If Only the Walls Could Talk

 I tied for 2nd place in a contest with this story. The image prompt was M.C. Escher's painting "Relativity." I can't post the image here for copyright reasons, but if you follow this link you can see it. The painting is of stairs going every which a way and faceless people walking, sitting, etc among the stairs. That inspired this story...

 

If Only the Walls Could Talk

“Did you call the exterminator?”

“Yes, Matilda,” Charles sighed.

He watched her frantic pace around the room. He’d always known Matilda was high-strung, but this exterminator business was taking the cake.

“He said he’d be here sometime today,” Charles told her, again. “Why the big hurry? I’ve never known you to be scared of mice.”

“We’ve never had mice that talk before!”

Charles almost choked on his coffee. “What?”

“I heard them earlier, right before I tripped over another basket that was somewhere I hadn’t left it!”

“Not the baskets again,” he moaned.

“Yes, the baskets again!” Matilda screamed. “The show up all over the place instead of in the laundry where I leave them.”

Charles dialed the phone.

“You calling him again?”

“No, I’m calling Dr. Blake. You need a psychiatrist not an exterminator!”

 

 

 

Comeuppance

 I wrote this a while back for a story prompt. The photo prompt was of a box with bars. This is what I came up with....

Comeuppance

 

“What the he…”

“You’re awake. I thought I hit you too hard.”

“You little bi…”

“Now, now, language, Matthew.”

“Matt?”

“Charles? Is that you?”

“Help me, Matt. I can’t take it anymore.”

“Charles!” No matter how close he got to the bars, Matthew couldn’t see Charles.

“I think he passed out.”

“What did you do to him?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

“How long have I been here?”

“A week.”

“Is Charles…?”

“He’s still alive.”

Matthew heard the hiss of cables sliding across the floor. “Stop! He can’t take anymore!”

Once the screaming stopped, the crying started. “Just leave him alone,” Matthew pleaded.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

“How long have I been here?”

“Ten days.”

“And Charles?”

“Two weeks.”

“Please let us go,” he begged. “We’re sorry.”

“Not sorry enough,” she said. “But you will be.”

The cables hissed, the screams came, but the only tears were Matthew’s.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

“Please take him away. The smell is awful.”

“Much like garbage.”

Matthew winced. She knew he was thinking about that night. When she turned around with the cables he begged her to stop. He winced again when she said, “Just close your eyes, it’ll be over in a few minutes.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Georgia On My Mind

 The prompt this month for our story was an astronaut floating in space. This is the story I came up with:

 

 

“Come back inside, George!”

“No.”

“You have to come back in sometime.”

“Why should I?”

“Because you’ll die out there you crazy idget!” Charles screamed.

“Do you see this view?” George asked. He waved toward the moon. He didn’t wait for an answer. “I’d rather die out here, with that view, that back on Earth gasping for breath in some hospital.”

“You don’t know that you’re going to die when we go back home,” Abby pointed out. “The virus numbers are going down almost everywhere in the United States.”

“Almost everywhere,” George whispered.

Charles shrugged and turned toward Abby. “I don’t know what to do. We can try to reel him in but the crazy bastard might just cut the rope.” Abby gasped. “You don’t think he’d actually do that, do you?” Charles looked back out the window. “I think he might.

She and Charles both heard the automated voice indicate it was almost time to leave for home. “George, we have five minutes,” Charles said. “The odds are better against the virus than against outer space for goodness sakes!”

“Maybe for y’all,” George said as they watched him disconnect his hose. “But I’m from Georgia.”

Lost

 I entered the contest in my Facebook group again this month. The photo prompt is a statue of Atlas with the world on his shoulders. Here is what I came up with. I hope y'all get it.

Lost

 

“Oh dear! Oh dear! Oh dear!”

“What are you going on about, Epimetheus?” Prometheus demanded.

“Look!” Epimetheus said and pointed. His finger was shaking so hard that Prometheus couldn’t tell where he was supposed to look. He was about to ask again when he saw the globe fall over the edge. His blood ran cold.

“Is that what I think it is?” he asked Epimetheus.

“Yes,” Epimetheus answered. “Father is going to be very unhappy.”

“Very unhappy?” Prometheus thought his brother had finally lost it completely. “Father is going to kill someone for this.” He shook his head. “Where is Atlas and how did this happen, Epimetheus?”

Epimetheus wouldn’t look Prometheus in the eye. He mumbled something about losing his glasses, again, and asking Atlas if he knew where they were. He had turned so pale Prometheus thought he might pass out.

Prometheus had to lean in close to hear as Epimetheus whispered, “And then Atlas shrugged.”