Keith explains. “Using this photo (below) as inspiration, write a short story, flash fiction, scene, poem; anything, really; and either put it (or a link to it) in a comment or email it to me at keithkreates@channing.fr before 6pm next Sunday (if you aren’t sure what the time is where I live, this link will tell you). If you post it on your own blog or site, a link to this page would be appreciated, but please do also mention it in a comment here – pingbacks don’t often work.

Go on. You know you want to. Let your creativity and imagination soar. I shall display the entries, with links to your own blog or web site, next Monday.

The Photo.

“Psst. Hey, mister.”

“W-what? Who said that?”

“You waiting to see the doc?”

“Are you talking to me?”

“Who else is in the room. Look around. No one here but us two.”

“Wait a minute. Cats can’t talk. Is this some kind of prank?”

“It would be called a punked. And no this is not that.”

“So what is it? Somebody throwing their voice?”

“No. See my lips moving. I’m really trying to talk to you.”

“So what do you want?”

“I’ll tell you what I don’t want.”

“Whats that?”

“The damn operation that’s what.”

“What operation?”

“Man, you are real quick aren’t you?”

“No need to be rude.”

“Yeah, sorry. I’m using my cat brain and my human voice. Sometimes the two don’t work together right.”

“No problem. Let me ask again, what operation? You look fine to me.”

“Then why do they say I need to be fixed. I don’t feel broken.”

“Oh, I get it. You’re going to be neutered.”

“Neutered? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you won’t be able to sire more cats.”

“And how is this a good thing?”

“Well, for one thing, you won’t be bringing unwanted and perhaps abandoned kittens into the world.”

“I get that. What do I get out of this deal?”

“You won’t be fighting with other cats and will possibly live longer.”

“Okay, most of my fights are over romance. Are you saying there is no more romance?”

“Yup. All of that will be forgotten.”

“So they are going to fix my brain?”

“No. Just the things that cause your brain to go crazy at the sight of a female. Everything else remains the same.”

“So no fights and no romance and you say I may live longer.”

“That’s what they tell me.”

“Maybe it just seems like you live longer with all that boredom.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“You been fixed?”

“More or less son. More or less.”

Keith explains, “Using this photo (below) as inspiration, write a short story, flash fiction, scene, poem; anything, really; and either put it (or a link to it) in a comment or email it to me at keithkreates@channing.fr before 6pm next Sunday (if you aren’t sure what the time is where I live, this link will tell you). If you post it on your own blog or site, a link to this page would be appreciated, but please do also mention it in a comment here – pingbacks don’t often work.

Go on. You know you want to. Let your creativity and imagination soar. I shall display the entries, with links to your own blog or web site, next Monday.”

The photo.

The Wizard by John W. Howell © 2017

“Who knocks at the portal of the Great Grand Inquisitor?”

“We have a candidate who is unworthy.”

“Any worst than the last one.”

“Well thins one is certainly not as pretty.”

“Speaking of that check on her and see if she is still breathing.”

“Yes, sir. She’s asleep in her chair.”

“So what brings this candidate to my lair … er … portal?”

“This person wants wisdom sire.”

“Wisdom? Is he out of his mind?”

“Why would that be your highness?”

“With wisdom comes responsibility. look at him.”

“The blindfold you mean.?”

“Not him. The other guy.”

“The other guy is me, sire.”

“Now you have me confused. Who is the candidate?”

“This one in the blue shirt with the blindfold.”

“Why the blindfold?”

“To keep our secrets sacred.”

“What secrets?”

“Gosh, boss I don’t know. I just thought there were things people shouldn’t see.”

“I’m beginning to wonder about you.”

“A-about me? Why about me?”

“Well, for one thing, there’s the blindfold. For another you have all these weird lights running around the room. They are making me dizzy. Also, who is the guy holding up the wall? Finally, where did you get that tie?”

“Okay, I get it. You have some doubts about me. I can assure you all these things can be fixed.”

“Okay. Fix them, and we will talk.”

“What about the candidate?”

“Can he hear us?”

“Yes.”

“Candidate.”

“Y-yes sir.”

“Go in peace.”

“Thank you, sir. Uh, one question.”

“Yes?”

“I’m broke and wonder if you can you help me out?”

“Sure. Which way did you come in?”

Keith tells us what is going on. “On to this week’s challenge: Using this photo (below) as inspiration, write a short story, flash fiction, scene, poem; anything, really; and either put it (or a link to it) in a comment or email it to me at keithkreates@channing.fr before 6pm next Sunday (if you aren’t sure what the time is where I live, this link will tell you). If you post it on your own blog or site, a link to this page would be appreciated, but please do also mention it in a comment here – pingbacks don’t often work.

Go on. You know you want to. Let your creativity and imagination soar. I shall display the entries, with links to your own blog or web site, next Monday.”

Up on the Roof by John W. Howell © 2017

“I think it would be nice if you stopped singing that song.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Does my singing bother you?”

