A Matter of Taste

Photo by: Joy Pixley

David Wind Hawk hopped nimbly from rock to rock. He enjoyed being a tour guide, even though this marked the first time he got stuck with a politician and his lawyer.

David gestured. “And here is Vulture Rock. Navaho legend says anyone who sits in its mouth will be eaten.” David sat in the mouth, grinning. “It’s only a legend. I’ve guided hundreds of Wasichu* and all sat here safely.”

Howard Punter crawled up, wheezing, red-faced and sweating. He took David’s place in the Vulture’s mouth. “Hey take a picture, Stan!” he called. “I want the voters to know I’m an outdoorsman.”

Stan Greer wasn’t much better off than the Senator. Breathing hard, he reached for his cellphone. He hated doing things like this, but it was necessary to keep his sticky-fingered employer in office.

He pulled his phone out just as Vulture Rock’s jaws snapped shut, engulfing the politician.

“Aahh! You said it was safe!”

David was shocked. “That’s never happened before. I didn’t know it really was magical.”

“Any chance the stone bird would just spit him out?”

David shook his head. “This is Vulture Rock. Unlike voters, vultures like rotten things.”
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Written for Sunday Photo Fiction: https://sundayphotofictioner.wordpress.com/2018/07/28/sunday-photo-fiction-july-29-2018/

* Wasichu (pronounced: “Wah-See-Shoo”) is Native-American slang for White People.

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The Tradeoff

Photo by: Ted Strutz

The trio shuffled towards the boat. At their advanced age they proceeded slowly.

“It’s a shame Human bodies wear out so quickly,” said Bernice.

“True,” said Wade. “But we saw so much. The Pyramids, The Afghan markets.”

“The living bridges in India,” sighed Morgan.

“Retirement was fun,” said Wade. “But we’ll get younger, more vibrant human bodies on the island.”

“I’ll miss playing with my grandchildren,” sighed Bernice.

“As younger humans, we’ll have to get jobs and slave eighty hours a week,” said Wade.

“Deal with obnoxious bosses,” added Morgan.

Bernice stopped suddenly. “Can we get younger bodies next year?”
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Written for the Friday Fictioneers: https://rochellewisoff.com/2018/07/25/27-july-2018/

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A Study In Karma

Photo by: Liz Young

Levi was desperately poor, living off the grid in the wilds of Appalachia. Some days, he didn’t eat, the hunting was so poor.

He was quite surprised when he found a serial killer in his wild boar trap.

He took a picture with an old Polaroid. Then he sent smoke signals to his neighbor 25 miles away, the one with a phone, and got to work.

The FBI arrived a week later, anxious to capture Harry the Heart-Eater. Unfortunately, he was gone.

A frustrated Agent Fredericks said, “What was he like?”

“Not bad,” said Levi. “Especially with ketchup and mustard.”
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Written for the Friday Fictioneers: https://rochellewisoff.com/2018/07/11/13-july-2018/

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The Misfire

Photo by: wildverbs

On the tiny isle of Miklos, resorts sprouted up everywhere. The super-rich and the famous flocked to its opulent hotels and warm seas. Here, Niko plied his gold-digging trade.

He found her sitting in a beach chair, broad-rimmed hat flowing around her hair. A filmy, white dress fluttered in the breeze across the seat back. Birds flocked above her. Clearly, she was alone.

He approached from behind, letting his rich voice touch her. “The sea seeks its bliss in the beauty of your eyes. The wind longs to caress your skin. Your beautiful dress dances across your body, wondering at the glorious curves of you.”

He saw her twitch at his words, knowing she was touched by his practiced oratory. He drew near to her.

“Even the white birds flock to be close to your beauty.”

As he stepped next to her, she removed her hat.

“I’ll tell my wife you like her dress,” said Frank, lounging against the dress and scratching at his beard. “And I’m pretty sure the seagulls after my fish & chips.”
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Written for: Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers: https://flashfictionforaspiringwriters.wordpress.com/2018/07/09/fffaw-challenge-173rd/

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Kerpow!

Photo by: J Hardy Carroll

After Officer Moynihan started walking his new beat, crime rose for about two weeks. The crooks knew he had a prosthetic leg, and they figured he could never catch anyone.

Unknown to them, Moynihan was a world-class sprinter before his accident. Even with the prosthetic, he still ran faster than most everyone, but that wasn’t the worst of it for the bad guys.

After the third purse-snatcher in a day entered the station, in cuffs with a bootprint upside his head, the truth was revealed.

It’s just that no one expected his artificial leg had a boomerang feature.
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Written for the Friday Fictioneers: https://rochellewisoff.com/2018/07/04/6-july-2018/

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The Decision

Photo by: Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Piper worked on her latest music composition, looping parts through her keyboard while adding another part on guitar.

An alien crashed through her door, blasters raised in tentacles.

“Ohmigosh!” squeaked Piper. “Are you abducting me?”

Hah’zul’s mission was indeed to capture her for dissection. If he brought her back within minutes he would receive a promotion. Back home he’d be hailed as a war hero. Females would flock to his pools. Riches would be his.

Or he could listen to this human’s beautiful music.

The decision was simple, really.

Hah’zul lowered his guns. “Would you play that song again?”

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Written for the Friday Fictioneers: https://rochellewisoff.com/2018/06/27/29-june-2018/

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The Solo Effort

Photo by: Yinglan Z.

Captain Jones stood upon a hilltop of the newly colonized planet, New Montana. A team of his hand-picked men helped him raise the massive flagpole. Soon the United States flag flapped proudly in the breeze.

“I claim New Montanta for the United States of America!” he shouted proudly.

Photographers took pictures of the proud moment.

After the ceremony, everyone returned to their tasks building the colony. Jones remained behind and surveyed the terrain.

A supply ship landed with vital colony supplies. Mr. Yaminashi, the deliveryman, asked Jones to sign the shipping order. “New colony?” he said.

“It is,” said Jones. “This planet is claimed solely by the USA. Proof that only America can complete a solo effort to explore space. What’s in the shipment?”

Yaminashi looked down the list. “Lessee. Habitat domes from Germany, ham from Denmark, blankets from Peru, furniture from Sweden, rovers from China, ramen from Japan…”
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Written for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers: https://flashfictionforaspiringwriters.wordpress.com/2018/06/25/fffaw-challenge-171st/

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