Thursday photo prompt: Glimmer #writephoto


He disliked whinging as it was the one thing he hated to be around and right now all that was coming from his mouth was constant whining about how far it was to camp.

Why he had agreed to this day hike was now beyond him, he should have known his fitness was poor, but he’d allowed himself to be cajoled into going to save face and appear to be one of the group.

He knew his behaviour must be irritating on the others who trudged ahead of him never showing any indication that like him his feet hurt, his calves hurt and his pride was seriously damaged.

The hike was billed as easy, and it was anything but that according to him.

He dragged further and further behind as the evening approached and was assured the camp was just over the next hill but that claim seemed to be several hills ago in his estimation.

By now each step was hurting as never before. His shoes were rubbing against his heels, and he knew blisters were building by the minute. His second toe on his right foot screamed at him to rest as another formed there and in his mind was the humiliation of being the one who slowed everyone down.

The group waited for him on the top of the next rise, and as he arrived, they pointed to the glimmer of light in the distance. There was the camp, which came with a sense of relief but still seemed an awfully long way off.


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Reena’s Exploration Challenge #Week 59


“So, you think money is at the root of all evil …..”

In a far corner of the betting shop sits the man down on his luck and all but out of cash.

It’s time for the last race, and he feels in his pocket as much out of hope as anything and finds two, $2.00 coins hiding in the far corner.

It’s not much, but it’s his last hope.

It’s been a mournful day, his money so easily gambled away and now in his mind is what to say to his wife when he returns home penniless. She’s been on to him to give it away, says to him “money is the root of all evil’ and he knows now how true that is.

In the back of his mind, the words of his father echo: “It’s a hard game.”

He rolls the coins in his fingers as he studies the form guide. He desperately wants to salvage something from the day, after all, he told his wife he was going down to put on a few bets, and now it’s almost the end of his day. His mates whom he sits with have long gone, they too had the same luck as him and readily abandoned him once it was clear luck must have been at another betting shop, and there was no chance of any free drinks.

He decides number seven is a chance and if it gets up will pay enough to say he won something.

He parts with his last coins and sits back to watch the race. As he waits, he sees his family at home waiting for him, his wife cooking a meagre meal and the kids expectant in that their dad will come home and if he’s had luck he’ll bring them a surprise, usually a bag of chips and chocolate for their mother.

He looks up to see the race is coming to an end and number seven is nowhere to be seen. Another race where the ambulance beat the horse home. Gambling has its own series of flippant remarks to pass off the ignominy of losing.

There’s nothing left for him but to take his sorrowful self and head for home. He knows the silence and disapproval that awaits him, worse that he’ll have to suffer in front of his children.

“I’ve got to give it away,” he says to himself, “next week I’ll stay in, play with the kids, help the wife, be a husband and dad.”

As he trudges towards home, the pledge he makes himself fades as the lure of the next race meeting pushes such thoughts from his mind.



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SoCS Oct. 20/18 – Can



I can because I can and that is why I can.

You say I can’t but I can, so put that in your pipe and smoke it.

I went to the shop today and purchased a dozen “CAN” lollies

Each one I sucked and then sucked another

I wanted to stand outside your house just to prove I can

But then people would talk and we wouldn’t want that

So, I took a selfie of each lolly as I sucked it because I can

And you the fun part of all this??

I can and you can’t.


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Tale Weaver/Fairy Tale # 193 – Fairies. – The Fire Patch.


Google Images: Labelled for re-use.

I was digging in my garden when I was rudely interrupted by a voice asking me what I thought I was doing.

I looked around thinking it was my nosey neighbour kidding around again. But no one was in sight, and I thought I must be hearing things.

So, I sunk my shovel once again into the ground only to encounter a more strident voice repeating the earlier request.

I looked down and there standing against my shovel was the tiniest man. At least I thought it was a man. It did have trousers on.

I stood there providing the situation with my best gormless face and focused on the little man.

“People live here,” he said, “do you know you are disturbing our lives by digging as you are?”

