Photo: © Al Forbes 2015

This’ll be my last year sweeping the Coningshall streets. I’m not really ready to retire but my body is telling me to slow down. I’m working ’til Christmas to say my goodbyes.

I’ve made some good friends, both on the job and on the streets. Everybody knows me in this town, and I think I’m part of the furniture. I’ve been working here since I left school at fifteen.

I’m not going to change now, just because I won’t be “on the brushes” any more. I’ll still have a pint or three on a Friday night down at the ‘Lucky Horseshoe’. And I will always have a flutter on the Football Pools.

I’ll miss being the Union shop steward. I’ve fought to keep our jobs through all the Council cutbacks and ‘savings efficiencies’ of the last few decades. But the final blow was privatisation. Our service was put out to tender, to be sold to the highest bidder. I couldn’t stop that one, and later resigned my office.

Then I had an idea. I knew what I had to do. Some of the lads wondered why I changed my tune and started supporting the privatisation. A few harsh words were said to me, and I understand why.

There wasn’t a huge demand for the contract to clean the streets of our town. And somebody with inside knowledge of the job could get a good deal. I’m pretty proud of what I achieved there. I quickly got all the lads on board.

We’ve unlocked our Pension contributions and created a new company, where we all have equal shares. I don’t understand the business side of things, but my son is a bit of a hotshot in that area. He knows what he’s doing. Of course there’s a risk, but we’re all in it together. It’s not for the money or the thrill of being in business. There’s just the sense of a job well done.

So, even though I’ll be hanging up my brush, I won’t have to leave it all behind.

This story is inspired by the photo supplied by Al Forbes of Sunday Photo Fiction, October 4th 2015.  For more details click the logo.

 

To view other stories written for this challenge, please click here.

 

 

It had become talk of the town. Even by Vegas standards it was out of the ordinary. And out of this world.

The mysterious new Black Hole Hotel was pulling in the stars – it was the place where everyone wanted to be seen. But few were.

The stories of them having a green orb that transports guests to off-world locations seemed like something out of a sci-fi film or graphic novel. You get the picture.

So here at the Rumour Rag, we sent hapless undercover reporter Luna Bugg, to see what all the fuss was about. We gave her a cover identity as a Z-List celebrity, something even Luna would admit she is ideally suited to. Sorry Luna, but there it is.

She’s sent her report, but sources tell us that despite the Andromeda Galaxy having super-fast Broadband, it may take several million years to reach us. Nice one, Luna. Why not report from the hotel lobby? Don’t you dare claim expenses for this one…

We decided to kick up some dust nearer to home. The juice it takes to keep that green machine spinning for even one cross-galaxy trip is astronomical. They claim to be linked to some solar panel array out in the Nevada desert. Frankly, the idea of drawing power from the centre of our solar system seems a bit ridiculous, even for us.

The unhelpful Black Hole Hotel staff refused to show us their accounts, so we can only estimate their electricity bills. But our guess is they’re in big trouble. So this little power trip of theirs could cost them big style.

They’re not just bust – they’re Vegas Orb bust! *

Mike Mekitoop (Editor, Rumour Rag)

* You know the score – our legal team advise us that any claims we make should be liberally sprinkled with the word “allegedly”. Please use as appropriate. Not that we have a legal team, we made that up too.

 

This story is inspired by the photo supplied by Al Forbes of Sunday Photo Fiction. For more details click the logo.

 

To view other stories written for this challenge, please click here.

 

Partygoers on the Princess Rose had no idea that they were being watched by hostile eyes. Captain Heinrich Müller lowered the periscope and gave orders for U-342 to surface. It was a black, moon-less night. Perfect to launch a small boat and head unnoticed into New York Harbour.

Their secret mission, if successful, would raise the spirits of all the Kriegsmarine and humiliate America. Despite the USA being technically at war with Germany, no-one on the East coast seemed to think they were at risk from such a distant foe. The ship’s lights shone undimmed.

Fortunately, Princess Rose was not the target, at least not tonight.

The men in the small boat made shore near an unused boathouse, after being guided in by their contact. Across the harbour, the bright lights and party music from the Princess provided perfect cover. The men checked their equipment before heading into the city.

24 hours later, all the shore party were back onboard U-342. It had been a nervous wait for Captain Müller and his crew, so close to the enemy’s lair. They headed to the relative safety of the deep Atlantic, with some relief.

The Intelligence Officer had been locked in his tiny darkroom for some time, developing photos taken only hours earlier. He notified Captain Müller that he was finished, and soon the crew were being summoned to the mess room. Far from being kept secret, the photos were spread out for all the crew to see. They would later become infamous, after being leaked to the World’s press.

Times Square, the Empire State Building, Broadway, the Statue of Liberty and more. Nothing unusual there, apart from the grinning sailors in Kriegsmarine uniforms taking centre stage. Some even linking arms with patriotic tourists, cheering on ‘their’ boys.

Mission Accomplished.

This story was inspired by the photo, provided for Sunday Photo Fiction August 9th 2015,

by Al Forbes. 

Please click the logo for more details of Sunday Photo Fiction.

 To view other entries click the link here.

Photo © Al Forbes 2015

It’s only a 10 minute ride out to the Old Waterfront. I have done this trip every summer for the last five years. It’s a sort of bitter-sweet reminder of how things used to be.

We had a guest house there. Nothing fancy, just a nice little place, with a prime position and a loyal customer base. We were never going to make a fortune, but had planned to stay there until retirement.

For a time after the ‘Climate Adjustment’, I was in a bad place, and had to rely on Government handouts. But I was able to start a new business making small collapsible boats. After I got the government contract, the company expanded to working around the clock.

But, if I could, I’d turn back the clock to how it used to be. To a more civilised time.  On a clear day you could look out into the bay, and watch the pale sky merge into the welcoming sea. When a family could safely walk along the seafront. When decent people still had families.

So here I am, alone, looking down from my helicopter at the Old Waterfront sign, chained and anchored, five miles from land. A reminder of the times before the seas rose, and took our Waterfront, and their lives.

I pause, before throwing a wreath onto the water.

As I land in my secure compound, I suddenly feel revulsion at what I have become. This is not what they would want.

I turn off the electrified fences, and open the gates. It takes me a few minutes to write out the sign:

FOOD AND SHELTER HERE, ALL WELCOME!

This story was inspired by the photo, provided for Sunday Photo Fiction July 5th 2015,

by Al Forbes. 

Please click the logo for more details of Sunday Photo Fiction.

 To view other entries click the link here.