A Mighty Sport
Every other day, Ian walked past the marker on the way for fish & chips at the Waterfront Restaurant and Bar in Cumbria, UK. He enjoyed the walk down West Strand past all the sail boats moored in the harbor. For the most part, he didn’t pay much attention to the stone sign marking the entrance to The Waterfront. Then one day, he stopped to stare at it.
Something was different.
Each time he passed the sign for a fortnight, he stared at it in wonder. Finally, he figured it out. The latitude and longitude, providing the exact geographic location of the sign, was written in stone upon it. Somehow, the location had changed.
At first, Ian thought he was losing his mind. Then he brought the GPS on his phone into play. Each time he passed the sign, he noted the readings on his phone as he stood by the sign. Over two weeks, the unbelievable was proven true. The city of Whitehaven, perhaps even all of Britain, was moving. He took his findings to the press and within days, social panic rocked the entire nation.
On the other side of Britain, a man who stood three meters tall, pulled hard on a rope as thick as a tree. He wore a cape and shining armor beneath long golden hair. His calloused hands easily pulled the great rope which stretched out to sea. An answering tug pulled him back. He grinned heroically and pulled again.
Dark clouds formed above him. A hand the size of a small island reached out and pointed an accusing finger. “Stop it at once, Thor!” boomed the voice of Odin, the All-Father. “You and Hercules have played tug-of-war long enough!”
Each week, photographer Alastair Forbes offers a first-born photograph to the gods, so that we may use it as a prompt to write flash fiction. This is my story for the week. Look here to see what others wrote: https://sundayphotofictioner.wordpress.com/2015/07/05/sunday-photo-fiction-july-5th-2015/