by elayna rose
a short story for flash fiction contest 6/1. includes the words camera, pipe, and stolen.
|"Un Homme et sa Pipe"
The scene of the crime - Billy Belmont’s bedroom. He knew something was up when he awoke, reached for his pipe (for his morning smoke), and grabbed nothing but air. Billy wasn't a role model, but he definitely wasn’t disorganized. In his small house, everything had its place, including every hair in his thick mustache. So it gave Billy quite a shock to discover his pipe missing.
Clearly, it couldn’t have been misplaced. Another thought popped into Billy’s mind- his French, hippy, neighbors. They were always smoking something, taking pictures, hugging trees, and whatnot. They must have seen the beautiful, wooden pipe from his window, and just couldn’t resist.
He set out to retrieve his stolen possession, angrily eyeing the youngsters as they clowned around in their backyard.
“Probably stopping it up with their darn hippie leaves,” he muttered to himself. He knocked firmly on their door, and a voice called, “Entrez, dude.” Billy rolled his eyes, and followed the culprit’s voice through the house.
The three hippies were making ridiculous poses for a camera.
“What is this tomfoolery?” Billy demanded.
“For Instagram, man,” a gawkish man said.
Billy didn’t know what that was, but he was not deterred. “I want my pipe back.”
“Hang on, mon chéri,” a woman said, “lemme get this shot,” and snapped a picture.
“It’s for her, how-you-say, portfolio,” the other man declared. “She’s really very good.”
“Oui, she’s been photographing us all day,” the gawkish man said.
“That’s it!” Billy shouted, and seized the camera, which held the evidence he needed. “It’s got to be in here somewhere,” he said, scanning through the pictures. “Aha!” Billy turned the camera towards the woman, revealing a picture of his pipe in her companion’s mouth. “It's my pipe!”
“No, no, monsieur,” she said. “Ceci n’est pas une pipe.”
- e. rose