“Who are you?” I asked wondering if I was dreaming.

“Silas Missage,” replied the man, “head fairy and custodian of the fire patch.”

“Fire patch? There’s a fire patch?”

“Of course, every self-respecting garden fairy cultivates and respects his fire patch.”

“I don’t understand,” I said sounding more and more incredulous.

“Garden fairies love what you folk rudely refer to as ‘fire weed’. To us, it is nature’s beauty all rolled into one single plant. It provides us with sustenance, fuel and most importantly firewood in the colder months. So, I would humbly request you cease digging the plants up.”

“Oh, I see and if I don’t?”

“You don’t want to go there. We can get very cross.”

“Really? But this is my garden.”

“No, it isn’t.” With that my shovel turned into child’s plastic shovel, the sort you’d use at the beach.

“As I was saying,” said the small man, this is our patch, and I’d appreciate it if you buggered off and found something useful to do elsewhere.”

The little fairy had made his point, and I wondered if my yard had in recent times become possessed as I’d had a similar experience when I tried to move the wood heap.




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Finish the Story #15


The Funniest Vacation Ever!

Alan spent the winter of ’86 thinking about all the road trips he was subjected to as a child in the old family station wagon. His two children had never experienced hours filled with playing I-spy and highway bingo followed by staring out the window convinced you passed that cactus three hours ago. He decided the time had come for his family to have that experience.

“Everyone in the car,” he said on the first day of summer break in ’87.

“What?” Andrew had just settled onto the couch for a day of tv viewing.

“No!” Jenny shouted as she covered the phone with her hand. “I’m talking to Becky!”

“Why?” Alex said as he tossed his football in the air while he waited for the other players to wake up.

Alan stood in the hallway and shook his car keys. “Now!”

Three disgruntled children and a very confused wife slowly passed by on their way out to the car.

“Where are we going?” Patty asked her husband as they passed the last exit for their town on the highway.

“We’re going to a great place that I know you’ll love.

“Disneyland?” Jenny asked as her face lit up.


“Universal Studios?” Andrew asked, growing excited.

“Sort of.”

“Knotts Berry Farm?” Alex asked.

“You’ll see.”

Even Patty grew excited until Alan turned off the highway onto a dirt road and drove for five hours.

“Our first stop,” Alan declared as he pulled into a parking lot.

Alan grinned ear-to-ear while everyone else’s jaws dropped as they looked out the car windows and saw//

From Michael at Morpethroad

they had arrived at an authentic western town.

All around them was the smell of the west. Horse poo, mud, human excrement it was all there to be enjoyed.

The kids were not in the least excited. They recoiled from the scene, burying their noses in their handkerchiefs while urging their father to drive on.

Suddenly around them, there were gunshots. A bullet passed through the window next to Andrew’s head, his sister Jenny screamed, and then the car door was swung open, and a grizzled man shouted at them to get out and seek cover because the Irish Gang had hit the town and they were the meanest, most ornery cowpokes west of the river.

The kids and their parents did as they were told all finding themselves crawling through the mud towards the cover of a horse trough. Around them bullets flew, the children terrified and thinking their days were over made it to the trough where they hid holding onto their parent’s hands. The parents, Alan and Patty, clung to each other as bullets whipped through the water in the trough spraying them with water that tasted strangely like horse.

Then as unexpected as the gunfight, Alan was grabbed and dragged out into the middle of the street. Patty screamed in fear for her husband who was quickly tied up and made to kneel in the mud of the street.

One of the attackers, Snide O’Gorman, then produced a rope and flung it over a light pole. The rope had a noose, a noose that was placed around Alan’s neck.

The kids were beside themselves when…


I pass the story to Sadje –


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Finish the Story #12 – A Night at the Opera


A Night at the Opera

Joshua planned the night perfectly. He bought her favorite flowers, picked the perfect bistro, arranged for her favorite book to be in the bookshop window, and purchased the best box at the opera nearly six months earlier. He waited for Lana to come home from work, take a shower, and start to relax. His plan was then set in motion.

