Tales of humour, whimsy and courgettes
“While we’re talking about jobs,” said Yuffie, “I once wrote a joke book about avoiding employment.”
“Ah, so you’re an author?” asked Reala.
“Mmhmm,” replied Yuffie.
“Did the book sell well?” asked Saturn.
“No,” sighed Yuffie. “None of the comedy worked.”
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“I applied for a job at an eraser factory last week,” said Fuen.
“Oh aye,” replied Reala. “How did it go?”
“Not sure,” replied Fuen. “It was going well until they asked me what I thought qualified me for the job.”
“And?” pushed Yuffie.
“I handed them a blank resume and told them I thought my work would speak for itself,” sighed Fuen.
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He snags his arm on a rock. With a rip, he tears a strip of his wetsuit off along with his skin. Blood trails through the water. He keeps wriggling.
She grabs his foot, she needs him to calm down.
He drops his air tank, kicking free of her grip, and swimming the last few metres into open space.
She hangs back, and with a sigh, watches the shadow of a three-headed undead shark moving towards him.
The water turns red.
The Little Fears presents: Grey Moon, has now been released! The fifth book in the Little Fears presents series follows an all-female cast of Little Fears as they figure out their place in the world in-between, explore love and discuss picnics with alpacas. All within the confines of the Grey Moon bar. If you’d like to grab a copy, go to the Kindle edition, it’ll show as £0.00 to buy. Grab it at that price and its free forever. If you enjoy it, please do leave me a review. Y’all know a 5 star helps an author.
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“Hmm,” mumbled Fuen, circling an advert in a newspaper.
“Looking for a job?” asked Saturn.
“Maybe,” said Fuen. “Look at this one.”
The advert read, ‘ACCOUNTANT NEEDED! £35,000 – £40,000.’
“I mean that’s easy,” said Fuen. “The answer is -£5000.”
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“Oh dear,” said Yuffie, folding out a newspaper.
“What’s up?” asked Reala.
“It says here,” replied Yuffie, “Mad Penny Pencil McGrue, the courtroom artist for Harrow Crown Court, has been arrested for reasons unknown.”
“Blimey,” said Fuen. “Any further information?”
“No,” sighed Yuffie. “Details are sketchy.”
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Reala watched Saturn swing the door open and sit at the bar in a huff.
“What’s up?” asked Reala?
“My missus has been giving me stick again,” sighed Saturn.
“Oh dear,” replied Reala, pouring Saturn a glass of rum.
“She keeps saying she finds my personality sexy,” said Saturn.
“Aha,” said Reala. “Is that a problem?”
“Kinda,” moaned Saturn. “I don’t know which one she finds sexy.”
“Oh, don’t listen to her,” said Saturn, “she’s a moaning Minnie.”
“Be quiet you,” snapped Saturn.
“OK,” said Reala, pouring a few more rums.
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She closed the front door behind her with a sigh. Emptying her handbag onto the sideboard revealed a powder compact, a lipstick, some lip balm, and a loose penny, which landed on its side and stood upright.
“That’s supposed to be lucky,” said her husband, handing her a drink.
“I could use some good fortune after the day I’ve had,” she laughed.
Her husband nodded, downing his own whisky. Toasting himself silently, willing her to drink the poison-laden glass. He hadn’t noticed he’d given her the wrong one.
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“What about her friend Mabel?” asked Yuffie.
“Well, she hasn’t been the same since the incident,” sighed Fuen.
“No,” replied Yuffie. “It was a terrible shame.”
“What happened to her?” asked Reala.
“She fell into a vat of lemon juice and almost drowned,” replied Fuen.
“She turned quite sour afterwards,” lamented Yuffie.
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“I had to close her down,” sighed Yuffie.
“What’s that?” asked Reala, rejoining the conversation.
“Barbara,” replied Fuen. “Yuffie caught her selling guns to a few of the dinosaurs.”
“Who’s Barbara?” asked Reala.
“She’s a T-Rex,” replied Yuffie. “Who makes a living as a small arms dealer.”
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“How do you do it?” demanded Roy.
The Indian played his flute, the rope danced to the tune.
“Look,” said Roy, “I need this for my act, or the Magic Council won’t let me play London venues!”
The music played, the rope swayed.
“Tell me!” demanded Roy, kicking the Indian in the face.
“Twat.”
That was the last thing Roy said.
Although to be fair, it’s hard to say anything when a rope around your neck lifts you six foot into the air.
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