Oct 14-15 Conkers & A Torn Flag

I’m a bit behind. My cemetery play A Spot On the Hill went into production this week. Here are my entries for Thursday & Friday.

I am playing Betsy Cooke in the show this year. I’ve heard so much about her & her work in the library. I hope I am doing her proud.

The prompts for this edition are Conkers (look it up) and A Torn Flag.

“Did you say he killed you?” one of the other members in the group asked.

“I didn’t kill him!” Gregor protested.

“He was going to kill me, but someone beat him to it.” Richard’s corpse struggled to sit up. It was a rather revolting site to watch.

“Dude, how many people don’t like you?” asked a man dressed like a jester.

“Gavin, what do you have to say for yourself?” The woman gestured to the friar.

“I’m sorry, okay, Sheila. Tristan was going to check the bottles for me,” Gavin explained.

“Are you really going to blame Tristan? He had to go to his grandmother’s funeral tonight.”

“I don’t mean to interrupt your petty squabble here, but what I am supposed to do with that?!” Gregor pointed to Richard.

“You can take me to the hospital so they can fix me,” Richard fired back.

“Oh, no, that won’t work, dude. You’re dead, like so dead.”

“Yeah, the spell will wear off in about five hours,” Sheila informed them. Richard was crestfallen. “But maybe you can get justice against your murderer before the clock runs out?”

They both perked up at that. “It’ll be much easier to get you back to my place now.” Gregor stood and tried to help Richard up, but his legs were less than cooperative. “Get your feet under you.”

“If someone hadn’t slammed my body into every rock and tree, this would be much easier!”

Gregor huffed and looked at the group. “Can any of you give us a ride?”

“We don’t drive here. We ride our bikes,” Gavin replied.

“How old are you all?” Gregor wanted to know.

“How are we supposed to get on a bike?” Richard asked from the ground.

Several minutes later, Gregor was sitting on a bike with Richard strapped to his back. Since his legs were already broken, they folded them up. He was fastened to Gregor with conkers on strings, of all things. Apparently, the game was good for relieving stress and Gavin was British. Richard was still having trouble sitting upright, though.

“Do you have anything else? It’s hard to keep my head up.”

“What do you need to see? You’re dead,” Gregor remarked.

Gavin stepped forward. “I have something.” He produced his flag and started to tear it.

“No, Gavin, not your sigil,” one of his friends bemoaned.

Gavin would not be dissuaded. “No, this is my mess, it’s my job to make it right.” He ripped the flag into multiple pieces and secured Richard’s corpse to Gregor’s back. With fond wishes, the unlikely duo road off into the night.”