Tag Archives: Rebekah Postupak

Burnt Bridges

This was yesterday’s photo prompt for the Flash! Friday challenge…

The Bridge

 

“Let me get this straight. You told our gang – the ones so dim that you’re regarded as the brains of the outfit – to blow up the bridge exactly at noon, so as to leave the posse stuck on this side?”

“Yes.”

“But you didn’t specifically say that this instruction should not apply if, say, we were late?”

“Not specifically, no.”

“I see. Well, if I hold my hand to my ear like this I can hear hoof-beats approaching, so I hope you have another plan.”

“Better than that, I have THE plan.”

“Please tell me you don’t mean the Butch and Sundance plan.”

“The very one. We jump the gorge. Every outlaw knows the story of how Butch and Sundance were trapped like we are now, and jumped a gorge to escape.”

“Almost.”

“Almost every outlaw knows?”

“No, almost jumped the gorge. That’s why they were called the Hole in the Wall gang.”

 

Eternal Flame

This was the photo prompt for today’s Flash! Friday challenge – 140-160 words, and we had to incorporate friendship…

Fire Eaters

His flame went higher, because boys are like that. It was the pyrotechnic equivalent of seeing who could pee furthest out into the snow.

It spoilt the synchronicity of the act – hers formed the perfect mushroom she’d been trying to achieve, his looked as if a dragon had just eaten a chilli burrito. They couldn’t even wear matching outfits, because he kept forgetting not to bow to audience applause before he’d finished blowing off.

That’s why he wore a flame-retardant loincloth. There are limits to how much you should be willing to suffer for your art.

Ambition told her to go solo, or to find another co-performer whose lifelong dream was to spit burning oil through a gap in their teeth, but loyalty told her otherwise.

They were melded, more firmly than soldered iron, by their years on the road together.

He might sometimes scorch the hairs off his chest, but it was her heart he set on fire.

The Cycles of the Moon

This is this week’s photo prompt for the Flash! Friday challenge. 140-160 words, and we had to mention space travel… 

Cycles of the Moon

His first cutback had been to let Pluto go.

The new Director had been brought in to make cuts in NASA’s budget, and relegating Pluto from Mickey Mouse planet to over-sized rock instantly reduced the number of worlds in our Solar System that we will never set foot upon. This was regarded as a saving, for reasons as unclear as a nebula.

Next the Chief Engineer was fired, which was more than you could say for his rockets. The Director had them replaced by bicycles.

It didn’t work, of course. On the test-flight (unmanned and unmonkeyed, thankfully) the bicycle got a flat tyre, and the whole universe heard the giant fart as it zig-zagged past the moon like a dying balloon.

The Director was devastated. He was the kind who dreamt things that never were and asked why not, and then wouldn’t listen to the answers.

Such as that ET was not, as he’d thought, a documentary.

First Case

This photo was today’s Flash! Friday prompt, and we had to include a detective…

Samantha Spade

Her perfume arrived before she did, like a butler announcing a duchess.

“You Sam Spade?” she asked.

“That’s what it says on the door, Doll,” I replied.

“No it isn’t,” she said. “It says ‘Samantta Spaid’.”

I shrugged. “You pay peanuts,” I said, “you’re not gonna get the kind of monkeys who might type Hamlet someday.”

“I’ve never met a female gumshoe before,” she said.

“Gumshoe?” I pointed to my feet on the desk. “These are genuine Manolos. Though I did once have to superglue a heel back on.”

“Whatever,” she said. “I want you to follow my husband.”

“Fifty bucks a day,” I said. “Plus expenses.”

She handed me a MetroCard.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“Your expenses,” she said. “He’s a subway driver.”

So here I am on the dawn subway, tailing my target from a discreet distance. Four carriages, to be exact.

It’s not quite the car chase from Bullitt, but a girl’s gotta start somewhere.

On Twitter

I’ve won a competition!

The James Bond parachuting story that I wrote last week won the Flash! Friday contest that I entered it in. You can read the really nice comments the judge made about it here, if you feel like helping me feed my ego.

As part of my prize I won a badge which I will put on my blog whenever I stop having to work thirteen hour days (sometime around mid-May, then) and I had to give a sixty-second interview, answering ten questions in twenty words or less per question. This appeared on the Flash! Friday blog yesterday, and you can read it here, if you feel like feeding my ego.

I enter a number of these competitions now, since I’m really enjoying the challenge of writing to a specified word-limit, since I love looking at a photo prompt and trying to think of an angle no-one else will think of, and since I can’t think of any story ideas of my own at the moment. My only problem is that each one asks for your Twitter handle. This was a drawback for me, since I didn’t have a Twitter account and would have thought that a Twitter handle was something for opening a bird-cage, in the same way that Matlock keeps your wig on during windy weather.

But I opened one, @TinmanDoneBadly, and now have a small problem. The other people who participate in these contests have started following me on Twitter, and don’t I tweet anything.

They must feel like those people who believed that the world was going to end on December 21st 2012 felt on December 22nd.

In my defence, I have posted one or two tweets. When I started I wrote about, well, the fact that I had started, and am very proud of the fact that the last full stop brought me to exactly 140 characters. What I’m not so proud of is that I wasn’t sure if it had posted it or not, so I typed it again and sent it again. They’re both there now, which you can look at if you like, should you feel that my ego has had enough feeding.

During my next effort I accidently hit Send about half way through, so it makes no sense whatsoever.

Anyway, I’m going to stick with it, probably learning to use it properly just as it becomes obsolete, as I did with fax machines in the 90s.

Watch this space. Or just space in general, you never know where my efforts might end up.

Sky Fall

Parachutist

Bond had been sent on this mission with just two days to go to retirement which, as any cop in any film could have told him, made him practically a walking gravestone.

So it’s no surprise that as he parachuted in over the Alps he was held up by the thermals, and so overshot Blofeld’s secret base and plummeted instead into a dense forest.

He hit a tree with all the force of Wile E Coyote hitting a canyon floor, then pinballed from branch to branch, each one slapping his face like some beautiful spy that he had slept once with and then left.

Luckily his plunge was halted just five feet from the ground, and he swung gently, like a Christmas bauble poked by an enraptured child.

The elderly Bond had dressed warmly, lest he catch his death, and was being held up by the thermals.

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The photo, Parachutist @Ft Lewis, was the prompt for today’s Flash! Friday challenge…

Citius, Altius, Nippiness

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In honour of the start of the Winter Olympics, Flash! Friday have this photo, from the first modern Games, as today’s prompt…

Olympic stadium 1896

It was 776 BC, and the pitifully small number of flags bore witness to how few city-states had entered these very first Olympics.

Athens were there, of course, along with Thrace and Sparta. Marathon were in too, hoping to win the really long and as yet unnamed feature race.  But Troy had boycotted the games, perhaps understandably, and Corinth hadn’t yet got the hang of a calendar that went backwards and had turned up four years earlier.

The dressage was about to start, and the first horse stood waiting in the main arena. As it was yoked to a cart this was likely to be interesting, especially the bit where it would have to dance sideways, but even so the watching crowd glared enviously at those in the packed stands around the smaller arena.

This was where the beach volleyball would be taking place.

In the nude.