“Let me put it this way. When one is stuck on a roof the last song one wants to hear is ‘Up on the Roof.”‘

“I guess that makes sense. How about a different song?”

“Like what?”

“The mate was a mighty sailing man,
The skipper brave and sure.
Five passengers set sail that day
For a three-hour tour, a three-hour tour.”

“You’re kidding right?”

“What’s wrong.”

“The theme from Gilligan’s Island?”

“Nice tune though.”

“We are on a roof for heaven knows how long and you think that song will cheer anyone up?”

“Well we have a lot of room at least.”

“And nothing more. I was lucky to save my purse.”

“Well we are all safe and that’s what counts.”

“Spoken by someone who never seems to want a bath.”

“Aw. Look on the bright side.”

“Okay. Tell me the bright side.”

“You wanted to redecorate the house anyway.”

“Not with ten feet of water.”

“Check the sunset. It’s beautiful.”

“I will admit it is beautiful. Ouch what was that?”

“What?”

“Something bit me.”

“A mosquito?”

“You better pray not.”

“There are some out now.”

“Did you bring any repellent?”

“No time.”

“Okay then. We need to start thinking of rescue.”

“I think we will have to be patient and wait.”

“Till all our blood is gone?”

“Till a boat comes for us.”

“When will that be?”

“Michael, row the boat ashore, hallelujah.”

“Thanks. I think.”

In Keith’s words. “Using this photo (below) as inspiration, write a short story, flash fiction, scene, poem; anything, really; and either put it (or a link to it) in a comment or email it to me at keithkreates@channing.fr before 6pm next Sunday (if you aren’t sure what the time is where I live, this link will tell you). If you post it on your own blog or site, a link to this page would be appreciated, but please do also mention it in a comment here – pingbacks don’t often work.

Go on. You know you want to. Let your creativity and imagination soar. I shall display the entries, with links to your own blog or web site, next Monday.”

Here s the photo.

Long Night by John W. Howell © 2014

“I don’t see anyone from this direction.”

“Yeah me neither.”

“Who was the guy that rented you this space?”

“He was the exhibit coordinator.  A vice president I think.”

“And he gave you a good deal?”

“He said it was his best price.”

“Told you it was a high traffic area right?”

“He said all the folks who go out for dinner pass this way.”

“Why haven’t we seen a soul?”

“Maybe they are still at dinner.”

“At midnight? I don’t think so.”

“I don’t understand it.”

“I do.”

“You do what?”

“Understand it.”

“Explain it to me then.”

“The guy took our money and rented us this worthless space.”

“How about those guys next door? They are in the same boat.”

“Hey, you guys. Sold anything tonight?”

“Haven’t even seen anyone. How about you?”

“Same here. Talk to you guys later. Good luck.”

“Man, that sucks.  guess we all have been had.”

“What are those guy selling?”

“I don’t know. If you are so curious, go over and ask.”

“And maybe miss a sale. No thank you.”

“I think it is a moot point. Our inventory looks pretty ragged.”

“Tell me again why we got into the ice sculpture business?”

“Don’t start on me.”

Keith explains in his words. “Using this photo as inspiration, write a short story, flash fiction, scene, poem; anything, really; and either put it (or a link to it) in a comment or email it to me at keithkreates@channing.fr before 6pm next Sunday (if you aren’t sure what the time is where I live, this link will tell you). If you post it on your own blog or site, a link to this page would be appreciated, but please do also mention it in a comment here – pingbacks don’t often work.

Go on. You know you want to. Let your creativity and imagination soar. I shall display the entries, with links to your own blog or web site, next Monday.”

New York Christmas by John W. Howell © 2017

“Trudy, did you get everything?’

“I did. It took over five hundred dollars, but I think I’ve bought everyone a gift.”

“Did you remember Uncle Joe?”

“Yes, I remembered Uncle Joe. I also remembered the other twelve of your relatives.”

“Now wait a minute. You have relatives too.”

“I only have my mother and sister. That is two.”

“So what are you saying?”

“Nothing. I just want you to know that in the gift spending department your relatives have the lion’s share.”

“And you think that is unfair?”

“No, I didn’t say that. It’s just that spending all that money every year puts a strain on the budget.”

“So who do we eliminate?”

“That’s the problem. There isn’t anyone we can cut.”

“As I thought. Are all the gifts under the tree? They’ll be here early tomorrow morning.”

“You want to come look?”

“No. I think it’s time for bed.”

“Should I leave the tree lights on?”

“No. We don’t want anyone looking in the window and is tempted .”

“We are twelve stories up. Who’s going to look in the window?”

“Yeah, you’re right. Go ahead a leave ’em on.”

“It is so festive. I’m glad we bought the gifts.”

“Aw, that is a nice thing to say. I thought you were mad.”

“No, I have to remember it is Christmas after all.”

“Sweetie?”

“Yes, love?”

“Did you lock the window?”

“Oh for heaven’s sake it is late. Go to sleep. Besides, it is twelve stories to the window. Who’s going to come in.”

“Yeah, who indeed.”