Charles had spent months meticulously researching the proper protocols and now he was finally going to met Him. His weekend getaway at Number 29 would make his dream a reality.
He entered the coordinates and felt a tingling sensation as the interior of Number 29 slowly changed to the scene of a large garden party. Everyone turned to stare at him. Something was wrong. This wasn’t Via del Pellegrino.
Charles heard someone yell “frisby on the wreake” and a naked man appeared beside him. Charles began to panic. Something was horribly wrong.
“Sir, I think your time travel machine has an outdated 1970s GPS. The Vatican is 100km that way.”
For 100 consecutive days I will write and post a short story (about 100 words) incorporating a randomly selected word from Afterliff: A new dictionary of things there should be words for.
frisby on the wreake interj.
Warning cry in a nudist colony.
With hands on hips and feet wide apart; the stance of city dwellers appreciating the view at weekends.