by Dani J Caile
"A rundown down one. Look, I don't know who you are, and I ain't asking, but this here establishment has been like this for nigh on three months now. Me Pappy left it to me in his will, but I ain't no business man, let alone a good bartender," said Cleaver, smiling.
"So why are you open for business?" asked the man.
"Is there anything else for me to do in this shithole of a town?" asked Cleaver, standing up, crossing his arms.
"I wouldn't know," replied the man. "I don't come from around these parts." The only sound was an open window round the back, slamming with the warm breeze running through the bar. "Water, do you have any water?" asked the man.
"Water we do have, for our sins," said Cleaver, grabbing a dirty, chipped glass from behind the bar and a half-filled jug of rusty water, placing them both on the counter.
"What do you call that?" the man asked.
"Water. In these parts. We haven't had any rain for three weeks. I got this from the bottom of the tank," replied Cleaver.
"I'm not drinking that," said the man. He took his water canteen and a small glass bottle. Popping the top off the bottle, he downed a pill and sipped the water left in his canteen.
"What's that?"
"This?" The man gestured with the small glass bottle. "For my anxiety attacks. Professional hazard. I see potential threats everywhere."
"What are you?" asked Cleaver, pouring himself a glass of the rusty water and downing it.
"I'm a gun, for hire," replied the man, moving his open shirt aside and showing two flashy customised Colts.
"Well, there ain't no trouble round here," said Cleaver, unimpressed.
"That's not what I heard," said the man. He spat out some tobacco and wiped his mouth.
"You heard wrong." Cleaver lifted his Remington and shot the man in the middle of his forehead.
Challenge 121 (Alis Van Doorn Challenge)
Elements: A moss draped Cemetary, a hidden leather satchel, containing $10K cash (or pounds, forint, yen, just a large amount of money.), a peculiar looking priest, a foul mouthed parrot named Percy. (easy on the cursing, no f bombs.)
"Are you sure this is the place?" asked Clemence to his partner-in-crime, Wynner.
"Yes, this is the place. It says here 'Kiddensburg Cemetary' and this is Kiddensburg Cemetary." Winchester showed Clemence both the note and the map.
"But this place is ancient! There's moss draped all over it. No one's been here for decades," said Clemence.
"And so it's good hiding place for the money," nodded Wynner.
"I guess so." They pushed the rusting gates open and walked in, tripping over the blistered tarmac of the path towards the stones and tombs. "Now where is it meant to be?"
"Hidden in a leather satchel. Ten thousand dollars," grinned Wynner.
"Yes, I know what it's in, but where is it?" asked Clemence, carefully walking over a couple of old sunken graves, their stone cracked through age and fauna. He looked inside to see the rotting remains of skeletons and suits.
"Erm, the note... doesn't say," stuttered Wynner.
"How can it not say? Surely he marked the grave somehow?" asked Clemence.
"The only other word on this note is 'Percy'. Maybe we're looking for a gravestone by the name of Percy," answered Wynner.
"Yes! Okay, let's spread out, you take the south side, I'll take the north," ordered Clemence.
Two hours later, they met up at a large tomb in the centre of the cemetary.
"Did you find anything?" asked Wynner.
"Does it look like I found anything, you cheap piece of shit!"
"What did you call me?" asked Wynner.
"What?" asked Clemence.
"You threatening me, you fat-arsed faggot?"
"What?" asked Clemence.
"What did you say?" asked Wynner.
"I didn't say a word!" exclaimed Clemence.
"Oh yes you did! I should bust your jaw just for the 'cheap'!" shouted Wynner, raising a fist.
"Good evening, gentlemen. How can I help you?"
Clemence and Wynner jumped and grabbed each other in fright. Behind a gravestone stood a priest.
"Er, good evening, father, what a wonderful night it is," said Clemence.
"Yes, good evening father. We were just, erm..." started Wynner.
"...Flower collecting," finished Clemence.
"What, at this time of night?" asked the priest. "Why, the only flower out tonight is me." He moved away from the gravestone to reveal he was wearing a small pink tutu and red high heels. Clemence and Wynner jumped once again.
"You know where you can shove that flower!"
