This week’s Thursday challenge is a photo prompt. What comes to mind when you look at this photo? Let your imagination go! I’m happy to receive poems and stories – in the case of the latter, up to two hundred words.
Here’s your prompt:
Last week, I asked you to write a story up to 150 words, which started with the following line:
“YOU’LL NEVER GET AWAY WITH IT,” HE SAID.
Here are your entertaining stories:
“You’ll never get away with it,” he said.
The barge continued to glide down the canal as the diesel engine purred quietly.
He was sitting on the floor, his back to the warm stove. Comfortable but for the rope round his wrists.
“Shut up,” his captor said, “be quiet and I’ll let you off at the lift bridge.”
“It’s my boat.”
“Not much longer.”
The glint of light on the gun stifled his next words.
Ten minutes later he was standing on the canal bank. The sound of the engine drifting into the distance. Bereft, he realised his home was gone. The barge would be repainted and refitted and reregistered. They would sell it on for thousands of pounds. His workshop and artwork would be trashed or dumped somewhere. All he had were the clothes he stood up in, and his memories.
“You’ll never get away with it,” he said.
She continued to hold the gun on him.
“Give me my son!” she screamed at him.
Seeing she meant business, he pushed the kid in her direction and he ran to her.
“Mama, Mama!”
“Hush now, son, and go stand by the car.”
As the young boy stepped outside and shut the door, she faced her ex again. “Don’t even try to follow us! He’s mine and we’re going where no one can find us.” She held the gun on him as she backed out of the door.
He was dialing 911 before she sped off.
A Tale Of Two Twitties
‘You’ll never get away with it,’ he said.
‘Don’t be so negative. It’s only an old wardrobe that no-one will miss…’
‘…weighing a tonne…’
‘… and Great Grandpa is inside…’
‘…or so you say…’
Lars Sennee paused. ‘Go on, put you head inside and see for yourself.’
Rob Berry hesitated then opened the door.
A translucent male dressed like an Agatha Christie extra tipped his barely-there fedora, before Rob slammed the door. ‘Shit. He’s real.’
‘Not exactly. Are you ready for another heave?’
Between them the two thieves manhandled the wardrobe to their van. Once inside, and when the ghost had stopped rattling, Rob asked. ‘What next?’
‘No idea.’ Lars mopped his brow. ‘Ivan threatened to burn it…’
Rob winced. ‘How is he?’
‘Not living up to his name. Ivan’s out of hospital this week, so I promised Mum I’d come and get it.’
‘Then?’
‘Depends on Esther.’
‘As always…’
Revenge
She looked at him with contempt. A drunken, violent waste of space. She disappeared down to the shed to check her produce.
“There’s a big call for mushrooms,” she told him when he did show a spark of interest.
One morning, to her surprise he showed up at the shed.
“Growing mushrooms? You’ll never get away with that,” he said, laughing raucously.
“But, my love, we will be rich.”
He grunted and went back indoors.
She had purposely grown this alternative crop. After the conversation with her husband, she decided that this was the day her life would change.
He had such a shock when armed police marched him away and cordoned off the shed.
She denied all knowledge of its contents.
She laughed, watching the sun go down over the Mediterranean. She stretched out for a gin and tonic. He would have a bed to sleep in even if it was at the King’s pleasure.
“You’ll never get away with it,” he said.
“We will. All the smart money is on you, but your speed of foot can’t beat my notorious cunning and Shelley’s ancient wisdom.”
“When you release me and I run to the finish line, all of the other animals will not believe that I fell asleep and let that crusty pie on legs beat me.”
“Hmm. You may be right. It would make a fabulous fable.”
“Yes. Too incredible to be true.”
“There could be a steward’s inquiry. The bookies may not pay out my winnings.”
“The race will be re-run and I won’t let you catch me next time.”
“You’ve convinced me. I’ll just have to kill you and eat you. They’ll never find your bones.”
Headline: Tortoise wins race. Hare disappears without trace.
–
And here’s one from Marcus Power on the previous prompt of a story up to 100 words using the prompts LOVE, WARDROBE and DANGEROUS:
Across the table her flat emotionless gaze gave nothing away. The candlelit dinner I prepared lacked the desired effect I’d hoped for. Her nervous smirk, followed by a mouthful of wine, when I mentioned his name. Her sudden outburst not only shocked me, it was completely unwarranted. Accusations of neglect, and being married to a selfish workaholic, hurt.
Her performance nothing short of Oscar winning as she rose dramatically from the table and left. I remained in the silence, another helpless victim infected by that dangerous disease called love. The final blow, her side of the wardrobe lay empty.
***
Esther Chilton 
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