Image: MorgueFile 1416928925r3kcx


The Morgue Ornithology Society gathered round the clutch of eggs.

In hushed tones, the leader of the group began: “ Here are the eggs of the Morgue Nestling Wrestling Plover. This is the first time in thirty years we’ve come across a nest with eggs. As you know, the plover is not the smartest bird in the world, but it is one of the loudest as we know after trying to cross the sports ground when the plovers think it belongs to them.

But our local breed has evolved an extra string to their bow.

Our plovers have developed a wrestling technique where they attack any creature, including humans, who come into their territory and with the extraordinary strength in their wings can pin a ninety-kilo man to the ground.

We know this as one did it to me recently and I have to say it was a terrifying experience.

So let’s move away before the parent returns as I’d hate any of you to go through the wrestling experience.”

As they moved away, they heard in the distance the tell tale call of the angry plover, and soon all were running as if their lives depended on it.



Written for: https://flashfictionforthepracticalpractitioner.wordpress.com/2018/04/18/flash-fiction-for-the-purposeful-practitioner-2018-week-16/

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Photo Challenge #210 – Summer and Esther


The man liked to rough handle the girls he picked up. For him, it was all about dominance. It was his way of controlling the situation for he was, in fact, a coward and a weakling beneath the violence.

He had picked up a slim petite girl, barely eighteen he figured. She had been willing and eager until he hit her the first time. She was resistant, so he knew how to curb that behaviour.

He slapped her twice more before throwing her on to the bed. He’d show her who was boss and what happened when you didn’t comply.

He threw himself on top of her only to feel the girl’s knee thrust into his groin.

The pain was immense, and he doubled up planning his next assault, which wouldn’t be anywhere as nice as his last one.

But he found himself being rolled onto his back, his hands still holding his crushed testicles.

Sitting astride him was not the girl he had been engaging with. This was someone different.

He stared at her unable to make out the change and how it had happened.

Then she spoke: “I’m Esther, Summer’s other half. You’ve been a pig, and when that happens, I send her into hiding and take over. You want to play with fire Mister then you come play with me.”

Her eyes said it all. They penetrated his head, saw the weakling that he was and smiled at him in a way that made it clear to him that she thought very little of him.

“Now,” she said, “what fun can I have with you?”

“I’ll teach you to defy me,” he roared through pursed lips, lifting a freed hand to strike at Esther.

The words had barely left his lips when he felt her hand around his throat. She pushed down on his throat and at the same time her knees once again engaged in the most painful way with his manhood.

His eyes bulged as the pain registered. She saw the fear in his eyes, as he stared at a woman with no compunction but to deliver him torment in the most obvious of ways.

“You’re a little man with a tiny dick, you think that was going to please me. I want you out of here, now! But first, tell Summer you’re sorry.”

With that, he saw that Esther had gone and the petite Summer there, sitting atop of him.

“She gone?”

“No,” replied Summer, she’s over in the corner awaiting your apology.

The man looked around unsure of where Esther might be. “I’m sorry miss,” he stammered, “Can I get out of here now?”

“Certainly,” answered Summer, “ just leave your money on the dresser.”

“Money? You want me to pay for that?”

Again he felt her hand around his throat and reached for his wallet, leaving all he had.

“You have to be more selective Summer.”

“Yes, I know.”

“I could have killed him.”


Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2018/04/17/photo-challenge-210/

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Wordle #192 – When an Atheist Dies.


This week’s word and phrases: Flip Insincere Erupt Sensualization (n.)) to render sensual) Hellish Faraway Resist Radical Jangled Up- Generally refers to the state of being both upset and confused, but can be used for either one of them alone Charity Case Debilitating Archetype

Usually, when death stopped by some aging soul or anyone actually, the work of the Angels was made easy when the deceased was affiliated with a religion of some kind. But when the soul belonged to an atheist, this was another kettle of fish.

The angels in question were Greg, the angel from on high and Wayne the angel from downstairs. Their jobs were to determine the soul’s final destination and point them in the right direction.

Today an atheist had arrived, and they both breathed deeply knowing they would have their work cut out for them. It was common for the soul in question to be jangled up. After a lifetime of believing there was nothing beyond death, it came as a surprise, to say the least. Often they would erupt with a combination of surprise and indignity.

They would often resist, insisting they were in a dream and that they were the archetype atheist holding firm to their radical notion of no God and no afterlife.

It was at this point that Greg and Wayne would sit the soul down and explain the waywardness of their views.

They found it debilitating to have to explain what was for them the bleeding obvious, but to flip a soul from one belief to another was never easy.

There was the choice of going up or down and the attraction of choosing one or the other. It was literally a hellish choice for some as hell did offer the best sushi and heaven the best ham sandwiches.

