The Unicorn Challenge.

A magical new weekly writing opportunity from her – Jenne Gray – and me.
Visit her blog every Friday to see the photo prompt, and post your amazing story in her comments section.
Or on your own blog, and stick the link down in her comments.
The rules are:
Maximum of 250 words.
Based on photo prompt.
That’s it.

To hear me read my story, just click here:

The Bus

They get on the bus in Port Grimaud.
Two pretty girls in short skirts and hooded tops.
Pretty enough for me to notice them but, at around sixteen years old, far too young to hold my attention.
I might not be perfect, but children, or near-children, are not among my vices.
In any case, I have other things on my mind, a story I’m working on, the fourth book in my (not very) acclaimed trilogy of post-apocalypse Scotland.
I don’t think about my plot problem, instead I remember the time I visited an acupuncturist and got home to find my voodoo doll dead.
Now I let my eyes drift out the window, enjoy the view of the beaches of the Côte d’Azur.
Across the Gulf of St Tropez is the little town celebrated as the home of legendary French actress Brigitte Bardot.
But I’m aware that something is not quite right, and feel a growing sense of unease, a vague gnawing inside.
A few miles along the coast, just before St Maxime, the girls stand, ding the bell.
As they move to the door they pull up hoods.
I get that familiar prickle on the back of my neck.
I realise that they are the source of my disquiet.
But they get off without incident, walk along the side of the bus.
As they pass below me, on impulse, I rap the window with a coin.
They pause, look up.
I stare down at two ancient, wizened faces.