He slipped into the water. Before he started swimming, he patted the arm pouch strapped to his left arm. Yes, it was there. The bulge told him the contents were safely inside.

The masts lit up the boats. The harbor was awash with light. But he needed to avoid being seen and recognized.

Silently he breaststroked towards the boat, the water barely rippling behind him. He focused on the goal. The light from the mast stays shone on the water. Each time he came near a finger of light, he dove under and swam a distance. No one must see him.

The closer he drew to the boats, the more light he had to avoid on the surface of the water. Over and over he dove and swam. Each time he surfaced to breath he would reorient his direction so that he was headed for the Euridyce.

Finally there, he heaved himself up over the side, trying to time his efforts with other waves hitting the boat. It would less likely be noticed that way.

Silently, he unzipped the pouch and pulled out the square box. She would recognize it, he knew. She had been hinting for months.

He kissed the blue velvet cover and whispered, “This will knock your socks off.”

And more, he thought.

Down in the cabin, he left the box on the shelf beside her. He had no doubt that she would see and open it.

God, she looked lovely sleeping there.

Next to him.

---

This is this week’s Unicorn Challenge response.

The Unicorn Challenge is simple: 250 words and base it on the photo.

“Three is my magic number,” Bea said.

“Why do you say that?” her father asked.

“Well,” she replied, using her fingers to count things off, “you write my birthday as 3-3, March 3. There are three of us in our family — you, me, mom. Our house is number three on the street –“

He interrupted, “That’s not our house number.”

“I know that,” she replied, “but if you count the houses from the turn-off, we’re the third one.”

She continued until she ran out of fingers. “I’m in the third grade. I have three cats. There are three letters in my name. I eat lunch with two other girls – that makes three. My friends have three-letter names: Ivy and Nia.”

She found a notebook. “I’m going to collect a hundred threes today,” she announced, and in her very best third-grade scrawl, she wrote numbers down in a column.

She listed off the three-letter names first: Bea, Ivy, Nia, Mom, Dad. Then she continued: “thrid [sic] house” and kept going.

Bea worked steadily all day on this project.

“Bananas.” Won’t eat one today, thought Dad.

“White rocks.” Only three? thought Dad.

“Broken fence rails.” Need to fix those, thought Dad.

“Letters in the mail.” Bills, thought Dad.

At bedtime, Bea was discouraged. “I couldn’t do it,” she told her father. “I only got to thirty-seven.”

“I’m giving you three stars for trying,” he said.

“What?” she asked.

“Look in the fish tank,” he told her.

When she did, she squealed with delight.

This is my contribution to the Unicorn Challenge. It’s a simple challenge: write a story no more than 250 words. Base it on the photo prompt.

“That was NOT here yesterday,” Medina said, pointing at the large white castle.

Jim-Bob guffawed. “Castles don’t appear, darlin’,” he said. “Look — it’s got a name ‘n ev’rythin’.”

The stone marker read: Zastrašujuće Magično, 1234.

“Magic-no,” read Jim-Bob. He tilted his head toward the sign. “No magic, see?”

Medina stared at the building.

“Weren’t there some book about Zara-juicy by that Nee-Chee guy?”

Medina cringed. She couldn’t believe that she was traveling with such an ignorant yahoo.

“You’re thinking of Zarathustra, right? By Neitzsche?” she replied, emphasizing the correct pronounciation, Nee-chuh, of the philosopher’s name.

“That’s what I said!” he argued.

Medina spoke the words to him in her native tongue. “Za-STRASH-oo-yooch-na MA-geesh-noh.” In English, she explained, “Terrifyingly magical. That’s what it means. Don’t read the number aloud. It will open the magic.”

“Aw, darlin’, ain’t no such thing as magic,” he said.

To her, the building was proof that there was.

“Jus’ to prove it to ya, I’m gonna say that number,” said Jim-Bob.

She grabbed his arm. “Please, no,” she pleaded.

“Twelve-thirty-four,” he said, waggling his head as he did.

Nothing happened, and Medina exhaled slowly. Thank God, he hadn’t read the four digits individually, she thought.

“Ain’t no such thing as magic,” he said again. “Kind of a crazy year, though, ain’t it? It’s like countin’! One, two, three, four.”

Immediately, the ground rumbled. It opened and swallowed Jim-Bob. With a loud burp, the ground closed and the castle disappeared.

Medina smiled.

“Buh-bye, darlin’!” she said.

---

Another Unicorn Challenge done! No more than 250 words. Base it on the photo. You, too, can do this.

“My legs aren’t that fat,” Bobby said.

“It’s HARD to trace a person!” replied Johnny.

Bobby stood back staring at the figure sketched on the road. “It looks like I have no neck. AND it looks like I’m holding a bottled water.”

“You WERE holding a bottled water,” said Johnny.

“You said you would make it look like a hand grenade. That’s why I put my other arm up over my head — so it’d look like I pulled the pin and was about to throw it.”

“I know how we can make it really realistic,” Johnny said.

Bobby narrowed his eyes. “How?”

Johnny leaned in before he spoke. “Use a real grenade,” he said in a quiet voice.

Bobby smirked. “Yeah, right,” he sneered. “I suppose you have a whole box of them in your house.”

“I don’t,” said Johnny, “but my great-uncle Toby does. I know where it is.”

“A whole box of grenades?” Bobby questioned.

“Well, no — but he has a grenade. I’ve seen it.”

The two boys walked the few blocks to where Uncle Toby lived.

“He’s not home,” whispered Johnny. “He’s in Florida, but I know where the key is.”

Once inside, Johnny headed straight for the bedroom and pulled a box out from under the bed. “See,” he said, pointing to an olive-drab device.

Bobby picked it up. He hefted it in his hand.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah. This is real. Trace me holding this.” And he fiddled with the ring holding the pin.

---

My meager attempt at the Unicorn Challenge, which is write something (no more than 250 words) based on the photo.

Can you tell I struggled with this one?

Meh — got it done, though.

She ran as if her life depended on it.

In fact, she thought it did.

She couldn’t put her finger on any answers to all her whys. Why did he scare her? Why did he approach her to begin with? Why did he follow her when she veered away from him? Why did he quicken his step when she quickened hers?

Now she was running. Cutting through alleys, slipping through hedges, afraid to look over her shoulder in case he was still there.

She paused as she emerged from yet another alley. She could no longer hear him, but she was thoroughly lost. It looked like Uncle David’s neighborhood, but all the houses looked so much the same.

What was that rhyme he used to tell her?

If ever you’re lost in Uncle-David-land
Keep your eyes open for the Eyeball Band

She had been so little when he made her memorize those silly words and showed her the secret door on the side of the garage.

Now she was, indeed, lost in Uncle-David-land. She stared around the street trying to decide where to go when she saw the scary man again. She ran in the opposite direction and ducked down another alley.

When she emerged, she spotted the Eyeball Band painted on the garage door. She ran straight to it and found the secret door.

Inside the garage stood Uncle David and her dad. They seemed to be waiting for her.

“Told you she was ready,” said Uncle David.

---

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

Is that a strange photo or what?

But, being someone who navigates using landmarks, I could SO picture someone using that door as the landmark where you should turn or stop or something.

What’s the meaning of my story? I have no idea.