Added to that hell did have a much more sensualisation aspect to it, what with promiscuity and alcohol readily available and heaven on the other hand, as faraway, did appeal to those for whom hymn singing and alcohol-free wine throughout their eternity as the way to go.

Often the atheistic soul would erupt in dismay at the prospect of more ‘life’ to be had, though the term eternity and what that meant was as faraway in their comprehension as one might imagine. They refused to believe they had become a charity case and after a time of not believing a word they were being told as the two angels before them appeared nothing like the angels from what they recalled from their childhood Sunday School lessons.

Both entities appeared as well dressed gentlemen in pin-striped suits. Once it became clear this was their here and now the soul realising the situation it was in, decided insincerity could lead to something dire, so they carefully rethought their predicament and decided it was best to act with sincerity.

For Wayne and Greg, it was an exhausting business and once the soul was delivered to their version of eternity they retired to Hells kitchen after a stop off at the only place in Heaven that made a decent ham sandwich, there to enjoy a hellishly good coffee and sushi to die for.


Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2018/04/16/wordle-192/

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The View Out My Office Window.

In response to Stevie Turner’s blog where she has shown a photo of what she sees through her window when working on her computer.


My work space has changed a little in recent times. It’s in the front of my house hence the security screens on the window. But it does look over my favourite black rose which in recent weeks has blossomed, I imagine the rain has helped.

This rose is very old as when my mother sold her mother’s house next door to us she ‘rescued’ few things, the rose included. When I moved in to care my aging father, he said I was free to do whatever I wanted in the garden but NOT to kill the black rose. A little rose food from time to time and a good prune in July and it seems to thrive.

Below is a photo I took yesterday of the rose in all its glory. The added attraction with this rose is has a very strong Turkish Delight scent to it, for as you’d know Turkish Delight is made from rose water.


Written and shown for: https://steviet3.wordpress.com/2018/04/15/the-view-from-my-window/

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Weekend Writing Prompt #50 – Evergreen – The Evergreen was Timeless.


Prose Challenge – Write a story with a word limit of 125 words on the theme of ‘timelessness’.

As kids the evergreen was timeless. We pushed through the thick canopy, carved labyrinths between the trucks of trees awash with greenery.

We built cubby houses, with lookouts with no memory of what we looked out for as the world and the evergreen was ours.

Every kid in the street enjoyed the excitement of the make-believe we created, monsters were just around the corner, aliens had to be fought off, explorers scurried through openings and found birds nests sometimes with eggs, often times long abandoned. But mostly we were invisible to authority.

We found ourselves in caverns of green, hidden from the outside world where we engaged in secreting of our treasures.

I wandered by yesterday, the evergreen as timeless as ever it was.


Written for: https://sammiscribbles.wordpress.com/2018/04/14/weekend-writing-prompt-50-evergreen/

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Sunday Writing Prompt “Collage Prompt 40” – The Effing Pride Festival


The town of Effing prided itself on being different. For years it suffered the derision of neighbouring communities such as the time it combined its football team with the team from the neighbouring village of Bastard who in all honesty was having a hard enough time of it anyway. To say the Effing Bastards was a mistake was an understatement.

But since then Effing had gone about doing all it could to improve its image. The annual town pride festival was about, to begin with town beautification high on the agenda.

A series of competitions were organised, promotional slogans devised, such as “My Town is Effing beautiful”.

It gave rise to people taking pride in their homes, hedges and edges were trimmed, weeds removed, gardens cultivated and for those participating took great Effing pride.

The local library featured the books of the two leading Effing authors, Wilbur Wilson and Gertrude Stunned who were marketed as Effing good writers. People were encouraged to attend the Effing library and show their support to the two authors when they did readings.

A cooking competition was held and Effing’s favourite cook, Di Piper, promised to make the best Effing scones the town had ever tasted. With the help of her husband, Tom, her chief taster and critic she was off on her Effing mission.

The one thing that Effing was growing in fame over was its clock exhibition. The annual Effing Tick Toc display was one to behold. Held in the Effing School of Arts Hall it featured a magnificent array of clocks large and small, modern and antique. The sound of them all ticking at once gave rise to the age-old expression, ‘You can’t hear yourself Effing think.’

The festival was always a success, and no one could say you couldn’t eff it up like Effing could.


Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2018/04/15/sunday-writing-prompt-collage-prompt-40/

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#SoCS April 14/18 – mon


On Monday I won money in the lotto. You know how it works, you pick six numbers you win a million.

But to illustrate how hard a game it is this is what happened to me.

Six numbers would have won me a million.

I had five numbers and won four hundred.

The numbers were my kid’s birthdays, and I happily pointed out the daughter whose birthdate didn’t come out how she had robbed me a million.

So each Monday now I hope money comes my way.

But it’s a hard game.


Written for: https://lindaghill.com/2018/04/13/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-april-14-18/

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