.
I only have to think…
Word Count: 147
Sunday Photo Fiction – Sep 8 2019
Photo courtesy of LL Jones
These are lonely roads that I ride on.
No vexing women and no malevolent men.
This is my zone, my place of tranquility.
A chance to get away from death.
But sometimes, it follows me, in the form of bandits.
At these times, I let my pistols do the talking…
A walk in the weekly market was what I needed.
It had been a rough couple of days. My house was burgled. They did not get their hands on my money, but they did get away with items that held sentimental value for me. Replacing them was impossible. Or so I thought, until I came upon a music stall at the market. The golden gramophone caught my eye. It would be a good substitute for the one I lost. The stall owner smiled at me as I began looking at the instrument with admiring eyes. It was the same colour, model and had the same initials carved on to it. Wait..
That was my gramophone!!!
Word Count: 115
Today marks the one month anniversary of our arrival.
This cave has sheltered us and our guns allowed us to hunt.
However, our ammunition won’t last long.
Will we end up becoming Paleolithic food?
Maybe the time machine wasn’t the greatest idea.
Will we ever escape back to our time?
Word Count: 50
My Purgatory: No Choice Other Than Viewing Only Myself Eternally…