“Hey! Are you Scottish by chance?”

Iain looked up from his strumming.

“Y’know. Your kilt and all,” said the man.

Iain thought, Yeah, and are you a tourist, by chance?

Aloud he replied, “Aye,” and continued playing his mandolin.

“You know, I’ve had this question for a long time. What IS the Scottish national anthem?” the man asked.

Iain didn’t look up, but started strumming Flower of Scotland.

The man started singing, “O, flower of Scotland, when will we see your like again…” His voice was amazing. “That was the first one I thought of! I was right!”

But Iain smoothly switched to Loch Lomond.

The man joined in singing when he got to the chorus, “O ye’ll tak’ the high road, and I’ll tak’ the low road.” His inflection was spot on. And, oh, what a voice!

“So Loch Lomond is the anthem?” the man asked.

Iain didn’t answer. He started playing Caledonia.

Sure enough, the man joined him at the chorus, “Let me tell you that I love you and I think about you all the time.”

His tenor was impeccable. People were starting to gather.

The man said, “I thought it should be Scotland the Brave. I love to hear pipes playing it.”

Iain started strumming Scotland the Brave and the man sang, “Hark when the night is falling…”

He knew every word. When he finished the chorus, “…Land of my heart forever, Scotland the brave,” the gathered crowd burst into applause.

And it wasn’t for Iain.

This is my submission to the Unicorn Challenge. It’s a simple challenge: Write no more than 250 words based on the photo prompt.

True story — politics are making me bonkers and, like an idiot, I keep listening to the news.

So the other day, instead of news, I looked up a now-retired podcast called “Thistle Do Nicely” because I knew that listening to Rory, Chris, and Jonny would make me laugh. Really, it has to be my favorite podcast ever. Listening to Thistle Do Nicely is like sitting in a pub and listening to three Scottish guys sitting at the next table talking and laughing. They’re funny. A little crude. A little off-color. So much better than politics.

Anyhow, with that background, this week’s prompt made me think of the episode they did discussing all the contenders for the Scottish National Anthem which doesn’t exist.

And, in truth, that wasn’t the episode I listened to this week. I’m relying on faulty memory regarding the National Anthem episode. Last week I actually listened to a Christmas episode because I just wanted to hear their voices.

“John!” I cried.

I was walking home, lost in thought. These streets are so familiar — yes, I could walk them with my eyes closed.

Or in the dark.

October days keep getting shorter. Now I walk beneath the light of the moon and the occasional streetlight.

So I was walking home and there was my old friend John, emerging from the alley.

“John O’Reilly!” I said. “I was just thinking about you! It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

“Karen?” he said, studying my face. “It HAS been years.”

“Just yesterday,” I said, “I was thinking about that day that we skipped school together. That was probably 15 years ago. It’s funny, isn’t it? How you think of someone and then there they are!”

He laughed. Well, it was more of a snort, but that’s how he laughs. Even that sound brought back a host of memories.

“Remember how we ducked out after getting off the bus? We didn’t go into the school — we just headed down to the river.”

“I think that was the last time I was barefoot,” he said.

“That’s what made me think of it!” I said. “Yesterday I cut my hand washing dishes and it wouldn’t stop bleeding. You gashed your foot on something in the river, remember? Broken glass? But you bled like bejeebers and it wouldn’t stop.”

His silence was deafening. I looked up at him, seeing him beyond my fog of memory.

His hands were covered with blood.

This is my submission to the Unicorn Challenge. The challenge is quite simple: write no more that 250 words and use the photo as a prompt.

“Boys, Mrs. Feola invited us over for dinner,” Mom said.

“Who’s that?” asked Johnny.

“She’s the lady that drove her pig around town on a bike,” said Michael.

Mom nodded. “That’s right! She had that special bike made so she could give it rides around town.”

“It had that big platform on it,” said Michael.

“Remember how she huffed and puffed going up the hill?” Johnny imitated the heavy breathing of the exhausted bike rider.

“Remember the time the pig fell off and she chased it into our yard? We trapped it by the fence for her,” said Michael. “That’s when I learned her name.”

