Cee’s Fun Foto Challenge: Pairs

This week at Cee’s Fun Foto Challenge we’re looking for: Pairs. I only wish I had a couple of “pears” to photograph. I still have some other things that I hope you enjoy.







Look for other folks response to the challenge right here: http://ceenphotography.com/2015/05/19/cees-fun-foto-challenge-pairs/

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Mission Accomplished – Mutant 750

Mission Accomplished

Victoria wished she imitated German accents better. It would lead the police to the desired conclusions. Unfortunately, no one in her time spoke German anymore. As a policeman rifled through her purse at the nearby table, she only hoped he found the clue.

The policeman sitting across the interrogation table from her dressed well in a white shirt and tie. It was typical for 1939 in America. Too bad the quality of his brain failed to match his snappy fashion sense.

“You don’t look like no burglar I ever seen, doll,” said Detective Keeling. He lit a cigarette and grinned. “Glamorous, even.”

Victoria’s form-fitting red dress suited the time. Though a little racy, the slit skirt revealed carefully bio-sculpted legs for maximum appeal. Now that she had the policeman’s full attention, it was important to get his brain working. So far, that had proven difficult. Mission commanders insisted she employ subtlety. Victoria had begun to believe a sledgehammer between his eyes was entirely too subtle for him.

“Nonetheless, I’m still a thief. A good one. Only the best for the Reich…I mean, my employer.”

Vaguely mentioning the Nazi’s Thousand-Year Reich, the criminals starting World War Two, will really get their attention, she thought.

“Rick?” said Keeling. “Who’s Rick? Your accomplice?”

“No, I said…” Victoria rubbed her temple. What do I have to do?

“C’mon lady! What were you doing at the lab of…” He consulted his notes. “Leó Szilárd, the matha-me-tatical guy?”

“He’s a physicist.”

“Physician? Nah, he ain’t a doctor.”

Victoria felt a migraine crashing behind her eyes.

“C’mon. Just tell me what really happened,” insisted Keeling.

Subtlety be damned!

“Fine! I’ve traveled back in time to influence your American President to begin the Manhattan Project. There! Satisfied?”

“Oh sure, I know this one,” laughed Keeling. “Dat famous guy wrote a book about time travel. What’s his name?”

“H.G. Wells,” supplied Victoria.

“Nah, dat ain’t it. Babe Ruth! That’s his name.”

Victoria groaned. “Babe Ruth is a baseball player.”

“Well he’s famous!” defended Keeling.

With a roar, Victoria stood up and shoved the other policeman away from her purse. She snatched her lipstick, and pushed the metal end of it right up to Keeling’s eyes.

“So? It’s lipstick,” grunted Keeling.

“Look carefully!”

Keeling’s eyes bulged. “Hey! That’s a Nazi Swastika!”

Victoria collapsed into the other chair with a sigh.


Keeling pointed an accusing finger. “You’re a Nazi spy!”

Good boy!

Victoria fell into character. “Zo! You’ve caught zee infamous Frau Zwilling. I nearly ezcaped!”

“Ha! Not on your life, sister,” crowed Keeling. “You can’t fool me so easily.”

Wanna bet?

Victoria checked her watch. She was back on schedule, and none too soon. Jonesy was due to arrive any moment. She decided to continue her German accent after all. Keeling didn’t own the wit to see through it anyway. “I vill still escape meine kinder! Mein Freund Jonesy vill arrife zoon!”

Right on cue, the sound of gunfire erupted from outside the interrogation room. Booms echoed, and suddenly the wall crashed apart. Standing in an enormous hole in the wall was a machine. Or perhaps it was just an 8-foot kangaroo wearing coppery plate armor. Police had trouble trying to delineate what they saw.

“What the hell is that?” shrieked Keeling.

“Mein Freund, Jonesy,” grinned Victoria.

Bullets pinged uselessly off of its armor as Keeling emptied his revolver firing at it. When the ricochets stopped bouncing, Victoria pressed a secret panel beneath Jonesy’s armor, activating its on-board temporal-projection field. Victoria grinned in mock malevolence. “Until vee meet again, Herr Keeling!”


Alexander Zachs entered the oval office with trepidation. President Franklin Roosevelt looked up from his papers and glared. “Alex, if this is about that Einstein-Szilárd letter again, I’m still considering it.”

“Yes, sir. But do you remember what you said before?”

“Yes! I want more proof the Nazis are developing their own atomic weapon.”

Zachs handed a document to the President. “This is a police report, describing a break-in at Leo Szilárd’s lab…by a German spy!”

Roosevelt read the report and sighed. “This is most distressing. Alright, Alex! I’ll convene a board that considers Mr. Einstein’s assertions. Will that be acceptable to you?”

