Undercover

Being the first human being ever to be born with X Ray vision I would have made a wonderful brain surgeon.



My fame would have travelled far and wide. One day you would have found my eyes staring at you from the surface of a ten dollar bill. When I am dead and buried somebody no doubt would build a statue of me. Somewhere suitable. Times Square. Miami Beach. Or perhaps somewhere out of harms reach like Zocalo or next to a rusty well in the middle of the Yemen.



But brain surgery isn't for me. I prefer to keep my talents to myself. Why waste it when I can enjoy it?

You can't beat sitting on a warm beach with a good book, a cold beer and several hundred scantily clad women walking around totally oblivious to the fact that I can see everything. Some days I prefer a busy tube station. A hospital forecourt. Nothing gets in the way. No coat is too thick. No scarf too tightly stitched.





Who the hell wants to be a statue anyway? School girls giggling at your triple chin. Sea gulls forever shitting on your fat bald head.








                                                                         (C)  Ally Atherton 2016










Written for this week's Sunday Photo Fiction Challenge



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Forever

                         'Who's a good boy?'





He was fed up of forever being dragged around by that bunch of muppets. After you've experienced one haunted castle too many, enough is enough.

He was getting old and weary. Thin and hungry. And all the weirdos ever fed him were those silly little snacks that wouldn't fill a house fly. The bastards.


Fed up of chasing grown men dressed up as werewolves it was time for Scooby to retire.


'Who's a good boy?'

Well this gullible idiot obviously. He jumped up. It was all over in a flash.

He went straight for Shaggy's neck.










                  (C) Ally Atherton 2016

100 words written for the the 100 word challenge hosted by Tara at

Thin Spiral Notebook

Why not give it a go and check out the rest of this week's entries?

Karaoke In The Forties

 

At Grandma's house you had to sing to let everybody know you were on the toilet.

I remember the outside loo with the cut up squares of newspaper hanging from a string on a nail that somebody long ago drilled into the cold damp walls. But most of all I remember Granddad's lifeless body lying on the floor after Grandma hit him with the coal shovel.

Is there anything worse than dying in the middle of a crap whilst you're singing The White Cliff's of Dover?

 

The war didn't kill him. Grandma did. Granddad loved Vera Lynn way to much.

                                                                               C) Ally Atherton 2016

100 Words written for this week's challenge over at Thin Spiral Notebook 

 

Check out the other entries and why not give it a go? It's a great way to discover new writers.

Weather

This morning I turned the rain on.




Nothing major. A small gentle drizzle. It's a great way to wake up.


Mrs Palmer turns the snow on every morning. I think she's turning into an Eskimo. One day I'll wake up to find an igloo has replaced her two up two down house and her cat has turned into a reindeer.



We have too many choices. Sometimes I can't get anything done because I'm too busy deciding to have a sunny day or a rainy day and sometimes you can't beat a thunder storm to start the day with a bang.





           

                                                                     



                                                                                      (C) Ally Atherton 2016







100 words.




Written for the 100 word challenge hosted by Tara over at Thin Spiral Notebook.




Please check out this week's other entries and why not give it a go yourself?