“I was so busy scratching Piggy’s chin that I didn’t pay attention,” Johnny said. “That pig really liked when I did that.” He smiled remembering. “Under the chin. Behind the ears. That was one happy pig.”

“I haven’t seen her lately,” said Michael.

“What do you think happened to the pig?” Johnny wondered.

“We can ask her tonight at dinner,” Mom said.

That evening as they sat around the table beautifully set with linens, china, and candles, they ate their dinner.

“I suppose you’re wondering why I invited you here,” Mrs. Feola said. “I wanted to thank you for the time you helped me catch my pig.”

The boys looked at each other and smiled. “We were wondering what happened to that pig. We haven’t see you out with it lately,” Michael asked.

She smiled at them, fork in hand. “This is it,” she said.

250 words exactly.

This is my submission for this week’s Unicorn Challenge. The rules are simple: no more than 250 words based on the photo.

Years ago, my brother gave a piglet to my sons. It lived in the pig sty with the other pigs he was raising, but we would bring table scraps and whatnot to feed the pig. They may have even named it.

Anyhow, one day some cousins were visiting and the family was brought out to see the pig. Their aunt looked at it and asked my boys what were they going to do with a pig?

Very matter-of-factly my oldest son answered. “We’re going to kill it and we’re going to eat it.”

It went to a butcher eventually and we DID eat it, but I’ll never get over the horrified expression on my sister-in-law’s face.

“Somebody isn’t doing their job,” he growled, staring out the window.

“Sir?” she said.

“That is the black and white lot,” he said, jabbing his finger in the direction of the parking lot below them. “Black. And. White. Blackandwhite.”

She looked at him and blinked her eyes.

He continued. “I only allow black and white cars to be parked in that lot. I conceded to allow gray. THIS is too much, though.”

“But sir –” she started to say.

He interrupted. “It’s MY lot. I make the rules. Black and white. That’s it.”

“But –“

“No buts. Get those red cars towed out of there. And that stupid yellow car should just get crushed.”

She stared at him, unsure what to do next.

“CALL THE DAMN TOWING COMPANY. Do I make myself clear?” he barked.

An hour later, he watched with a satisfied smile as the final red car was towed away.

“I do like black and white,” he said to himself, looking around his office suite with its white walls and black-and-white tiled floors.

He heard a brisk knock on the door and turned to see a well-dressed woman enter. Her jet-black hair was pulled up and held in place with shiny black combs. Her dress bore black and white geometric designs.

“Darling,” she said. “Look who came to visit! My mother and her sisters. I told them they could park in the lot while we had lunch together.”

His face went white as three women entered wearing red dresses.

This is my response to the Unicorn Challenge. The simplicity of the challenge is deceiving: write a story of no more than 250 words based on the photo prompt.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I can’t see you tomorrow.”

“You’re calling off our Wednesday date?” he asked. “We’ve been having dinner every Wednesday for eight months!”

“I know,” she said. Her voice was small. “I just can’t tomorrow.”

They walked in silence.

“Are you going to tell me why?” he finally asked.

She didn’t answer. “I’ve got to go,” she said abruptly and turned around.

He watched her walk away and pressed his lips together.

He started to call her that night, but changed his mind.

He thought about her all the next day. He knew that he shouldn’t, but he went to her house after work and stood in the shadows of the alley across the street, trying to think what to do.

She came out, dressed in a stunning dress. She didn’t see him as she walked past the alley, but he could smell her perfume. She had only worn perfume one other time that he could remember. Clearly, this was a special occasion.

He followed from a distance, walking up the hill to the cemetery. He lost sight of her, then heard her voice. “I miss you so much. I love you.”

But he found her alone. She was startled.

“Who are you talking to?” he asked.

“M-m-my husband,” she stammered and started to cry. “He was in New York on business on 9/11. I never got to say good-bye. Every year I try to.”

He wrapped his arms around her.

“I still can’t,” she said.

This is my submission for the Unicorn Challenge. It’s a simple challenge — write a story of no more than 250 words based on the photo.