Unicorn Challenge – Xmas Special

Copyright Ayr/Gray

Unicorn Challenge – Xmas Special

A one-off Seasonal offering from Jenne and The Unicorn, and it’s a Double Challenge!

First, write a story, maximum 250 words, based on the above image.

Second, send Pingo as a Special Treat Holiday Gift to yourself or someone you love (or your mother-in-law, that’ll teach her!)

Available as Paperback or E-book, minimum price on Amazon:
in UK: http://bit.ly/44Ljf8l
and in USA (amazon.com): http://bit.ly/4nqKiwc

Alternatively, on C. E.’s Amazon Author Page, spoil yourself and everyone you know with a book (or three) from the Sensei and Vidock trilogy:
in UK: http://bit.ly/4nhT6ET
and in USA: https://bit.ly/44KU9Wm

Happy holidays, Merry Christmas, whatever you wish yourself

Click here to hear me read an excerpt from Pingo, a very short chapter entitled Red River Rock:

Red River Rock

‘The thing is,’ says Pingo, ‘that everyone speaks so badly that it’s becoming official.’
Penny smiles, sensing another of his amusing rants on the way.
‘Go on.’
‘I saw this phonetic pronunciation thingy, a table with wee symbols that tell you how you’re supposed to say words, yeah?’
She nods, waiting.
‘Well, it baffled me, I didn’t understand it at all, until someone pointed out that it was for “Received Pronunciation”, that’s like BBC English, or it was. Now the Beeb’s not only corrupt, it’s down market.’
‘What do you mean?’ she asks for the seven millionth time in ten weeks.
‘Well, this thing showed that there were no “R”s in words like “here” and “there”.
She bites her tongue, refusing to ask for the seven million and first time.
‘Okay…’ she drags the word out, making it a question.
‘When I say those words, you can hear the “R”, yeah?’
‘When you say any word, I can hear the “R” very clearly!’
‘Okay, you say them now.’
‘Here and there?’
‘Exactly. They were written in this thingy as “hee-ah” and “they-ah”. Not a bloody “R” to be seen. On the other hand, your…’ his voice drifts into silence and he starts to laugh.
‘What?’ she asks.
‘I’m going to have to be very precise with my rhetoric here!’
She raises a quizzical but amused blonde eyebrow, and holds her tongue.
‘I was about to say that your “R”s are quite soft, certainly compared to mine, but that they are still audible. I didn’t want to get into a conversation about your lovely soft bum! But okay, let’s do that instead!’
She laughs.
‘No, stick to your point. And behave yourself!’
‘Nah, phonetics and stuff are dull, I’d rather consider your soft arse than your soft “R”s. Come here, wummin, I want to bite you.’
The discussion is put on hold.




Posted in Novel, Scottish Stuff, funny and serious, Sound Bite Fiction | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

The Window

Copyright Jon Tyson

My contribution to Melissa’s Fandango Flash Fiction Challenge.

The Window

I love living here on the Côte Vermeille – mild winters, fabulous scenery and it’s France with a Catalan flavour.
I’m getting to like her (and hoping she likes me too), so I decide to pay her a surprise visit, just to say hello.
It’s only a 30-minute walk to her house, and the views of the Mediterranean, shimmering in the moonlight, are magical.
I let myself in the side gate, and smile.
She’s listening to the same music when she’s alone as we do when we’re together.
Then I see the car in the driveway.
I recognise it, of course.
It’s not possible, is it?
Trembling, I look through the uncurtained window and know the truth.
It occurs to me that I don’t love living here that much.
I think it’s time to move on.

