Bedtime stories from Red Bubble by Andrew Walker

Dear reader, it has been sometime since i put fingers to keyboard and wrote a tale of the inhabitants of the Bubble. Well partly that is down to me being bone idle and partly I have been immersed in deep research studying the inhabitants and commenting on them from time to time.
Now this isn’t a story, more it is a statement of intent. Over the next few months I will be writing a series of short stories of no more than a thousand words on those whose work inspires me within the Bubble. Like the Soap Bubble they will be grounded in utter fabrication and be completely made up and very tongue in cheek.

I hope you will all like them,

The first story will be out shortly, here are some extracts to keep you keen, oh and you’ll have to guess the photographer too

watch the bubble…

Andrew

Lola gasped, the thrill of the chase excited her! But now she had cornered her prey, the shooter was cornered and it was time to introduce him to a full can of woop ass. ‘Okay mister Photographer, you wanna explain what the hell you were playing at?’ she snarled. Paul gulped and searched hopelessly for an exit, nothing! He wasn’t prepared for this! Lola his Lola wasn’t supposed to turn on him she was just a construct a virtual girl well more his virtual girl to be exact. Not a real gun totin girl although those hot pants really did put the ass in assassin.

Flight lieutenant Smithson woke up with the roar of engines in his ears. The night before the mission over Germany was a blur, as he came too a sudden recollection of some of the japes and highjinks that his chums in the squadron had been up to surfaced! Suddenly the plane lurched, hit by anti aircraft fire. The call from Captain Hobbs was to abandon the plane… Smithson not used to walking in heels staggered to the doorway! Boy was this going to take some explaining to the Germans…

the beach the scavengers arrived. Desperately they fought against the crashing of the surf and the suck of sand, constantly searching for a shot that the old bint hadn’t taken.
The bellowing screech ‘GET OF MY BEACH’ scared them from their photography, in chaos and with tripods scattered in their wake they started to stampede down the beach away from the shambling mass of kelp leaves and barnacles that had just rounded the headland and was now gaining speed and thundering down the beach towards them… Clearly nobody had thought to tell her that this beach wasn’t hers any more.

Being a high maintenance kinda girl she expected the men in her life to supply maids, butlers, fast cars and large piles of cash. Her fifth husband the elderly shipping magnate Albert Popaclogifyoukiss did like her to dress up like ‘the help’ and Samantha was only happy to oblige (especially as his dodgy ticker could only take so much).
‘Poor Albert’ she sobbed at his funeral ‘I wish I had known about your allergy to emu feathers’ her only solace was the strong arms and slight smell of chlorine provided by the strapping pool boy.