This story was written as a response to a challenge on the WordBohemia web site.

http://wordbohemia.co.uk/            or             https://www.facebook.com/groups/wordbohemia/

The challenge was a photo of clouds.....


Clouds

Here in the desert in Western Australia we don’t get many clouds and even less rain, so when the clouds showed up in a pinky sort of turquoise sky, everyone stopped for a good look at them. They were the grey, puffy sort with the flat bottoms. The sort you could imagine scudding across the sky above the African plains before the rains of the wet season started.

                ‘You won’t get any rain out of them,’ I averred.

                ‘No,’ agreed Bruce, ‘and, if you did, it wouldn’t rain cats and dogs here in Cue, more like scorpions and flies.’

                ‘With maybe some dust thrown in.’

                ‘Yup, there’s always dust.’ said Bruce as we joined the queue in Cue.

*

There was only Mrs Brown and the vicar from St Martin’ sin front of me so it shouldn’t take long to get what I wanted. I could have them without gift wrapping, that would save a bit of time as I didn’t want to be late for the match at the snooker club.

                I tried not to listen to what they asked for, it was none of my business but what would a vicar be wanting at this time of night and why hadn’t he gone straight to the event horizon anyway instead of here at the five corner shop?

                ‘I’ll just take a sermon please Mr Patel,’ said the vicar irritably. I think he was a little cross with himself, which he wore on a silver chain, bouncing against his chest, with his belly shelfing enough to catch it if the chain broke and choked the monkey.

                ‘Mounted, reverend?’ asked the shop keeper.

                ‘Always, we don’t want to hide our lamp under a bushel do we?’

                ‘Err, whatever you say, that will be thirty five beatitudes please.’

                ‘Bless you my son,’

                ‘But I haven’t sneezed yet.’

                ‘Well, just keep it in your bushel until you need it then. Thank you, good night Mr Patel.’

The vicar stomped off up the hill to deliver his sermon on horseback.

*

                ‘Hello Mrs Brown, we haven’t seen you around here for a while have we? I hope you haven’t been disloyal and doing your shopping at Nouns-R-Us or up at that new gerunds place?’

                ‘Oh no, I wouldn’t do that, it’s just that I haven’t been too good lately so I’ve been making do with adverbs, just treating myself to the odd coincidence on Sundays.’

                ‘Only teasing Mrs Brown, what can I get you this evening?’

                ‘I’d like two wins and a coincidence please.’

                ‘Any special medium you prefer?’

                ‘No, it doesn’t have to be a medium, I don’t really do paranormal, just standard is fine.’

                ‘OK, I’ll just drop a little telepathy in the brown paper bag then, OK?’

                ‘Oh, you shouldn’t have said that, it’s really not necessary.’

                ‘I know, but I enjoy telekinesis, BBC2 mainly’

                ‘And what’s wrong with Emmerdale then?’

                ‘Well it’s not Corrie is it and it never has that nice prof Brian Cox in it.’

                ‘That’s because he’s a physicist.’

                ‘Could still leave BBC2 now and then couldn’t he, even if he is a necromancer. There’s no art blacker than Emmerdale to my mind.’

                ‘OK then, I’ll arrange it for you, but it will cost extra you know, plus VAT.’

                ‘That’s fine, just take it out of my paradocs’

                ‘OK, ’Night Mrs Brown.’

                ‘’Night Mr Patel, see you next week.’

*

It was now my turn but, before I had a chance to step up to the plate, a saucer landed just in front of me and demanded the cup that he had just one so where was it? Mr Patel had to admit that he had swatted it, thinking it was a fly. It was not one of the main characters in the story, just an extra…terrestrial. I knew then that I would have to charge him with cuppable homicide.

                Swatting flies soon becomes a habit with anyone who lives here in Cue. The town makes its living from exporting flies and dust by rail to Meekatharra and then on to Perth. You can’t see the flies because of the dust of course. The gold mines closed at the end of the war. A few men work at the Crosslands iron ore mine to the west. So iron or flies and dust just provide a living for this forgotten town of 328 people.

                ‘G’Day Bruce’ I said to Mr Patel as I arrested him.

                ‘Don’t you want to get your shopping done before you arrest me?’ he asked – always the salesman.

                ‘Ok, I’ll take an infundibulum then, I don’t want to be late for the barbie do I?’

                ‘D’ya want the chronosynclastic or the antediluvian model?’

                ‘I’ll take the chronos, don’t try and fob me off with one of those old models that don’t work during the Wet. Can you deliver it to the snooker hall for me?’

                ‘No worries, mate,’ said Mr Patel as he struggled with his sled dog.

                ‘Wooof,’ coughed the husky, who was feeling a little horse, as he lit a cigarette.

                ‘Could you throw in a paradox please, I don’t think Occam is on duty tonight?’

                ‘OK, mate, that’ll be twenty seven dollars but, of course, it will all be free.’

Excellent service I thought, right on cue.

                I looked out the door to see if Mrs Brown’s coincidence had turned up yet. She had. ‘How nice to see you Mrs Brown,’ said Lydia. ‘I havent seen you for years. I didn’t know you lived here, you were the last person I expected to meet. How is your daughter doing, I believe she went off to Perth to marry that nice miner? How long ago was that…?’

*

I walked up main street after dropping Bruce off at the sheriff’s office to be charged, he was getting a little dim. The snooker hall was on the left and the barbie was just being lit in the fire pit.

                That was my cue from the infundibulum, which had clearly done its job well, to join the queue to use the only available cue in Cue to take my shot before setting off down the pit to the barber queue for a burger, a cold tinnie and a short back and sides in the latest fashion.

END

Cue house lights and curtain.