Posted in Sound Bite Fiction | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

Pier Pressure

As a response to Crimson’s Creative Challenge, I wrote this.
Click here to hear the writer read his words

Pier Pressure

‘You owe us money, pal.’
In Scotland, when four strangers address you as ‘pal’, you’re often in trouble.
I know I am.
I try to keep the shake out of my voice.
‘How d’you work that out, guys,’ I ask, although I’ve already guessed.
‘We were at your show at the Pavilion tonight, bit of a disaster, eh?’
I’m a singer in a Seventies Revival Tour, I do Bowie.
Ten minutes into tonight’s performance, during my first number, the power failed.
And couldn’t be fixed.
The tickets were pre-sold, so there was no cash for refunds.
‘I’m just a singer,’ I say, knowing it’s utterly futile.
‘You’re a rich rock star, you’re giving us our money back.’
‘I get paid minimum wage by the promoter,’ I plead. ‘I’m broke.’
This is sadly true.
‘Aye, you’re about to be more broke, pal.’
…there’s something wrong, can you hear me, Major Tom?…


Posted in Sound Bite Fiction | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 14 Comments

Snowed In

As a response to Crimson’s Creative Challenge, I wrote this.
Click here to hear the writer read his words

Snowed In

We appear to be snowed in.
Not surprising, as our little rented cottage is on the edge of Rannoch Moor.
Picturesque, but remote.
We have hot chocolate and Glenmorangie, and toasted scones, her favourite taste of Scotland.
Everything is perfect.
Then she mentions a name.
And an argument explodes.
Normally I’d leave now, give her time to calm down, but here, that’s not possible.
I try to make peace, to apologise, even though she started it, and continues to escalate it, as always.
This is why I avoid confrontation, I struggle to control my temper.
So my hands are on her throat, squeezing…
I carry her out into the blizzard, stumble across the white broken ground until I can walk no further.
I lie down beside her, holding her as the tears freeze on my face.
We’ll be together forever.
Or until the spring thaw, at least.


Posted in Sound Bite Fiction | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 13 Comments

Lost and Found

As a response to Crimson’s Creative Challenge, I wrote this.
Click here to hear the writer read his words

Lost and Found

Life, when you live it to the full, can be short periods of calm, interlaced with a sprinkling of ups and downs, and the occasional roundabout.
And then, now and again, you arrive at a significant moment, a crossroads, where you have to make a decision, knowing that your future, and perhaps also that of others, depends on the direction you choose.
You’ve been stuck in a rut, lacking motivation, needing to change.
So you pause, take your time, ponder your options, and wait for inspiration.
And sometimes you get lucky.
So you get yourself into gear, you pick a route, and you drive off.
Maybe not into the sunset, you don’t know that yet.
But at least down a road you haven’t driven before, that you’ve maybe glimpsed en passant, maybe in a dream.
And there you find something quite unexpected.
You find yourself.

Posted in Sound Bite Fiction | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 7 Comments

Sunset – Friday Fictioneers

© Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Friday Fictioneers is a weekly challenge set by Rochelle Wisoff Fields to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here.

Click here to hear the writer read his words:

Sunset

I’ve never liked sunsets.
Sure, they can be quite spectacular, lots of rosy hues and all that, but they always make me think of death.
Because, y’know, it’s the end of something, something that might have been great, and the beginning of something else, something dark and lonely.
Thing is, I spent too much of my life in darkness, alone and frightened.
Then you came along, and brought sunshine, laughter and love.
Especially love.
I thought it would be like that forever.
But you left, without a word.
A heart attack, they said.
For me, it was just another sunset.


Posted in Sound Bite Fiction | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 35 Comments

The Great Peace 2025

Copyright C. E. Ayr

Click here to hear the writer read his words:

The Great Peace

The pain surprises me.
The rain falls steadily, but it is not the cause of the pain.
The wind blows briskly, but it is not the cause of the pain.

I look around the small cemetery, one out of around 940 in France and Belgium.
It is the cause of my pain.
It contains the graves of 1,262 British, 4 Canadian and 29 German soldiers and airmen.
There is no segregation by rank or nationality, and each grave is immaculately tended.
They are arranged in chronological order of death.
Think about that, just for a moment.