"Three stood there silent, the priest non-plussed, Clemence and Wynner confused.
"Err, father? Who's that?" asked Clemence.
"That? That foul mouthedness?" asked the priest, doing a little dance.
"Yes, that," replied Wynner.
"That's my pet parrot, Percy," he said.
"Percy?" they both asked.
"Yes. I let him out in the evening to fly around the cemetary, stretch his wings a little. Unfortunately, he is one foul mouthed little parrot," said the priest. "I blame his mother," he whispered.
"I heard that, you rotten old buffoon!" Percy flew by very close, making Clemence and Wynner hit the deck. Around Percy neck was a small leather satchel. The boys smiled together.
Challenge 122
Elements: Mr. Bill from SNL, Firefly, a responsibility, an odor from a specific spice
Have you seen Mr Robot? You have? Yeah, it’s pretty cool but I dunno, I get that kinda nerdy Fight Club feel about it, what with his Dad actually being him and…yeah, Breaking Bad is good. A bit violent at times and tons of eating breakfast scenes. Whatever happened to those great TV shows? They don’t make ‘em like they used to! Dukes of Hazzard, Knight Rider…Hasselhoff! Ha, yeah, oh, and The A-team, that was so good. No one ever got killed in The A-team, lots of shooting and blowing up things, and always being able to make a tank at the end of the episode from a cereal box and some tape. Yeah, it was so cool. But what about those sci-fi series? Star Trek, now the original series, that was so great, and what was that one, the cowboy one, yeah, Firefly. ‘What now how?’ Or something like that, ha, but they always kill the sci-fi series. Killing? Yeah, there’s lots of that nowadays, what with stuff like The Walking Dead…hey, how about Dead Like Me? You don’t remember? It was kinda philosophical but funny at the same time. They killed that one, too. Alf? Who didn’t watch that? I caught a rerun the other day, wow, was it bad. No, I didn’t like Mr. Bill from SNL. That was completely pointless, maiming a plasticine figure, and his dog, Spot. Morph was better than that, and he was for 6 year old kids! No, what I’m saying is, somewhere along the line, things got messed up. Is this entertainment now? All these killings, this blood, drugs, and violence? Where’s all the fun, all those one liner jokes to finish episodes they so overplayed way back then? Almost every series did it, Charlies Angels, Kojak, hey, now there’s one series which never gets old. No, not Kojak, Columbo. I could watch that like for 24/7 straight. Yeah, I have them all, every episode. Monk? Yeah, he’s good too, but some are better than others. CSI? ICS? Whatever. Where is it set? New York? Miami? San Francisco? Stoke-on-Trent? What the hell? Same thing all the time! Okay, a little different but come on, overkill. But hey, Hawaii Five-O came back, yeah, it did, and it’s pretty good, no ‘little breather’, no, ha. If it goes on like this, they’ll bring back the Bionic Man and Wonderwoman. Now there was a series! Ain’t Half Hot Mum? Oh hell, yeah, that’s going way back, you might as well talk about Dad’s Army or even better that other one, it was… Some Mothers Do ‘Ave Them! ‘Ooo, Betty!’, yeah, funny, but I… hey… can… can you smell something? It smells a bit like garlic… oh shit! The asafoetida in the curry! Oh my god, she’s going to kill me! I had only one responsibility! To look after the curry! It’s burnt! Completely burnt…oh yeah, Burned! Now there was a really crappy series. Hot girls, though. Not as good as Baywatch but….Hasselhoff! Yeah, ha!
Challenge 123 (Steve Bergeron Challenge)
Elements: Chilean fear volcano, a fiery path to the Ark of the Covenant, path to salvation, one of the seven deadly sins
Chile. Sitting on a burning rock on the side of an active volcano.
"I fear this volcano!" said my servant Bergertheone.
"You fear everything, Bergertheone. We're here for one reason and one reason only," I said, removing my pith helmet and wiping my brow.
"There's only one reason why I'm here!" he screamed. "It's because I'm in your employment!" He stood on another burning rock some distance away, his shoes melting in the heat. "I demand that you accept my resignation, here and now!"
