This is my Friday Fictioneerssubmission for the week. I have an idea for another one which I may explore over my lunch break but for now, this is my take on John Nixon’sphotograph.
This one’s 92 words. I tried to get it up to an even hundred but it felt like padding.
I’m well aware the title ages me and the reference to Deacon Blue allows the reader to accurately pinpoint my position on the coolness spectrum, but It fits.
Finally, last week I was so busy I had very little time to read and comment on other stories. Hopefully, things should be better this time but please accept my apologies.
This is where civilisation goes to die. About a mile from the outskirts of town, where the wood thins out and the fisher cats become daring. I’ve been watching for centuries, millennia even; waiting for the right moment. Things got a little hairy about fifty years ago when the peace broke out, but I never doubted our day would come. It was a relief when they started kicking seven bells out of each other again. Normal service, predictably, resumed.
Soon, it’ll be time to take back what they stole from us.
Incidentally, Deacon Blue were one of those bands who produced generally mediocre music but who could, if so minded, have put out a decent greatest hits EP (Real Gone Kid, Twist and Shout, Your Town, Will We Be Lovers +/- one of their Bacarach and David Covers). INX are another one though theirs would only have three tracks (Never Tear Us Apart, Heaven Scent (sp.?) and Beautiful Girl). Still, that’s no mean feat, a lot of groups couldn’t even manage that, particular when facing awkward doorstop encounters with Sir Bob.
(Nb, I’m aware this coda shows my age far more than naming my story after a song which is currently getting heavy rotation on an opticians ad at the moment)z