“Why don’t we go out to eat tonight,” he suggested.

“Oh, that sounds lovely,” she said.

On their way out the door, Joshua reached into the refrigerator and whipped out the bouquet of flowers.

Lana squealed. “They’re lovely!” She kissed his cheek and wrapped herself around his arm.

The meal was perfect and she nearly flipped when she saw the book she loved on the way to the opera house.

Everything was going as planned. Everything until the opera. Instead of her favorite tenor as scheduled, Faust was played by…

Part 2 by Fresh Hell

… “Stone Cold” Steve Austin. It completely spoiled her expectations of the evening. The wrestler barreled around the stage, ungainly as a three legged pig. He nearly knocked part of the set over.

As he belted out the last broken note, unconsciously clotheslining a member of the chorus with one beefy arm, her temper burst. She just had to go complain.

“No, no, not again,” Joshua said. “Please, let’s go home.”

“I can’t enjoy my evening if I don’t settle out my confrontations,” she said snippily. “Let me do this.”

She joined the line to meet “Stone Cold.”

Joshua kept his hand in his pocket, sadly palming the small box hidden there. He had planned to give this to her after the show, but he knew her well, and what she had said was true. She needed to tell somebody off. If she came out on top, she would be in the finest possible mood and he could continue his plan without a hitch. However, if she lost face… he might have to re-plan this whole thing.

But the closer they got, the smaller his current dilemma got, and the bigger “Stone Cold” got. Joshua’s courage was wilting, but Lana simply held her head higher. At last their turn in line came.

“MISTER ‘Stone Cold’ Steve Austin,” Lana began huffily. “I have to something to say to you!”

“Stone Cold” took her hand in one of his ham fists. “Hello beautiful,” he said pleasantly.

Lana’s eyes bulged, and her face turned bright pink. Her opera glasses had not done him justice. Up close, his eyes were ocean deep, his bald pate such a compelling shape. She couldn’t remember what she was angry about. “W-would you like to join us for a late coffee?”

Part 3 by Michael at Morpethroad.

Joshua couldn’t believe the same Lana he had earlier taken out was now standing starry-eyed and blushing in front “Stone Cold”.

She muttered something he took as a yes and then followed him and his entourage into a nearby coffee shop. By now her focus was on the former wrestler, and Joshua was feeling totally ignored. So much for all his plans for the evening.

In the coffee shop, Steve was surrounded by sycophantic admirers and as the evening progressed he appeared to be lapping up all the attention they gave to him.

By now Lana had become completely enamoured by him and by her second cup she was sitting on his knee, stroking his pate with one hand while gurgling sweet nothings into his ear.

“Stone Cold” appeared to be becoming less stone cold by the minute and began fondling Lana in ways Joshua thought was his domain only. To make it worse, Lana was in the throes of enjoyment and in Joshua’s opinion was making a right spectacle of herself.

Finally, Joshua had had enough and…

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Three Things Challenge (3TC) – The Headless Horseman.


Three Things Challenge, the words are: headless, sleeping, mountain.

It was while sleeping on Sleeping Mountain that I encountered the headless horseman.

It had been an arduous day, uphill all the way.

Rest was screaming at me to give it a go, and so I fell into my sleeping bag and drifted off.

It was sometime later when I was awoken by the sound of a horse galloping my way. It came closer and closer, and I became frightened at the intrusion into my camp. Soon under the light of the silvery moon, I made out the approaching horse. The rider was encased in a black robe, but as it came closer, I could see there was no head upon the rider’s shoulders.

As he drew level with my camp, the horse reared, and I could see the silver horseshoes against the night sky.

It then came to a complete stop, and the rider appeared to be looking at me, at least it would have if it had a head.

Then the rider raised an arm and pointed to the west and rode off. As the dust settled the atmosphere on the mountain returned to its sleeping self.

I wondered if upon my return my grandchildren would believe what I had just seen.


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