The peace is in sharp contrast to those bloody days over just 100 years ago.
The days when this part of Northern France was the world’s battlefield, bringing men from all parts of the planet to die here.

The Great War.
I almost smile at the oxymoron.
But find I cannot.
Because of the tears in my eyes and the lump in my throat.

the great war they said
was the war to end all wars
flowers grow in tears

Copyright C. E. Ayr
Posted in france | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 13 Comments

She

Copyright Crispina Kemp

As a response to Crimson’s Creative Challenge, which suggested Autumn, a beautiful time when things die, I wrote this.
Click here to hear the poet read his words

she

she is
warmth
in the winter
sunshine
in the dark
a bird
that sings
butterfly wings

she is
gentle breeze
sending
transparent
autumn leaves
tumbling
through sunbeams
into heaps
for young feet
to scuff
into dreams

she is
waves
over stones
a violin’s
sweet tones
daffodils
in spring
an eagle
on the wing

she is
the night sky
full of stars
twanging guitars
a laugh
that can light
the longest night

she is
a smile
a glance
a mermaid
who can dance
blue sky
white cloud
singing
aloud

she is
a portrait
of love
a sculpture
a song
but
most of all
she is
gone

Posted in Poetry, Poetry | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 16 Comments

Hallowe’en 2025

Artwork by Phil Burns

Click here to hear the poet read his words:

Hallowe’en

aw Scotland’s scary myths and legends
fae Tam o Shanter tae Sawney Bean
creep and slither yince mair fae the shadows
each year the nicht o Hallowe’en

(interlude)

nae bairn can contain their excitement
as the end of October draws near
each wee brain fair itches
as they think about witches
it is the scariest night of the year

aye Hallowe’en’s a nicht o fear-filled frolics
as long as you ca canny
ye micht see a de’il
or a bogle for real
if you keek in each impenetrably dark nook and cranny

some traditions have lasted forever and ever
some changes we find quite surprising
in the US it’s neat
to say trick or treat
but in Scotland for the past 500 years we call it guising

there’s ay laughter and games for the wee yins
with treacle scones hung on a loosely-strung string
just mind your thrapple
when dookin for apples
in case a wild wean wi a sharp-pronged fork takes a swing

everyone carves out a lacklustre lantern
we use turnips but some folk use pumpkins
we may be old fashioned
but please show compassion
and don’t confuse us with near-extinct country bumpkins

though it’s now all modern and commercialised
we aw continue to do things we’re no supposed tae
it’s still the nerve-numbing night
that causes face-freezing fright
when we walk wi all sorts of gruesome ghouls and ghastly ghosties

Hallowe’en is the annual haunt of the bogeyman
he frightens the bravest bairns out of their hat-disguised heads
he has never been seen
but does that really just mean
he is hiding patiently under your bed?


*Glossary of Terms:

aye – yes
ca’ canny – take care
bogle – a bad thing, a spectre, a goblin
keek – look
ay – always
thrapple – throat, windpipe
dookin’ – ducking, trying to capture from a large basin or bath
wean, bairn – child
tae – to
bogeyman – boogeyman (USA), very bad (hopefully) imaginary person

Posted in Daft Rhymes, Poetry, Poetry, Scottish Stuff, funny and serious | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | 10 Comments

The Magic of Art – Friday Fictioneers

Copyright Dale Rogerson

Friday Fictioneers is a weekly challenge set by Rochelle Wisoff Fields to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here.

Click here to hear the writer read his words:

The Magic of Art

I stare at the painting of the big wooden door of the big wooden house.
It’s closed.
This play-park is strange, I think, but my daughter likes to come here because, she says, she can paint magic here.
Honest, Daddy, if you draw something and put it on the easel at the bottom of the garden, it becomes real!
This morning, at home, she drew a big wooden house.
I’ll paint it when I get there, with the magic paint!
Now she’s disappeared.
A few moments ago, the big wooden door of the big wooden house was definitely open.

Posted in Sound Bite Fiction | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 37 Comments