by Doug Jacquier

This 100-word piece has been shortlisted for the 2024 100-word tale competition run by Wilson’s Tales in the UK.

My avian emporium is called The Birds (so sue me, Alfred).
One day, a preening peacock of the human variety entered my shop, looked askance at my various winged wonders and trilled:
‘I had hoped to find feathered treasure but, alas, I feel let down. Nevertheless, I will take that vaguely presentable kookaburra to give my friends a laugh.’
‘$500, cage included.’
‘$200 is my best and final offer.’
Taking my silence as lack of consent, he turned theatrically and made for the door, before pausing and turning.
‘One last chance to change your mind.’
I gave him the bird.

This piece was written for the weekly Unicorn Challenge based on a photo prompt.

The sign said ‘Domestic animals, even on leads, are banned from the beach from 6h – 21h’. Reinforced by armed patrols, this returned the beach to a sanctuary for the beaten and abused from their exes.

Sand castles were built without fear of destruction by bullies of any age or gender. Crabs could be examined excitedly and returned to the sea without being crushed under a boot.

Children could frolic unencumbered by clothes without being objects of carnal desire. Women could sunbake without men standing over them rubbing their groins.

Old people could paddle, holding hands, trousers rolled up and skirts hoisted, without fear of being foot-splashed or sand-blasted.

People could lay their towels and blankets down, confident that they would not be resting on the dog turds produced by the offspring of entitled owners of fur-kids. Their beach shelters would still be there when they returned from a swim to take a nap.

The ice-cream vendor would not be peddling drugs on the sly, disguised as cones.

Best of all, the sea would do what it has always done, with its ebbing and surging tides,  delivering the detritus of seaweed and the discarded, bringing peace and solace to both the contented and depressed or the merely contemplative.

That it has come to this, peace under the watchful eye of submachine guns, is not a victory but defeat.

Yes, I know it’s ‘You’re the Voice’ 😉

This piece was written for the weekly Unicorn Challenge, using the photo as a prompt.

• Hey, Woofer. What do you think they’re up to in there
• What’s it to you, Sticky Beak?
• Well, I’ve got my family coming along behind and I don’t want my wife and cygnets seeing something nasty in that wood boat.
• Like what?
• You know, a bit of the rumpy-pumpy. A bit of the how’s-your father? A bit of the old in-and -out. Know what I mean?
• Do I take it that’s your feeble attempt to enquire as to whether the residents are engaging in sexual intercourse?
• Well, there’s no need to get coarse about it. Well, are they?
• What difference would it make if they were?
• Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? I wouldn’t want my wife and kids seeing that sort of behaviour. They could be traumatised for life. Teenagers are very impressionable you know?
• Indeed I do. But how on earth would they know if, as you would probably put it, they were playing hide the sausage? They’re humans. You’re rubber-neck swans. You do it completely differently.
• Haven’t you ever heard of Leda and the Swan? Zeus getting his wicked way with that poor Spartan queen?
• Oh, that. All Greek to me. But anyway, Stickybeak, they’re not. At it.
• Well, what are they doing?
• She’s beating him about the head with a cast-iron frying pan because he forgot their anniversary.
• Oh, well, that’s alright then. Only natural for humans, with their funny little ways.

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This piece was written for the weekly photo prompt from Ayr/Gray Studios, The Unicorn Challenge.

Co-directed by one of the Coen brothers and Steven Spielberg (is he even still alive?), this tawdry shock fest limps along to (spoiler alert) it’s inevitable ending. A clone of Stephen Hawking (Brad Pitt) battles to save the world from an alien invasion. Reporter Elspeth Rickenbacker of the London Daily Mail (Cate Blanchett), believes his warnings. CIA Director Samantha Kravitz (Frances McDormand, who may or may not be married to one of the co-directors), aided by her ruthless agent, Bandana Hucklebuck (Billy Bob Thornton) do their best to discredit the heroic pair. (They may be in the pay of the aliens but its murky.)

After denying their mutual attraction for a full 15 minutes, Hawking and Rickenbacker have vigorously athletic sex on Hawking’s desk (body doubles are used obviously; neither actor is getting any younger) before returning to the challenge.

They commandeer a NASA spacecraft and head out to destroy the aliens with Hawking’s newly developed weapon, the quantum reciprocating laser cannon (HAL2 for short). The alien craft swarm towards them like the 400 police cars pursuing Thelma and Louise. They comically all crash into each other and the special effects crew have a picnic of exploding alien spaceships (in full surround 120 decibel sound) that lasts for the next hour of the film.

The film closes with the birth of the heroes’ child (gender not to be revealed until the sequel) and a stirring speech about having saved humanity (or at least the American bit).

⭐ ⭐ ⭐

This piece is in response to a Unicorn Challenge photo prompt.

The boys leaned their bicycles against the fence and stared up at Chateau Ciel. Their tourist parents believed the boys were cycling to the beach, not the countryside. Jack was considered the source of all wisdom to his younger brother, Tom, who asked breathlessly ‘Is that Heaven?’ Jack nodded like a sage and said ‘You know how the Bible says ‘My house has many mansions’? Well this is one of them.’

‘So what’s it like inside?’

‘Everyone has their own room for starters.’ The boys mutual dislike of having to share a double bunk room was acknowledged by envious glances between them.

‘Do they have ice-cream?’

Jack rolled his eyes at Tom’s petty concerns and said ‘Of course. As much as you want, any time you want it.’

‘Does everybody still drive cars?’

That’s the best bit, Tom. Yes, even the kids do. There’s a big race track out the back and you can go as fast as you like.’

‘But what if there’s an accident, Jack?’

‘Nothing can happen to you, silly, because you’re already dead.’

‘So you have to be dead to go to Heaven?’

‘Oh, der, you can only go there after you’re dead and then only if you’ve been very good.’

‘But lying to Mum and Dad about where we were going is bad. So I suppose that means we can’t get in anyway. So how do you know all this, Jack?’

Jack mounted his bicycle and said ‘I heard it through the grapevine’ and laughed.

This piece was modified from an earlier story of mine for this week’s Unicorn photo prompt 250-word challenge.

Beryl: So how did your camping holiday go?

Gladys: Never again. This morning, when we were folding up the tent on their camper trailer Bert says “You know how we were sleeping in the space inside the tent last night?” So I says “Well, you were doing most of the sleeping while I was listening to your snoring but, yes, I do recall we were in bed in the tent last night.”

Beryl: Yairs, my Harold’s the same.

Gladys: So then he says “So when we folded up the tent just now, where did the space go that was inside the tent?”

Beryl: Ya what? Is he going gaga or something?

Gladys: So I says “Bert, it didn’t go anywhere; it’s still there but now it’s not an enclosed space, it’s free space.” But he wasn’t satisfied with that and says “But how do you know we didn’t just fold up our space when we folded the tent and it will come back again when we unfold it next time?”

Beryl: I’d have been ready to call the men in the white coats.

Gladys: Tell me about it. But I just said ”I think we should just head home and from now on you can sleep in the garage, in the space in the tent, so you can be sure it doesn’t disappear.”

Beryl: You’re a scream. Anyway, gotta go. Washing to do. Same time tomorrow? I’ll give you a whistle.