The idea of Sunday Photo Fiction is to create a story / poem or something using around about 200 words with the photo as a guide.
“The aliens,” she said suddenly, the first she’d spoken since we left West Virginia.
“Alien?” Really? “And what, pray tell, are the aliens up to these days?”
She point ahead and up to graffiti sprayed across the railroad bridge. “Making pies.”
I’ve got to get out of this car with this psycho. But I said, “Alien pies? What fruits are they using, per say?
She wrinkled her nose, a sure sign of irritation. “Blueberries of course. They are in season now, you know.”
“Don’t keep up with the fruits normally.”
“See, that’s your problem.”
My problem? But said nothing.
We passed under the bridge and I thought, stupidly, that would be the end of the pie discussion.
At the next exit there was a sign:
‘The Pies Shop. Alien Pies. Blueberry. This right. Five miles.’
She squealed with delight. “Let’s go!”
So we did.