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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greypouon

Jacques stared defeated at his dropped steaming kielbasa. There it lay, gathering gravel and dirt.

“I’ll kill you Maurice.”

A jar of mustard thrown shattered on the ground staining the meat an off yellow.

“My Dijon will live forever Auguste!” A second jar of mustard thrown broke upon the cobblestone in the same place.

Jacques stood transfixed, ignorant of the surrounding chaos.

Crowds stomped the pavement in pursuit of one another.

Jacques lifted the dripping link with his fingers. He hesitated only a moment before taking a bite.

A smile emerged through lips dripping with mustard.

Grey Poupon was born.

PHOTO PROMPT- © Sandra Crook

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July 17th, 2015

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

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IMG_0303

“When am I?” wondered Jen. “Late 1800s maybe?”

Jen was a member of a band called “Killer Chains” and was known as “Blue Chains.”

But she was also an undercover time traveler which traveled around the world in her house on wheels named “Veronica.”

One day she decided to randomly press a button without looking and stay there for a few hours.

After she pressed the button she swirled through a vortex of colors and old items.

After that she arrived in an old timey place and started driving Veronica around the area surprising every single person that she passed.

My 10 year old step daughter Sarah is back this week with an undercover time traveler. She was inspired by the photo below and one of her most recent Lego creations “Veronica.” Which is apparently a motorhome that enables time travel. – Danny

PHOTO PROMPT- © Sandra Crook

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July 16th, 2015

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

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aircraft-547105_1280

Delphine always wanted to pilot her father’s plane and when he forgot his keys on her tenth birthday, she knew that taking off would be easy.

That night she made her play, sneaking out while her Father was out flying an emergency delivery for the Post Office using their plane.

It was easy as they lived in an old converted hanger right on the airfield.

Sitting in the pilot’s seat she eyed all the controls and went through the motions she saw her father do hundreds of times.

No matter how much she begged he never let her fly.

The small single prop rumbled to life tensing her tiny body in fear from the violent vibrations.

‘This was stupid,’ she thought to herself.

The engine promptly died as the passenger door opened.

“Going somewhere birthday girl?” her father smiled as he fitted himself into the passenger seat.

Delphine was silent and ready for a thrashing. Her father calmly buckled his seatbelt and pushed the starter.

“Passenger is ready,” they smiled at each other as she took her first night solo flight.


 

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Mondays Finish the Story – July 13th, 2015

© 2015, Barbara W. Beacham

© 2015, Barbara W. Beacham

mondays-finish-the-story

July 14th, 2015

Posted In: Mondays Finish the Story, Short Stories

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