Sunday Photo Fiction 8-16-2017

208 08 August 13th 2017

 

“Wow! Look at that!” Arny exclaimed, pointing at the painting on the wall.

“A phone booth. English.”

“No, I meant Dr. Who.”

“Who?” Mike asked. “What’s a Doctor have to do with it?”

“Dr. Who!”

“It’s a police call box. 1928ish. Had nothing to do with any Doctor.”

“NO! Dr. Who! The British show!”

“Right. A British Call Box. I don’t think they have them any more. No need really,” Mike shrugged. “Phones and all.”

Arny rolled his eyes. “It’s Tardis, Dr Who’s time machine.”

“The police used them. Not Doctors.”

“For crying out loud!” Arny cried. “Dr. Who. A British TV show! He travels through space and time in a call box named Tardis.”

Mike sighed, shook his head. “You and your funny imagination.”

Arny threw up his hands. “Hopeless!”  He walked away.

“Hey,” Mike called, hurrying after him. “Speaking of TV shows….. did you hear about that sci-fi show where some weird Timelord roams the Universe?”

Arny stopped, turned slowly.  “No,” he said flatly, “never heard of that one.”

Paused. “Why don’t you tell me about it?”

 

 

 

 

Sunday Photo Fiction 8-6-2017

12 J Hardy Carroll 06 August 2017

© J Hardy Carroll


“What the….”

“Don’t start,” she glared, shifting around in the passenger’s seat to check the kids. Both were buckled snug in their car-seats, sound asleep.

“Why do they do this crap during vacation time?”

“Not everybody goes on vacation at the same time.”

He snorted, mumbling something unkindly towards the street workers.

Why hadn’t they flown? Right, the expense, but with his salary they should have been able to fly round the world.

Oh, yeah, right, he used those miles and monies to treat his girlfriends, not his family. He’d taken one of the many to Paris last month. His family got to go to Myrtle Beach. She loved the beach, but…. Paris?

Ignoring his grumbling, she dozed off and on, relieved to feel the final turn towards home. She couldn’t bear one more moment in his presence.

The car turned into the driveway. He was out before the engine stopped tickling, leaving her with the kids and the unloading.

Hesitating by the back passenger door, she fiddled with the baby’s seat buckle. A moment later, a shot.

The front door slammed open. A man ran out, waving a gun.

Their eyes met. Held.

The killer winked and ran away.