"It's a bit late for that now," Lava flowed down the slope, passing us by and cutting our route of escape. "One way out of this and it's up." He looked up to the opening close to the top. "There."
"Tell me, sir. What is so important to brave the lava and heat of a Chilean volcano?" Bergertheone lifted one foot, his sock steaming.
"The Ark of the Covenant. That there is a fiery path to the Ark of the Covenant." His eyes lit up and he spun his head towards the opening.
"Then what are we waiting for, sir! This is our path to salvation! Not only will you be able to fix up the West Wing with the finding fee from the National History Museum, but you'll also be able to pay your taxes this year!" He wasn't wrong. But he was. I had other plans for the Ark.
"Well then, Bergertheone, what are we waiting for?"
"Right, sir."
It didn't take long to leap from one rock to the next, missing rivers of lava and fiery rain. In no time at all we were at the large opening. A cave.
"After you, sir," said Bergertheone.
"Why, thank you." I leapt in and took it one step at a time. Somehow this cave hadn't collapsed from the burning heat around it, as though a magical force was holding it together... the Ark.
"Sir, this looks a little dangerous," quivered Bergertheone.
"Stiff upper lip, Bergertheone, stiff upper lip."
We moved further into the cave until we reached the end.
“Sir, there’s…”
“Look!” I could see it, the golden Ark, dull in the light of the cave.
“Finally you can make some money, sir.”
“Money? It’s worth more to me than money.”
Maybe he saw it on my eyes, but whatever it was, he took a few steps back.
“Sir, you don’t mean to open it, do you? I mean, the damage it would cause would be catastrophic,” said Bergertheone, shaking with fear.
“Exactly. Finally I can take vengeance on all those who have done me wrong, all those who cheated me at cards, those who took my seat in the restaurant, those who poo-pooed my taste in clothes.”
“Sir, the zipper hasn’t really caught on yet, though there are some in society who applause your forwardness in the matter.” Bergertheone slipped away, moving back towards the entrance.
“They will feel my wrath! I will punish them all!” I slid open the lid and looked inside…
Challenge 124 (E. Chris Garrison Challenge)
Elements: Grandfather Paradox, a selfie, a deck of Tarot Cards, a Mistaken Identity
"Hello, dearie, how can I help you? Would you like me to read your palm? Or maybe have a look at your future in my crystal ball?" asked Madame LaRue Quelle as the man walked in. He looked so goddamn miserable. "Hang on, if you don't mind, I'd like a selfie with the saddest piece of shit I've ever seen." She grabbed her phone and took a shot.
"Who are you calling a piece of shit?" said the man.
"Sorry, mistaken identity. Can I help you?" she repeated.
"I'm a troubled man," he said.
"No kidding. How about a bit of fun on the ouija board?" she asked.
"Look, I just want to know something. I'm... I'm in a grandfather paradox."
"Uh-huh," she said. It takes all sorts.
"You don't believe me, do you?" he asked, getting frantic. "I'm in trouble."
"How about a Tarot card reading?" She took out her favourite deck of Tarot cards and laid three down, turning over the first. "Oh, the Queen of Cups, you know what you want."
"I was born a girl," said the man.
"What?" she said, not hearing right.
"Then I got pregnant and gave the baby away," he continued.
"Excuse me?" This man was a complete nutter.
"I also found out that I was a Hermaphrodite," he said.
"Oh." That explained a few things. His perfect choice in shoes, for one.
"Later I tried to find the baby but found out it had been taken and... disappeared. I mean, completely. No trace," he said.
"Ah-ha." This one might be a long twenty bucks.
"Then, I decided to live my life as a man and after some bad relationships, I found myself in a bar, talking to a man about my problems. He said he could make it all better," he went on.
"I wish," she said. Why her?
"He had a time machine. He sent me back and I found a girl who liked me, and we had a baby, then the man disappeared with the baby."
Things were getting really complicated.
"And now I'm confused. I just met me, the same me before the time machine. I had the same conversation with him as that man had with me. I think I need to follow him back. I think I need to take the baby and send it back in time... to my birth," he said.
"Okay, now that's some really messed up shit. What you're saying is that not only are you 'you', but you are the 'man', the 'girl' and the 'baby' as well? Because of this time machine?" she asked.
