‘Are you laughing at me Sybil?’ Megan’s high pitched voiced sounded strained and so did her sky blue eyes.
‘Now why would you think such?’ said Sybil.
‘Because I know you twitch your nose when you do?’ you were. I hate you? Her tears slapped me inside as she turned to run.
‘Megan stop you’ll slip, MEGAN STOP’ she didn’t stop, she was too angry.
A piercing cry rent the air drowning out the shattering of glass.
The glass doors paid for her haste, glazing the patio floor with clear droplets.

Written for Mondays Finish The Story: April 27th 2015



Down a manhole and 64steps out, the cavan was enormous. Its cheese-hole walls dimly lit save a few slants of light in the right places.

Sanctuary for all felines in the ongoing purge of Auriol City for The Crown Princess coronation ball.

Miners Hill: The Shroud of Silence

“The only residents remaining in the small town of Miners Hill are spirits.” To be frank the only thing that could live there are spirits.

Abigail’s words hours earlier echoed in my ears as I stared across the ridge from the bedroom window of the old town lodge. The hill was shrouded by an un-permeating fog, even though it was high noon.
The chill refused to go as I recalled the tragedy of Miners Hill. A mine blast gone wrong on a bright Saturday morning cracked open fissures underneath the town swallowing whole sections of earth. The dust had settled by dusk but the eery silence persisted, scaring even the toughest men. An unusually foggy night ensued in the area and by noon the next day the hill was still shrouded and remains so till today.


Inspired by Mondays Finish The Story: 25th May 2015

Image credit: © 2015, Barbara W. Beacham

Not today…

Sometimes an outpouring of the Soul is needed without edit. Sometimes we just need to read the right words.
Writing from a beautiful blogger.

Randoms by a Random


Sometimes, it feels being sensitive is a curse. You feel things- deeply, a little too deeply. It hurts, you need your heart to bleed but it doesn’t, you need the tears to fall but they won’t. And you stare- blank- at a wall, at mother nature, the earth, the skies, crying inwardly.

Your chest- it rises and falls and rises and falls. You feel the steady beat of your heart, in a regular rhythm. You take one look around and wonder. Where did I go wrong. Where did we go wrong.

You want to help. You stand up- take a walk on short steps to nowhere. Pondering all the while. Needing to blame somebody, yourself. And you wonder… You just keep wondering. What if it was me? And you wish all the pain they going through could be brought to you so that they could be free.

And the tears…

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Angel Crew

The crew of the Angel Flame received orders to head out.
Heading out into the raging monster on Glen Avenue. I watched as Gary the last to board the truck, waved goodbye while gingerly hanging over the side. His ever wide grin so distinct under his Yellow Fire-fighters Hat.
I’m chief but every time my boys head out I say a little prayer underneath my bold face.
On instinct I retreat into the building walking to my well lit corner office on the 2nd floor overlooking the busy street. Glancing at my first crew shots of so long ago, Bier, Smith, Lex, Cole, the entire crew and I the newbie of Angel Flame 1986.
All gone but I and a handful. My sarcastic laugh echoes emptily as I imagined what our 15 strong crew has been reduced to, old men and lots in the town cemetery.

Inspired by a prompt on Mondays Finish The Story.



‘Lissy, Lissy full of pleases
She would stare at the horizon all day
Amber rays and cool sprays the high of her day
When the tsunami came
She surfed that wave like no other
Our Golden retriever
With a golden soul
Her shadow has its place on our porch
One and only Lissy
Thank you for all the beach fun
…….’ My pen scrawls lines as she tilts my swing with her weight
A little crash later, I’m on the floor.
Oh Lissy.’ I peeled my eyes open to see her over my face tongue out, couldn’t help but grin. Time for your beach walk right. her bouncy tail and leash in mouth told me everything. Wresting my poem from beneath her tail, took me but a minute to get ready.
I tac my poem to the fridge, wistfully turning away to guide the inspiration of my poem to her favourite beach, and sunset.

Picture Prompt courtesy The Blog Propellant: Picture Prompt 9

My Fable Tower

Hot dusty roly skies, with winds coming of the range scaldingly dry.
In my fantasy was a meadow of the bluest flowers, my county of Valwall stretching to the wooded horizon courtyards encircle my tower, being the princess meant i got everything i could want. My view still couldn’t stay my shivers, i meet my betrothed tonight.
What is he like.
My wandering thoughts shatter on hearing the chatter of powerful hooves. The horsed figure stops beneath my tower the blackest of cloaks conceal his features. All my thoughts disappear when eyes of the greenest sea collide with mine.

Friday Fictioneers challenge: 15 MAY 2015

Word Count: 99.