The Bloated One
Well-Known Member
All,
Thought I would try writing with a blank canvas and just see where it took me. I suppose you would call it flash fiction?
Anyway, it's just a bit of fun and only a short introduction to a group of marauding reprobates. I stopped before it all kicks off, but as an opener to a book, would it make you want to read more?
TBO
Crouching Tiger, hidden Morris Men
“Get that ruddy bladder out of my face!” said a short, wide, pitbull of a man. The bear growled and turned, thrusting a paw to within an inch of the man’s face.
“Why me?” it shouted, menacingly waving a straw paw at the pitbull. “It’s always me, isn’t it. Do I look like I can hold a pig’s bladder with these, do I?” Before the pitbull could respond, a low, resonating voice rumbled from the man at the front of the group.
“Shut it you two. Concentrate on what you’re doing.” He pointed to the house ahead of them. “We go across the garden to the wall on the right. Got it?”
“Yes boss,” chorused the group.
Go!”
The moonlit garden echoed to the rhythmic sound of tinkling sleigh bells, the swirl of handkerchieves and the spinning of short white sticks, as six pairs of legs and two paws skipped and danced the fifty metres across the rain covered lawn, leaving a trail of wet straw behind them. Reaching the wall, they ducked down and spread out, listening intently.
“Okay,” said the man with the voice of gargled gravel, “We’ve not been spotted.” Carefully, he took his stick and pointed to an iron, spiral staircase ahead. “Bear, take Bladder, Mook and Randolf up those stairs. The guard room is at the top. Wait at the door for my signal.”
“Okay boss.” They hugged the wall and inched their way to the staircase before ascending, their sticks and bladder poised for action.
A devilish smile swept across the man’s blackened face as he turned to the remaining two. “Retro, Jones, it’s up to you now.” Retro flashed a toothy, Stonehenge grin, puckered his rouge lips, and blew the man a gale of a kiss. Not to be out done, Jones swished wads of flaxen hair across his shoulders and fluttered his mud caked eyelids. Their stuttering, rise and fall, like two heavy metal shutters caught in a gale unable to shut properly.
“If Teach and his crew don’t let you in, you know what to do.”
Retro winked, “No problemo capitano,” he said, with the timbre of a baritone and thumped a mallet sized fist into the palm of his hand.
“Okay, game on.”
Arm in arm, Retro and Jones took off toward the front door of the house with the unruly gait of two cross-dressing, musclebound prize fighters.
TBO
Thought I would try writing with a blank canvas and just see where it took me. I suppose you would call it flash fiction?
Anyway, it's just a bit of fun and only a short introduction to a group of marauding reprobates. I stopped before it all kicks off, but as an opener to a book, would it make you want to read more?
TBO
Crouching Tiger, hidden Morris Men
“Get that ruddy bladder out of my face!” said a short, wide, pitbull of a man. The bear growled and turned, thrusting a paw to within an inch of the man’s face.
“Why me?” it shouted, menacingly waving a straw paw at the pitbull. “It’s always me, isn’t it. Do I look like I can hold a pig’s bladder with these, do I?” Before the pitbull could respond, a low, resonating voice rumbled from the man at the front of the group.
“Shut it you two. Concentrate on what you’re doing.” He pointed to the house ahead of them. “We go across the garden to the wall on the right. Got it?”
“Yes boss,” chorused the group.
Go!”
The moonlit garden echoed to the rhythmic sound of tinkling sleigh bells, the swirl of handkerchieves and the spinning of short white sticks, as six pairs of legs and two paws skipped and danced the fifty metres across the rain covered lawn, leaving a trail of wet straw behind them. Reaching the wall, they ducked down and spread out, listening intently.
“Okay,” said the man with the voice of gargled gravel, “We’ve not been spotted.” Carefully, he took his stick and pointed to an iron, spiral staircase ahead. “Bear, take Bladder, Mook and Randolf up those stairs. The guard room is at the top. Wait at the door for my signal.”
“Okay boss.” They hugged the wall and inched their way to the staircase before ascending, their sticks and bladder poised for action.
A devilish smile swept across the man’s blackened face as he turned to the remaining two. “Retro, Jones, it’s up to you now.” Retro flashed a toothy, Stonehenge grin, puckered his rouge lips, and blew the man a gale of a kiss. Not to be out done, Jones swished wads of flaxen hair across his shoulders and fluttered his mud caked eyelids. Their stuttering, rise and fall, like two heavy metal shutters caught in a gale unable to shut properly.
“If Teach and his crew don’t let you in, you know what to do.”
Retro winked, “No problemo capitano,” he said, with the timbre of a baritone and thumped a mallet sized fist into the palm of his hand.
“Okay, game on.”
Arm in arm, Retro and Jones took off toward the front door of the house with the unruly gait of two cross-dressing, musclebound prize fighters.
TBO