The clone of Alexander Zachs, created in 2129, smiled as he walked from the Oval Office. The Manhattan Project would occur after all. Civilian nuclear fission would develop in the 1960s. Cleaner nuclear fusion would follow in 2072. Humanity would be ready when aliens invaded in 2118. People would survive. Mission accomplished!
Author’s Notes:

Albert Einstein, Leo Szilárd, Alexander Zachs, Franklin Roosevelt, H.G. Wells, and Babe Ruth are all historical figures. History shows that it was the Einstein–Szilárd letter that convinced Franklin Roosevelt to begin the Manhattan Project. My story is the same, with “slight” twist. ;) I hope you enjoyed a little fun with alternative history. Here’s how it really happened: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Einstein%E2%80%93Szil%C3%A1rd_letter

Each week, the Grammar Ghoul Press offers the “Mutant 750″ writing challenge. It includes a photo prompt (seen above) and a word prompt. This week it was “delineate.” Look here to see other stories answering the prompts: http://www.grammarghoulpress.com/gg-writing-challenge-34/

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A Universe – Friday Fictioneers

Photo by: Santoshwriter

A Universe

Melissa pointed her tiny, 5-year old finger at the leaf. “Daddy. What’s that?”

“That’s a dewdrop, sweetie,” said Joshua.

“What’s a dewdrop?”

“Well,” said Joshua. “Most think it’s a drop of water, but actually, it’s a tiny Universe. It looks just like ours. The people living there don’t know it’s tiny. They think everything inside is the right size.”

“Are they nice?”

“Oh yes, just like you.”

Inside the dewdrop, there really was a tiny Universe. Inside, a little girl named Melinda asked her father what a dewdrop was.

“It holds a tiny Universe,” said Jacob.

“…a small Universe,” said John.

“…a Universe…”

Written for the Friday Fictioneers. Look here for more stories based upon the photo above: https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2015/05/20/22-may-2015/

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Mollie Gob & The Crisp – Super-Short Mega Story

Photo by: Matthew Wright

Mollie Gob & The Crisp

Glenn, Bert, and Jensen stood on the bank of the lake fishing and drinking beer. Mostly, they drank beer.

Glenn opened a Victoria Bitter. “The story goes,” he said. “There’s a dinosaur, a Plesiosaur they say, is what’s livin’ in the lake.”

“Heard that one too,” said Bert. “That’s fair dinkum.”

“Bloody furphy,” scowled Jensen, munching on potato crisps. “A stupid fairytale.”

“Nah. It’s dinky di,” said Glenn. “Locals call her, ‘Mollie Gob.’ She’s got this long neck. She snatches fishermen straight off the bank without leaving the water.”

The only response from Jensen was him eating crisps.

Bert glared at Jensen. “You keep eating those fookin’ crisps, you’ll become one some day.”

Jensen chewed louder.

“You’re scarin’ the fish, mate! Shoot through, would ya’?”

Grumbling, Jensen wandered down the bank into the brush.

After an hour, Glenn said, “Seen Jensen?”

“Nah, but I can hear him crunching his crisps.”

“Sounds different. There’s meaty sounds too.”

Bert said, “We’d best check on him, I reckon.”

All they found were Jensen’s shredded, bloody trousers. “Strike a light!” shouted Glenn. “Ol’ Molly Gob got ‘im!”

Bert shook his head. “I told him he’d become a Crisp one day!”
Author’s Notes:

When I originally imagined this story, I wanted to look up one, just one Australian/New Zealander slang term. I found so many, I couldn’t help including a bunch of them. Here’s a little glossary:

Furphy: A lie or rumour.
Dinky Di: The real deal. Legitimate.
Fair dinkum: Legitimate. True. Can be used as a question or a statement. Ex: Are you being fair dinkum, mate?
Shoot through: Leave.
Spit the dummy: To become very angry. To have a tantrum.
Crisp: Potato Chip (may or may not be Australian. Definitely British.)
Strike a light!: An exclamation of surprise or frustration.

Victoria Bitter

This is the first writing challenge by author Matthew Wright (as far as I know). So I definitely wanted to join in this one. Check out the original post and see what other folks wrote: https://mjwrightnz.wordpress.com/2015/05/20/writing-inspirations-surprising-beauty-in-artificial-nature/

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Those Special Differences – Gargleblaster Microstories #214

“We met online,” said Teresa. Her seeing-eye dog rested beside her.

“But,” grimaced Sandy at Bob’s odd coloration. “Bob’s a mutant!”

Bob’s long, flexible tongue flicked out and snatched a cheese wedge.

“I know.” Teresa squirmed happily. “I love that about him.”

