As I suspected, time has once again gotten the better of me - coupled with some intensive DIY! Besides, after a week of being cooped up in a room in stifling weather accompanied by paint fumes, it's perhaps a good idea that I don't let my inventive imagination run riot!
Anyway, I had another pick through the 'virtual filling cabinet' and selected another three 'shorts'! Last week I forgot to mention that these 100-word (or less!) stories were inspired by Lily Child's weekly prediction series where she randomly selects three words as prompts and invites contributors to weave a tale to beguile and entertain. Apologies, Lily, for the oversight ;-)
This week, I'll show the three words for each story in bold - just so you can see what I was up against!
So, without further ado, three more for your perusal - you may have seen them before......or is it a case of déjà-vu? Enjoy!
Nestled right up next to a heavy tome entitled ‘Purist Hypothesis and Postulations’ I found what I was looking for: ‘Evington’s Encyclopaedia of Parable, Metaphor and Fable’.
It had a nice feeling of weight to it as a struggled it down from the shelf.
Manoeuvring it onto the edge of the balustrade I waited for Professor Burgess to make his daily progress across the main concourse several floors below. A judicious nudge and with any luck he’d expire from the sudden shock of the mighty volume crashing down from above, if not from a direct hit.
Mark me down, indeed!
Stumbling through coach-class was a nightmare. With evidence and body parts strewn around, as if a whirling dervish had been first on the scene rather than my team of air accident inspectors, it was clear that this would be no picnic.
The main fuselage of the Aer Lingus jet was largely intact even if its occupants weren’t, but there was part of a wing section floating on the incoming tide.
I looked down at the severed head at my feet and notice her staring back up at me, not with fear but surprise, and her Irish eyes were smiling.
...and finally - I couldn't resist this one, given that I'm currently a 'beer-widow', as my hubby is working in London's Earls Court for CAMRA's Great British Beer Festival! (yes, you could say he gets paid to go to beer festivals!)
Well, dead anyway. The massive cavity in the back of his skull and the half-brick lying nearby gave a whole new meaning to the term ‘stoned’.
The pungent air was laced with malt and yeast as husks of stray hops blew idly in the breeze like miniature tumbleweed.
As I walked around the yard that formed this micro-brewery pondering the reason for this crime, my rubber-soled shoes slapped on the sticky residue of spilled beer.
Could be a story in this – ‘The Body in the Brewery’.
Sounds like a 'Miss Marple'.
No, wait – that was the library.