3TC — If the Key Fits

key, bent, RAF (F.C. Harrold)Honey, this is the place,” James said. “Isn’t it great?”

Doris looked at the rustic cabin and gave an unenthusiastic grunt. “You know, James, I’m not a big fan of roughing it. Is this place even air conditioned?”

“No way,” James said. “This place is totally off-grid. No electricity, no gas, no internet. You cool the place by opening the windows, you heat the place by burning logs in the fireplace, and you light the place with oil lamps.”

Doris frowned. “There better not be any bugs or spiders in there,” she said.

James chuckled. “Don’t fret, Doris, I’ll protect you.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a key to open the cabin’s front and only door. “That’s strange,” he said, jiggling the key in the lock. “The key doesn’t seem to be working.” He pulled it out of the lock and looked at it. “Shit, the damn thing is bent.”

“Oh, sweetie,” Doris said. “Did you bend the key? That’s such a shame. Didn’t we pass a casino on the way here? It looked like a really nice place. We could head back there until you can get a new key.”

Written for today’s Three Things Challenge from Di at Pensitivity101, where the three things are “honey,” “key,” and “place.” Also for Fandango’s One-Word Challenge (bend).

The Sounds of the City

61B143F3-94F2-4B6D-A450-747572FC3D4BMy wife and I are seriously considering moving out of the city. It’s not that we don’t love living in the heart of a big, bustling city. We do.

But it’s noisy.

There is a city bus that drives by our house dozens of times a day. We live a half block from a police station. There’s a hospital two blocks away. Our local streets are continually under repair and there’s lots of construction all around us.

We hear car horns honking, brakes squealing, engines roaring, and people partying on the streets at all hours.

We hear planes overhead flying to and from the local airport and the ohhhhh-wahhhhh sounds of foghorns in the bay.

We have grown somewhat tired of the noise and are thinking about selling our urban dwelling and moving into a cabin in the mountains, a bungalow by the ocean, or a cottage by a lake.

Someplace quiet. Someplace peaceful. Maybe even someplace off-grid.

Written for today’s one-word prompt, “noise.” Image credit: Brian Timmer at briantimmerart.com.

#writephoto — Off Grid

D91B4BFB-A22F-4358-931D-5FE9B1D51647“It’s stunning,” Donna said as she looked out of the cabin window. Paul walked over to her and handed her a mug of hot, steaming coffee, which she readily accepted.

“I knew you’d love it out here,” Paul said as he put his arms gently around Donna’s waist so as not to spill her coffee.

“I do, Paul. I was hesitant at first, but I’m so glad you talked me into it.”

“We’re completely off grid, Donna,” Paul said. “No electricity, no TV, no radio, no internet, no cellphone service. Just the two of us and our books, a fully stocked pantry, plenty of wood to keep the fire going and the coffee hot on the potbelly stove.”

“Yes,” said Donna. “And we’ve got each other. There’s nothing more that either of us needs.”

The two of them stood by the window looking out across the value toward the mountains. “What’s that?” Paul asked, putting down his coffee.

“What’s what?” Donna asked, some concern in her voice.

“That!” Paul said, pointing down toward a green light in the grassy area just a few yards outside the cabin. He walked over to the cabin door, opened it, and stepped outside to get a closer look.

From her window view, Donna saw Paul approach the area where they saw the green light. She saw him look up and point toward the sky, and then look back at her with an expression of dread on his face.

When a beam of green light shown down on Paul and instantly vaporized him, Donna knew that it was all over. Nothing could save her. Nothing could save humanity. Even out here, in the middle of nowhere, no one would be spared. The aliens had won.

Written for Sue Vincent’s Thursday Photo Prompt.