Title – The Start of a Long Week

Suggestion – Bamboozled

Suggestion By -Lozzz123 of Science, Spouses, and Silliness

            My boss said it would be a weekend excursion, a relaxing cruise through the Caribbean, a reward for all of my hard work around the office, a “getaway.”

            Didn’t expect the cruise ship to sink now did they?

            Now I’m sitting here, on an island, with an injured arm and the survival skills of a baby elephant.

            Shouldn’t have dropped out of boy scouts …

            Hell, I’m one of the lucky ones. When the first explosion rocked the starboard side of the boat, the body parts rained upon the tilted deck like confetti. Stunned passengers ran topside to see the beeping maw of a German U-Boat rain another volley our way like a roman candle on a sidewalk.

            The few survivors were gunned down by the deck gun. As I hid under a tattered parasol the bullets splashed around me like rocks skipping across a lake top. A slug caught me in the shoulder, but I washed up on a small sandy beach before the sharks could get at me.

            As far as I can tell, there are no other survivors. Our boat sank quicker than the Lusitania. Germany left without so much as a scratch on their iron sides.

            Guess I’m going to be late for work tomorrow. Maybe if I put a message in a bottle, my boss won’t replace me?

            Now all I need is a bottle … and a pen and a sheet of paper … A bandage … some scotch …

            This is going to be a long week.

Title - The Adult Life

Suggestion – Elevator

Suggestion by – Jessica of Faith Permeating Life

            My sweat droplet exploded as it hit the cheaply tiled floor of the elevator.

            “Hot day, huh?” I said to Stephanie.

            “Yeah, if you call a hundred degrees hot.” Stephanie replied, sarcastic as ever.

            Installed in the late 70’s, the elevator was regularly serviced, and when the planets aligned, it worked perfectly. This was not one of those days.

            “So … how are things?” I said.

            Stephanie and I were acquaintances in college who became confidantes in the final days of our degree programs. I even remember her telling me, excitedly during her graduation party that she got a job in the same city … in the same building.

            “Good … you?” She said. The awkwardness hung in the air like a thick fog.

            “So … how’s work?” she said.

            Her question was less probing, and more a means to pass the time.

            “Busy, you know?” I said.

            These are the few times we communicate any more. A pass in a hallway, a meet up at a mutual friend’s barbecue. So goes the adult life.

            “Yeah. Tell me about it.” She said

            The building has a protocol when the elevator would have it’s weekly breakdown, but to us working stiffs it involves a lot of sitting, and waiting. The small box, hanging by a steel cable dangled like a weight on a string.

            We paused for another awkward silence. I opened my mouth to speak as she checked her cell phone, wanting to apologize for not being a better friend, but the heat of the enclosed space sapped my energy.

            “Hey! We should catch –“ I said, interrupted by the elevator’s door opening.

            A mechanic entered with a frustrated nod and Stephanie left without so much as a good bye.

            So goes the adult life.

Title - High Noon in the Boardroom

Suggestion – Smells Like Soup and Cigarettes

Suggestion by – Kaitlyn Call Me Kate from My Pet Buffalo

            A Newspaper blowing in the wind, the modern day tumble weed to a boardroom high noon stand-off.

            It was pitch for pitch, me versus Jake. The company only had enough money for one of our ideas, and the loser would face a lay-off.

            My removable hard drive swung at my side, clipped to my belt by a carabineer like a hip holster for a six gun. Jake opened his briefcase with the confidence of Clint Eastwood to my Ramon Rojo.

            Charles Westerman, our boss of three years sat at his desk like the ringleader of a cock fight. He’d saw something in us when we were hired fresh out of college. Jake, with his Ivy League back round, me with my masters degree.

            We’d been rivals, constantly pitted against each other. We both knew it would come to this.

            A slight wind moved Jake’s hair as he began his presentation. A pitch for a nationwide deodorant campaign filled with catch phrases. His Power Point presentation hit the mark. Each bullet point rocking Charles back in his chair like a target tapped by a master sharpshooter.

            At Charles’ nod, I unslung my laptop and braced for impact. The lights dimmed. A video began. Everything was going according to plan.

            A cowboy walked across a desert sunset, hat under his arm, vultures flying overhead. An Ennio Moricone soundtrack played as the nameless hombre fell to his knees.

            He dug in to the ground, pulling out a candy wrapper. He glanced at the sky, and Star-Burst rained from the heavens.

            The projector smoked like the barrel of a freshly fired hand cannon. I’d made a statement, and won the duel.

            “Enough of that art house crap. We’re going with Jake.” Charles said.

            Or so I thought. I unhooked my equipment, cleaned out my desk, and tipped my hat to the secretary as I walked out the door.

            I’d rather be a film maker anyway.

Title – Gower Street Bridge

Suggestion – Schaudenfraude

Suggestion by – Shay of Shay Shay Shay

            Bill lay on a mattress spread on the Los Angeles concrete. He’d lived under the Gower Street Bridge for a year. A Motel 6 it wasn’t.

            Its amazing what you notice when you live in the gutters of society. The wealthy rarely stopped or even slowed their gate when they passed Bill’s makeshift abode. Occasionally, he heard them laugh to themselves under their breath, or comment to each other if there was a group. Sentences like “If the banks collapse we might end up like that guy” were back round noise to Bill at this point. He’d been in and out of jail cells, half way houses and tent cities most of his life.

            “It’s like society takes a perverse joy in the suffering of others” Bill thought to himself some days.

            Of course, some acknowledgment was better than being ignored. Treated like an object or an inconvenience to the world. What’s worse, the scum at the bottom of the barrel, or the barrel itself?

            Bill had a lot of time to wax philosophy on those long days under the bridge.

Title - Of Angels and Avians

Suggestion - Defenstrate

Suggestion by -  Samwise of Bear Hat Fiesta

            Human flight is an incredible thing. For millennia man watched birds with a gambler’s envy. We risked our lives, sweated over blueprints and created theories to accomplish the feats of avians and angels.

            “Damn” I muttered to myself.

            The wind smacked my eardrums as my F-100 Super Sabre exploded a few hundred yards in front of me. The only thing that sat between me and a jungle full of Vietcong was a mile of air, and one pissed off MiG.

            Even with the ejection seat weighing me down, I spiraled through the sky like a pinwheel. Tracer fire echoed around me, the ground grew ever nearer.

            Just as I got my bearings, a Russian machine gun round tore through the back of my seat. The parachute bag exploded, the remnants blowing in the wind like a tassel on a bike handle.

            The force spun me, I dry heaved.

“Good thing I skipped lunch this morning” I thought.

            Through the world whirling around me I could make out an allied fighter jet on the horizon. The cavalry was coming, but not a lot of good they could do for a man at terminal velocity without an airplane, or a means to stop himself.

            The Russian and American fighter jets scrummed in the air like rottweilers. Each turn was countered, each move expected. I watched briefly like a slack jawed gawker before the realities of my death rushed my way in the form of a nonstop ride from the stratosphere to the jungle’s floor.

            I had but a moment, my mind raced. The jets duked it out. When the MiG burst into flames, it ignited an imaginary light bulb above my head. Every F-100 has an emergency parachute stowed under the seat.

            I fought gravity, inertia, and a fear of death but I reached down and yanked the canvas bag free from its casing. Within a second, it was strapped to my body. I unhooked myself from the chair like a sailor freed from a keelhauling, and pushed off.

            The chute opened just above the tree line. I’d survived, but I was in enemy territory with a bounty on my head.

            At least I’ll have an interesting story to tell the other P.O.W.s.