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Mondays Finish the Story

enjoythegoathead

The petroglyphs told the story of an unusual event.

Troy looked up from his phone, “What is it?”

This was George’s chance to finally connect with his tween Grandson. He wasn’t enjoying this outing to the Natural History Museum as much as he hoped.

Troy looked backed down to Facebook.

George began, “Long ago, ancient coming of age boys would run naked through the forest with soda cans tied around their waist.”

Still looking down -flicking that thumb.

He continued, “Goats have a natural affinity for eating aluminum so they would release hundreds of them to give chase to the boys.”

Nothing. Flick, flick.

“The first one to get a chunk bitten out of his ass became the Tribal Elder.”

“See?”

With that Troy looked up to see his Grandpa’s weathered butt cheek. A piece was missing that had been used as a skin graft from an accident in his twenties.

“Ah! Grandpa that is so gross,” but he couldn’t contain his laughter. He quickly slipped his phone back into his pocket.

Connected at last.

2015-07-20-bw-beacham

© 2015, Barbara W. Beacham

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Mondays Finish the Story – July 20th, 2015

mondays-finish-the-story

July 24th, 2015

Posted In: Mondays Finish the Story, Short Stories

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catsnowcone

The best and coldest spectacle comes into town once a year.

The event is called the Snow Circus.

Lions, bears and tigers all on parade gliding gracefully with their handlers.

Slick frozen surfaces sparkling under massive spotlights cause big crowds to pour in from the surrounding countryside to see a show.

The Summertime Snow Vendor; he hatched a plan this year to steal their winter secrets for his own.

Year after year he shovels snow from the surface to store deep in his freezing cave.

He grows tired, now, of the cold, of the dark. Off to the show tonight.

PHOTO PROMPT © Dee Lovering

PHOTO PROMPT © Dee Lovering

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sunrise-ff-banner

July 24th, 2015

Posted In: 100 Word Stories, Friday Fictioneers, Short Stories

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derpgoat

The petroglyphs told the story of an unusual event.

Mr Almonde Pasteva was a researcher who knew how to read petroglyphs and was very famous.

One day he saw a petroglyph with a very old and unusual story.

There was once a family called the Oogaboogens and they lived on a goat farm.

The family consisted of two kids, one girl named Oogmi, her twin brother named Oogum and two parents. The mom Ushulake and the dad Upilllokekuse and this family inspired a lot of items we use today.

Oogmi inspired origami, Oogum inspired gum, Ushulake inspired shoelaces, and Upilllokekuse inspired pillowcases. And one more member was their pet goat who didn’t have a name and every day Upilllokekuse would hit him with a branch. One day they saw a portal, which a weird house car made, so they jumped in and are now a normal family.

“Sarah (10 years old) made some great names in this one. If you could only hear her say them (Oog-me, Oo-gum, Oosh-lake-ee and the last one I can’t even attempt to get out phonetically). She surprised me with this one. I’m proud. That’ll do pig. That’ll do.” – Danny (read other stories by Sarah)

2015-07-20-bw-beacham

© 2015, Barbara W. Beacham

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Mondays Finish the Story – July 20th, 2015

mondays-finish-the-story

July 22nd, 2015

Posted In: Mondays Finish the Story, Short Stories

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puglife

“Execute this foul creature post haste,” the King commanded.

Heads in the throne room twisted about to see who among them had been condemned. The young squire of a visiting Knight trembled in fear at the end of the King’s authoritative gaze.

“Friends do you not smell the stench? This young man has spoiled himself where he stands.”

The entire Royal Court began to take notice of the small throne room being quickly enveloped in the fragrance of sewage.

“Quickly now. We shall resume council in the east wing dining room.”

Strong guards seized the young man ignoring the pleas for mercy and innocence from his Knight. He was promptly beheaded in the square.

That evening as the maids were cleaning the throne room the stench remained.

The keenest nosed among them was determined to track the smell. She was lead to the King’s own royal cushion. There a dark brown stain was found, crusted deep into the intricate embroidery. A pact thick as a bloodline sisterhood was instantly bestowed upon the women. No one who valued their life would breathe a word of the royal shat. Not that you wanted to breathe in there anyway.

Henry VIII’s throne, Dover Castle, UK

Henry VIII’s throne,
Dover Castle, UK

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Sunday Photo Fiction – July 19th 2015

spf

July 20th, 2015

Posted In: Short Stories, Sunday Photo Fiction

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whooopie

“Excuse me sire can you please calm down,” the butler pleaded as prince Nicholas was walking around the room.

“I am King Henry VIIIs great great great great great great great grandson so no one can tell me what to do,” Prince Nicholas shouted at his butler.

“I am very sorry sire,” the butler said in fear.

Prince Nicholas saw the fear in his butlers eyes an said, “I am sorry for shouting at you John.”

Nicholas was very stressed. “Please sit down dad,” one of his children said. “You look stressed.”

“Thank you for saying that Georgia,” Nicholas said as he was sitting down.

“PPBBFFFFFFFFTTT!” The chair made a loud fart noise and Georgia said, “there was a whoopee cushion on granddad’s throne.”

And everyone in the room laughed. Even Nicholas.

“It is no surprise that Sarah’s 10 year old mind would bring us a contemporary glimpse into the life of King Henry’s decedents this week. Mainly, revealing one of the oldest pranks in the book.” – Danny

Henry VIII’s throne, Dover Castle, UK

Henry VIII’s throne,
Dover Castle, UK

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Sunday Photo Fiction – July 19th 2015

spf

July 20th, 2015

Posted In: Short Stories, Sunday Photo Fiction

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