Seething Santa

Angrat amused herself by dreaming up new ways to plague the villagers when Mom wasn’t looking.

It was the annual celebration, on the first Christmas since her sister’s wedding. The family and members of the senior staff were all exchanging gifts, Secret Santa style.

Angrat was bored with the proceedings, as usual, and wishing for this holiday to be over. So she fidgeted and dreamed about plagues of rabbits and rains of deer urine and such, for the villagers who lived at the base of the castle’s hill. She had to wait for Mother (the Queen) to be otherwise occupied and not paying attention, of course. Timing is everything.

Henry the Butler was trying to hand her something.

“Oh, it’s my turn,” Angrat said with a start.

Colorful paper around a small heavy box, tied up with a tasteful bow. Angrat hated it. But she unwrapped her gift with care.

A crystal ball. She scowled up at Beneficent, of course her sister, it couldn’t be from anyone else.

But this wasn’t a scrying ball. Inside was a snowman, and a tiny witch in a minuscule peaked hat. As she watched, snow fell inside the globe, and shaking it made the snow fall harder.

A teeny snowball flew across the tiny scene and knocked the witch’s peaked hat off, a perfect shot. And two tiny little giggles.

She looked up and Beneficent nodded. “Us, of course. When we were little.”

For some inexplicable reason, Angrat’s eyes filled with tears. She muttered a quiet, “thank you,” and made a quick break for the spiral stairs.

After she reached the depths of the castle dungeons, she hurled the snow globe against the stone walls with a scream.

Damn the witch.


When they heard the scream echoing up from the dungeons, Beneficent nodded and snatched the wager back out of Très Charmant’s hand. Angrat’s rage was her defining characteristic, silly of Très to bet against it. He would learn.

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I can’t help it. They keep begging me to be in more.


Hoist the Black Flag

“Come on Nigel, now’s our chance to make a break for it.”

Rog and Nigel slipped from the vault room, being cautious to evade detection.

“Those old geezers, we should have sacked the lot.”

“Right, Rog. Let’s get out of here first, you know those old pensioners have lost their minds.”

“Well it’s all about the efficiency, isn’t it? This bloody antediluvian firm and their antiquated methods and their outdated equipment. Bloody shame, letting their profit margins slip away.”

“Shh… I think I hear them. Singing,,, Sea chanty?” Nigel whispered.

“Oh sod, they’re coming back. Run for it.”

The corporate managers broke for the stairs. But when they approached the top they met the angry, cutlass-wielding mob of accountants coming up.

“There they are boys, grab them,” cried the pirate captain.

The scurvy crew eagerly swarmed over the efficiency experts. Rog and NIgel were carried to the roof and forced to walk the plank at umbrella-point.

Oppressive corporate overlords forget only at their peril:

Every normal man must be tempted, at times, to spit on his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin slitting throats.
—H. L. Mencken

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Inspired by this Sunday’s Photo Fiction prompt:

A pre-Victorian building that is now one of the major banks in the UK.

And yes (hell yes) by the Crimson Permanent Assurance skit. The very first thing that photo/style of building reminded me of.

For those of you who don’t know your Monty Python it can be found here:

Oh damn, never gave this thing a title. Oops.

Today’s prompt is about photos, by me, of me.

In general terms, I don’t do either. I know, it’s horrible. Looking back many years of marriage, raising Brad, etc. I’ve been in no more than a handful of pictures. I’ve taken…well, none.

Fortunately, that’s Annie’s thing, and she’s managed to squeeze some in.

Summer 2014, Brookfield Zoo.
Summer 2014, Brookfield Zoo.

This is the most recent, really. Annie and Bob and I went to Brookfield Zoo to watch a summer concert/fireworks show thang. That’s a big old bear that the Brookfield folks made into a bench/seat/touristy photo op thang. We just stumbled on it while walking around in a rare quiet spot (in Brookfield, quiet is really rare). And Bob (hi Bob!) snapped the picture.

Not much of a story, no drama. But such is my life.

I do have that awful squint and look more like Pop every day. And what’s up with that smirk?

The pingbacks appear to be busted again so many of you may never see this anyway. Enjoy not-seeing me!

With an image subject like me, no wonder photographers flee in terror!

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Gotta Try

What was the last picture you took? Tell us the story behind it. (No story behind the photo? Make one up, or choose the last picture you took that had one.)

Ah, I’m supposed to make a story up. “Here’s me and Annie, just before the big bear ate us and chased Bob clear to the parking lot.” Tada!