hell.

Remember when I used to do Flickr Fiction? Of course you don't, because that was a coon's age ago. But anyway, I used to do be part of this group of people who would make up short stories based on pictures that Donal found on Flickr.

We would post these stories to our blogs and then everyone who wasn't also part of the Flickr Fiction crew would ignore the post and wait until we got back to talking about naked teenagers or dog grooming or whatever the hell it is that we normally talked about.

Then, at some point, I don't remember when, all the Flickr Fiction crew decided it would be a good idea to create a site solely dedicated to our Flickr Fictionry and I promptly stopped writing because I am lazy and more inclined to call myself a writer than actually be one.

But today, for the first time in Forever Land, I actually wrote something. The piece itself can be found here, and it is based on a photo that can be found here. I'll warn you that it is unusually dark for me.

One part of my childhood comes to a violent end

"Alright, sir. If you wouldn't mind running through it again for us..."

"Sure, me and my son, we're here in the kitchen making Slurpees..."

"I think Slurpee is a trademarked product, sir."

"Fine, we're making a Slurpee-like flavored ice drink in the kitchen, when suddenly this huge son of a bitch comes crashing through the wall and screaming at us."

"Through the wall?"

"Yeah. Right through a fucking brick wall. Scared the shit out of Tyler. He just got over wetting the bed, too. This experience ain't gonna do him no favors."

"And what did you do?"

"Well, fortunately I had my Smith and Wesson Model 500 holstered..."

"I'm sorry."

"Smith and Wesson Model 500. It's a .50 caliber handgun. Anyway..."

"Hold on - .50 caliber?! You just happened to be carrying, not just a loaded firearm, but the most powerful handgun in the world. In your kitchen."

"What part of the Second Amendment says I can't have a gun in my kitchen?"

"Fair enough. I assume you attempted to shoot the assailant?"

"Emptied the fucking chamber at him. But, he moved really quick for such a big guy, so I think I only got him once."

"I'd think once with a .50 cal would be enough."

"He broke through a brick wall, remember. But it'll slow him down. He went off that way, up Davis Avenue."

"Yeah. We've got men out for him... OK, hold on, my radio's flashing at me. This is Detective Habbards, 10-9 please."

"Code 10. Code 10. Suspect spotted on Davis and 14th. Possible 11-47. Detective, I think we've got your guy."

"10-4. I'm 11-15."

"10-9, sir. I'm pretty sure you're not 11-15."

"Really? What's 11-15?"

"Ballgame in street."

"Huh? Why the hell is that a code?"

"No clue, sir. Presumably at one time the department had to break up a lot of ballgames."

"OK. 537 then?"

"Defrauding an innkeeper, sir?"

"Christ on a cupcake! What's the code for 'I'm on my way and I'll be there as fast as I can?'"

"There is no code for that, sir. It's assumed. If you want, you can say 'en route.'"

"10-4. En route."

-----

"OK, 10-97."

"'Officer arrived at scene.' Very good, sir."

"Thanks. 10-36*?"

"11:52**, sir"

"I'm fine. How are you holding up?"

"No, sir. 11:52 a.m., sir."

"Ah, right. All this is a long way to go just to show off that someone still remembers the radio codes for the San Diego Police Department. What's the situation here?"

"Well, sir, I'm pretty sure we've got your perp holed up in this Biffy over here. And from the looks of it he's in bad shape. Take a look at the snow leading up to the portable toilet -- stained with red."

"Jesus. OK, hand me the megaphone... Hey! You in there -- in the porta-potty. Can you hear me?"

"OH YEAH!"

"Wait a second. If there's snow on the ground, how could we have been using San Diego police codes?"

"Dramatic license, sir. I think we've got bigger problems. He's coming out."

"Mother of God! What is that thing?! Open fire! Open fire! Open fire!"

*Time check
**Are you OK?

-------------------------------

The above is a piece for Flickr Fiction. If you're lost as to what the short story was about perhaps this video will help. Also playing along this week are: TadMack, Neil and Valsha.

The Wisdom of Tea Bags

"Radiant inverted question mark, Sneaveweedle, where have you been? It feels as if I sent you for tea three months ago!" Penhill bellowed. "And what on earth are you doing on the floor?!"