"Yes," he said, smiling. "You understand!"
"I think I do," she said. "I'm quite intelligent, you know." She scratched her head. "There's a problem, though."
"Yes, I know. What happens now?" he asked.
"No, that's not the problem," said said. "If this is all true, you were never born to start with."
And with that he disappeared into thin air.
"Damn. No twenty bucks," she said.
Challenge 125 (Richard Russell Challenge)
Elements: Write a short statement or phrase for each song saying what you think each one is about, and use your summaries as your elements. (Piano man by Billy Joel, Waiting on a friend by Mick Jaggar, Stay by Jackson Browne, Boulevard of broken dreams by Greenday)
My 4 elements…
1.Piano man by Billy Joel - I’m their saviour from the misery of life
2.Waiting on a friend by Mick Jaggar - He thinks he’s so superior
3.Stay by Jackson Browne - Looking for an escape from the torture
4.Boulevard of broken dreams by Greenday - Dead inside but still breathing
Serial Killer
"I’m their saviour from the misery of life. For them, perfection lies beyond..."
The guy opposite stared on, pen and paper at the ready, mouth chewing three hour gum. “You want me to write that down?” he asked. “Your fingerprints were found on the bodies, the murder weapons, all over the murder scenes…what do you have to say?”
“I don’t like using gloves, it takes the fun out of it, the touch of skin against skin…”
“That’s disgusting.” He moved the gum between his teeth, then continued with the cow face. “You know, you could’ve gone on indefinitely if it wasn’t for the fact that you got sloppy on your last victim, a Richard Russell, when you re-used an envelope for a ‘hate’ note, scribbling his address over yours.”
“It was the only thing handy at the time. I was angry. He’d used too many big words. He thinks he’s so superior.”
“Thought. So you killed him?”
The other guy standing in the corner broke from the shadows. Time to tell.
“I was cleansing this rock of its vermin, nothing more. They’re looking for an escape from the torture and stench of this putrid pit called humanity. His time had come. As the others.”
“So you’re willing to make a statement to that effect?” asked the standi
ng guy.
“I’m dead inside but still breathing. Doesn’t matter to me.”
“How about this one?” Cow face slid over a photo of my third victim.
“I saw a bag of flesh, slopped over a stool, heavily engrossed in a local rag. As a tree it mattered. But those pulped lifeless sheets secrete only lies and propaganda, eager to hold the illusional status quo over us all. And yet it comes to nothing, in the end. Nothing.”
The standing guy shook his head and went back to leaning on the wall.
“And this one?”
“The pianist. Under the smoke of his own future cancer, stumbled over some Jackson Browne classics. Notes broke through the darkness, oblivious to the apathetic ears in that bar. When he did Billy Joel’s ‘Piano man’, that was enough.”
“Who the hell do you think you are?” shouted the standing man, running over and slamming his fists down hard.
“We all reach for a part, a piece we clutch onto as our own. But it’s taken, cut short. When time gives one last tick in our inconsequential lives, it has all been for nothing. Reality holds no meaning, no soul, turning into cold regretful dust as we die like those before us did, long ago. We are all a part of the same whole, the unfeeling, uncaring universe. We live in pure infantile meaningless inane individualities! When will we finally see that the games we play, the days we live, the words we speak mean squat? Life flushes over us with no connection, no contact, burning our skin alive…”
“You said it. Sign here, before I start to give a shit,” chewed the sitting guy, handing me an empty form.
Challenge 126
Elements: The Eiffel Tower, a prison cafeteria, Picante Sauce, the last sentence must be: “Clear!”
Breakout
"We must act!" Omair stood up and almost turned the table.
"Would you like to tell the whole prison community?" asked Taahid. Omair paused and sat down.
"We must act," he repeated in a whisper.
"What do you suggest? If I recall, you're in here for fraud," laughed Faakih.
"But I was aggressive when they arrested me. I refused to come quietly," Omair said.
"Sounds like the couple of cell 223, the infidels," murmured Taahid.
Two guards walked by. The prison cafeteria was almost empty, lunch was over.