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A Talk With Nature – Mondays Finish the Story

Photo by Barbara W. Beacham

A Talk With Nature

The crew of the Angel Flame received orders to head out. It was tense aboard the research sub as it dived 2,000ft into Antarctic waters. The vociferous global-warming skeptic aboard, Vance Stone, kept the naturalist crewmen constantly on edge with his impromptu lectures ridiculing accepted science. Captain Caldwell reminded him often, “Nature will tell us when we’ve pushed it too hard.”

A day later, Nature sent an angry emissary.

After an “emergency blow” the endangered submarine surfaced. Caldwell and Stone looked out from the conning tower. A giant tentacle from a Colossus Squid, Nature’s apparent emissary, snatched Stone up. Holding him tightly, it began pounding his head into the conning tower.


XO Jimmy Whitley joined Caldwell. “What’s that banging…Ohmigod!”


Caldwell calmly lit his pipe. “Seems Nature is explaining…”


“…in no uncertain terms…”


“…that we’ve pushed it too far….”


Whitley stared aghast at Calwell’s aplomb. “Shouldn’t we stop this?”

“Eventually,” puffed Caldwell. “The sub might get damaged.”


Author’s Notes:

I didn’t make up the Colossal Squid. It really exists in Nature: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Colossal_squid
Submarines in peril will blow all their ballast during an Emergency Blow to surface as quickly as possible: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emergency_main_ballast_tank_blow

Each week, talented photographer Barbara W. Beacham offers up an original photo as a flash fiction prompt. She provides the first line. This week we start with, “The crew of the Angel Flame received orders to head out.” Look here for more stories anwering this week’s prompts: https://mondaysfinishthestory.wordpress.com/2015/05/18/mondays-finish-the-story-may-18th-2015/

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Cornering the Market – Sunday Photo Fiction

Photo by: Alistair Forbes

Cornering the Market

Danielle could easily hear the music from the ice cream truck. It played that same discordant melody that could grab your attention from anything. If Dad was watching the NBA Playoffs too loudly, it still could be heard. The song could cut through any white noise; frying chicken, children’s TV, or dryers warming tennis shoes. If you thought elevator music was banal, well, listen to an ice cream truck and you’d realize even Muzak has something to look down upon.

When the ice cream truck neared her house, Danielle stopped beside her front door. She picked up a 4-foot long tube that looked impressively like a mailing tube for large documents. She stepped outside as the truck stopped and neighborhood children began to gather beside it. Danielle walked up to it and eyed the ice cream man carefully. Sometimes, they really were what they seemed to be.

It happened so fast, most people would never see it. That characteristic triple-blink gave them away every time. The androids of the Anjulatti Federation needed to upload to the server cloaked in orbit. It interrupted normal functions for an instant, and produced that tell-tale triple blink.

The ice cream man handed out ice cream cones. “Make sure you eat that gooey middle. It’s SO yummy!”

Danielle knew exactly what that was. The gooey center was loaded with microscopic machines. After eating it, the nanites would reprogram the children’s brains, making them love ONLY Anjulatti Federation ice cream. A blatant ploy at cornering the ice cream market.

Children weren’t going to be programmed like THAT in her neighborhood, not on her watch. She pressed a hidden panel on the tube. Status lights lit up and a handle with trigger moved into her hand. She raised the tube and aimed.

The ice cream man saw the movement. He knew instantly he was trapped, unable to stop her. “Until we meet again, Hunter,” he glared.

Danielle fired and the entire truck glowed with shimmering light. It collapsed suddenly, taking the ice cream truck with it. The light shrank to a pinpoint, and it winked out.

The nearby children collapsed into unconsciousness. Most humans couldn’t handle the wave effects of a multi-singlet baryon-collapser field. The kids would be fine, she knew. They’d wake up in a few minutes, remembering nothing.

She returned inside and put the tube back in its place beside the door. Her husband, Frank saw her.

“Honey? What’re you doing?”

Danielle pointed a thumb over her shoulder. “Anjulatti Federation. Trying to reprogram the kids.”

“Those fiends!”

“Yep. How’s it going?”

Frank’s left pinkie twitched three times very fast, uploading to the cloaked server in orbit. “Still programming the nanites. They’ll be ready soon.”

“Good.” Danielle sat on the couch and plugged a power cable into her wrist. “I’ve got the gooey centers for our ice cream truck ready. It won’t be long before the United Provinces of Inrajashan have properly cornered the ice cream market!”
It’s Sunday! It’s that special time when good little writers write flash fiction based upon the photos of Alistair Forbes. This is my story, answering the photo prompt above. Look here for more stories: https://sundayphotofictioner.wordpress.com/2015/05/17/sunday-photo-fiction-may-17th-2015/

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