"Oh moan," whimpered the travelling assistant. "I'm terribly sorry, but I'm not very stable on moving trains; I had to crawl back from the snacks trolley to avoid spilling the tea."

Penhill stared down at Sneaveweedle for a moment, then at the two paper cups in Sneaveweedle's hands. He took in a deep, whistling breath through his nose.

"Did it not occur to you to ask for a lid?" Penhill asked.

He took the cups of tea and Sneaveweedle climbed back into his seat in a graceless, flailing all-hands fumble across Moonfloat that resembled a teenage boy's first endeavour to second base. Each attempt to avoid touching her inappropriately resulted in making things worse; when he pulled back his hands to avoid touching her stomach, he fell face-first into her breasts. He eventually found his seat with the assistance of Penhill's shillelagh, which dug into his sternum and shoved him to his spot.

Sneaveweedle stared back in red-faced horror and embarrassment at Moonfloat, whose face was also red, but from laughter.

"For future reference," she giggled, "a woman expects dinner before you attempt something like that."

Sneaveweedle made a high-pitch squeak and attempted to hide by pulling up the collar of his green windcheater and slouching.

"I can read your tea bags for you if you'd like," Moonfloat said, pointing an unpolished fake fingernail at the cups of tea balanced in Penhill's left hand.

"You want to read the tea bags?" he sniffed.

"Yeah. I can do tea leaves, too, but no one drinks loose-leaf tea anymore, do they? So, I thought to myself one day, 'Oh, I'll have a go with the bags.' It's not as clear as the leaves, mind you, but it works."

"Indeed" Penhill said, plucking a tea bag from one of the cups. "Ah yes, I see what you mean. This tea bag is most certainly telling me something. It's coming in quite clearly, now: This tea is cold! It is undrinkable, Sneaveweedle."

Moonfloat ignored him, pulling a small square of blue plastic from her purse and placing it on the floor. She took the tea bag from Penhill's hand and dropped it onto the square.

"Hmm, OK..." she muttered, reaching down to pick up the square. She looked at it for a second, wiped it off on her skirt and placed it back on the floor. She then removed the tea bag from the second cup of tea, also dropping it on the square.

"There, you see?" she said, pointing to the floor.

"Brilliant," Penhill muttered. "You've made a mess. Congratulations. You don't charge people for this, I hope."

"See how the splatter pattern is similar to the other tea bag?" Moonfloat said. "That means your destinies are linked."

"And this long tea splatter means an adventure," she continued, pointing to a pattern that extended beyond the plastic square, "an adventure in, well, in that direction."

"Oh, I say," Sneaveweedle moaned, coming out of his windcheater cocoon. "That is quite exciting. An adventure, Sir Penhill. In that direction."

Sneaveweedle followed the direction of his own pointing out the window to a panoramic mid-afternoon view of the Pembrokeshire coast. The sun shone brilliantly. The train was pulling into Fishguard Harbour -- a strange lost fishing village amid green coastal cliffs. It was the sort of picture they put in holiday brochures or on the walls at chain hotels, but for the enormous Stena Line and Irish Ferries boats in dock. The ferries were like shining white office buildings turned on their sides and set on waves of light.

"In that direction is nothing but open sea. Ireland is over there," Penhill boomed, nodding to the right of where Sneaveweedle and the tea splatters were pointing. "The ferry would have to be horribly off course for us to end up in that direction."

"I'm afraid tea bags aren't very clear, Mr. Penhill," Moonfloat said. "But they are also never wrong."

==============================

The above is a piece of Flickr Fiction, inspired by this photo from user Dejon. I am quite out of practice in Flickr Fiction and creative writing in general at the moment, so keen observers will note that the photo doesn't particularly match the story I've written. That said, the two things that stood out for me in the picture were sunlight and a sense of adventure. That's what I've written on.
Also playing along this week are: Donal, Elisa, Sarah, and Tadmack.
You can catch up on previous episodes of Penhill and Sneaveweedle here. With this and a few other episodes, I have written in some necessary direction for myself, but for the most part the story is being written as I go along. I would love your input and ideas on where you think things should go from here.