Speak American

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I love this photo on so many levels.

First, being the grammar and language pedant that I am, there’s the misuse of the word “your.” I don’t need to tell you that it should read “You’re in America.”

And, of course, there should be some punctuation between the first line and the second. A period, a colon, a semicolon. At the very least, a comma.

But it’s the irony of the message that is priceless. Telling someone to speak English because he or she happens to be in America and, while doing so, displaying a complete lack of mastery of the English language. How exquisite is that?

Gee, I wonder if whoever put that decal on the car window is able to speak the native tongue of any non-English speaking country he may visit.

“You’re in Mexico, gringo. Speak Mexican!”

“You’re in Canada, sir. Please speak Canadian, eh?”

Nah. That Yankees fan probably has never even been outside of the five boroughs of New York City. Well, maybe he’s been to New Jersey.


Written for today’s one-word prompt, “priceless.”

Sunday Photo Fiction — Clay Pigeons

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Frank grabbed Sally and pulled her behind the embankment as the military tank rumbled over bridge. “Do you think they saw us?” Sally whispered to Frank.

Frank peeked over the embankment as the tank rolled out of sight. “No, I don’t think so,” he said, as reassuringly as he could. “It will be dark in an hour,” he continued. “We’ll wait here until then before heading to the other side.”

Four months earlier the generals had staged a coup, arrested the president and his family, and declared martial law when those loyal to the president took up arms in open rebellion.

The fighting had been fierce and thousands of lives had been lost, but Frank was determined to make it across the border with Sally, where they’d be given asylum. He figured it would take them a few more days on foot, since private vehicles were no longer allowed on the roads.

After the sun set, the two left their hiding place. They had barely taken two steps when they were caught in a bright spotlight. Shots rang out and both of them fell dead to the ground.

“Like clay pigeons,” one of the rebel soldiers said, laughing.

(198 words)


Written for this week’s Sunday Photo Fiction prompt. Photo credit: A Mixed Bag 2017.