Weekly Challenge #895 – Canyon

Richard Lizzie Lisa Serendipidy Tom Norval Joe Planet Z The next topic is Reviewal, Painfully shy, Rats, Translation, Crack of dawn, Shine RICHARD Undeliverance As we paddled into the canyon, Jack murmured, “If you hear banjos, just keep paddling!” “Very funny” I replied, but to be honest, I was unnerved. The rock walls closed in on us as the current caught our canoe and we began to speed, ever faster, through the narrow passage. If we were to capsize here, gun-toting hillbillies would be the least of our problems. Thankfully, we got through without incident and began to unpack on a handy beach. Then, I heard the sound of a shotgun bolt drawn back, and a voice behind called out, “Squeal, piggy. Squeal!” LIZZIE Canyon was a crow.<br /> Canyon hated his name.<br /> Canyon abhorred the guy who had named him.<br /> Canyon never replied when the guy called him.<br /> The guy’s greenhouse was his pride.<br /> So, Canyon started with pebbles and slowly upgraded to stones.<br /> The day one of the windows shattered, Canyon cawed in triumph.<br /> That’s when he stopped being Canyon and became a Jerk.<br /> Canyon didn’t like Jerk either.<br /> The guy fixed the window and sneered.<br /> A convoluted plan ensued. Canyon’s buddies would help.<br /> Well, the guy didn’t live long enough to enjoy his greenhouse.<br /> It was a murder, by God, a murder! LISA Some Unsettling News<br /> I’m getting married on a plane, odd because I’ve never flown well. It’s turbulent, the pilot’s struggling and I’m expecting to wake up any minute. But I don’t. I’m falling, falling from the plane into a canyon and I’ve not saved my future wife… Then, I wake. Next to her. The woman, I found out yesterday, that slept with my best mate on our wedding night. The woman that said his daughter was mine; my wife of thirty six years. I roll over on blood soaked sheets and try to get back to sleep wondering when to report her death. SERENDIPIDY The police report stated it was death by misadventure, an unfortunate combination of standing too close to the edge, a selfie stick, and concentrating more on the perfect pout, than on keeping her balance. Death, by Instagram. It wasn’t, of course. It was murder: Premeditated, planned and perfect. “Get a selfie on the edge”, I suggested, “you’ll be perfectly safe.” And she would have been, had I not tampered with the stick the night before. As she pressed the button, the spring released, propelling her precious phone over her head. She lunged. Grabbed. Failed. Fell. I got a great photo! TOM Barney Google he ain’t When I was a kid, my grandma came to live with us. We were a Daily New family, but my grandma was a Tribune reader. The Trib was the size of a telephone book. Not much interest to a child of eight. What was cool about the Trib was the comic section, four pages. Which was good because some of the stripes made no sense at all. Prince Valiant boring. And Steve Canyon way beyond my pay teeny-bopper grade. Good old squared jawed Stev was the inspiration for my favorite cartoon Clutch Cargo which employed that cheesy Syncro-Vox lip sync. NORVAL JOE Neither Billbert or either of the girls had any idea where they were. The sun was just beginning to lighten the sky, so Billbert guessed which direction was east. As they flew north they passed over ridges and small canyons. They saw marijuana fields below them and eventually came upon a small general store where a road crossed a rive