Flash Fiction

Almost Wordless Wednesday – #16

And so it was that we returned from our last sojourn in Spain, and I was presented with the above tableau in the backyard. I initially thought that I might be experiencing some hallucinatory form of jetlag, so I patiently waited for my vision to clear so the lamppost could return to a more traditional position.

It did not.

Clearly, some sordid bit of malfeasance had taken place whilst I guzzled sangria in the quaintly historic town square of Cómpeta. The mystery deepened as I realized that said lamppost is quite some distance from the nearest patch of driveway, lessening the culpability of a poorly-controlled motor vehicle. (I have no idea why this lighting device is in the middle of the backyard. It was simply there when I bought the house back in 1879, and I have respectfully left it alone to commune with nature and whatnot. I don’t even know how to turn it on, and now I apparently never will.)

I contemplated asking Countess Nabokov, the lovely lass who cares for our dwelling whilst we are away, if she might have any insight into the Leaning Tower of Pisa tribute that had transpired under her watch. But then I realized that she could feasibly view this as an accusation of negligence, and since she otherwise does a sterling job of house-sitting, I thought it best to let things be so we could continue our heretofore mutually satisfying relationship.

Still, what the hell happened?

And this is where you come in, dear reader. For this week’s writing prompt, assuming that you accept the challenge, please construct an absurd little ditty detailing what led to the listing of the lighthouse. Keep in mind that this nefarious incident occurred at Bonnywood Manor, so any of the recurring characters I scribble about are fair game as suspects. Was it Granny Mae? Dr. Brian? Scotch the Cat? Ellen DeGeneres? Joan Crawford? The possibilities are endless, as should your imagination be in this literary lark.

Of course, where you go with this is entirely up to you. But I do hope you go somewhere, and I mean that in a purely creative sense and not as some form of banishment entreaty.

Enjoy. And cheers.

P.S. I just now noticed that some of the terra cotta pots in the background have been knocked asunder as well. Hmm. More fodder for your tawdry tale, or just an example of poor groundskeeping on my part? I’ll let you decide…

P.P.S. Again, not trying to limit the scope of your musings, but this photo certainly screams “naughty limerick”, don’t you think? Ribald haiku? Sultry sonnet?

P.P.P.S. Just to the right of this tableau, there is the infamous “sinkhole” that I babbled about in a past story. There is a stubborn but thin layer of grass covering an ancient excavation site, wherein something extremely large was ripped out of the ground eons ago. It’s very deep. If you stand on the rim, you can smell Chinese food.

P.P.P.P.S. Okay, I’ll shut up now.

 

32 replies »

  1. There once was a pole from the manor
    Who possessed an incredible candor
    Not woody and pink
    As you probably think
    It was tipped,
    Had black paint
    And was poor.

    That’s it. Couldn’t think of anything else. There’s some ribaldry though. Yup, I know I’m pushing it. 🙂

    Liked by 3 people

    • This is delightful, and you get bonus points for choosing the randy limerick angle. I love me some naughty rhyming. But, for some reason, I have trouble creating my own limericks. Perhaps it stems from a time in the distant past when I entered a contest to write a limerick promoting a taco restaurant in Dallas (long story, details are unimportant). I fully expected to win with my carefully crafted piece, but I didn’t even place. And there are some things you just can’t move past emotionally… 😉

      Liked by 1 person

  2. No wonder the lamppost is a bit crooked, you just came from my country where all politicians are crooked and the country is screwed. Even the lamppost in your hometown got it. The poor thing is dizzy thinking you came here to the land of the wild bulls…. I should change my saying, the land of the screwed up bulls.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Speaking of tipsy lampposts, I am reminded of the old joke about the drunk who one night lost his watch some distance away but looked for it under the lamppost because the light was better there. Apparently it wasn’t the same lamppost if you never turned yours on, but it’s an old joke, so it could’ve happened before 1879.

    Liked by 2 people

    • It’s interesting that you bring this up, because there have been many nights when I have been relaxing on the back patio with a beverage or 37, and I could swear that I sensed a spiritual presence mucking about near the lamppost…

      Liked by 1 person

    • First, and I hope you don’t think less of me, but I am also one of those people who cannot backup with any degree of skill. There’s just some synapse that does not fire off correctly in my brain…

      Second, and I hope you think more of me, Ex DID show up. But then I shoved him in the sinkhole in the backyard and he’s on his way to China… 😉

      Liked by 1 person

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