“Told you,” Johnny said, sweeping his arm toward the boat as if putting it on display.

“You told me you found an abandoned pirate ship. That’s just an old boat,” Jack said. His disdain showed in his voice and face.

“I saw a pirate on it,” Johnny replied. “He stood right up there in the front –

“-the bow?” interjected Jack.

“Yeah, the bow. And he was holding a telescope -“

“- a spyglass?” interjected Jack again.

“Yeah, a spyglass, and he was looking over into those trees,” Johnny said, pointing to the trees behind them.

Just then both boys heard someone crashing through those very trees. They both stared as a pirate – THE pirate – emerged!

“ARRRGgghh,” said the pirate.

Jack’s know-it-all eyes grew big.

The pirate stomped straight toward the boys. The spyglass that Johnny had described was now looped through his belt and hung at his hip. On the other hip, a huge revolver dangled. The pirate held his cutlass high and slashed it through the air as he approached. “ARRRGgghh,” he said again, looking straight at the boys.

Jack inched behind Johnny and tugged at his shirt. “C’mon,” he hissed urgently. “Let’s get out of here.”

Johnny didn’t move. He just stared at the pirate who was growing every closer.

When Jack took off running, Johnny couldn’t control himself anymore and burst into laughter.

“Thanks, Uncle Tom,” he said to the costumed man. “That was the best.”

This is my response to the Unicorn Challenge. It is such a fun weekly challenge, and it’s simple! Write no more than 250 words and base them on the photo prompt. That’s it.

“Come ON,” insisted Mrs. McMeen. “No time to dilly-dally on your daily constitutional.”

“Why?” he asked. He had stopped to peek through the gate at the children.

She stopped short. “Why what?” she snapped.

Geordie had a bunch of whys swirling in his head. Why can’t they stop a moment? Why can’t he watch the girls? Why is Mrs. McMeen so mean?

When they got back to the house, Geordie ran to find Granma. Mrs. McMeen called after him, but he pretended not to hear. Granma was where he thought she’d be, in the parlor, knitting.

The light sifting through the curtains, the quiet click of the knitting needles, and the sight of his Granma made him smile.

Granma looked up and her whole face smiled at him.

“The girls were jump-roping today,” he said, “but Mrs. McMeen wouldn’t let me stop again!”

A cloud passed over Granma’s face. She set down her knitting and extended her arms toward the boy. He went to her and was engulfed.

“Which house?” she asked.

He told her.

“Two girls?” she asked.

He nodded.

She went to the desk and pulled a photo of a family out of the drawer.

“Are these the girls?” she asked.

His brow furrowed. “Yes. That’s Ma and Da,” he said, pointing to the parents. “You’ve shown me them.”

“And that’s you,” she said, pointing to the baby.

“But…” he puzzled.

“They all died in the fire, Geordie,” she said. “That’s when you came to live with us.”

This is my contribution to the Unicorn Challenge. The challenge is easy: write no more than 250 words and use the photo as a prompt.

“Have you ever seen just two maggots?” she asked.

He turned toward her. “Maggots?” he asked.

“You know what they are, right?” she said. “Fly larvae that eat rotting flesh.”

“I am not tracking on this conversation,” he said, shaking his head.

“Two maggots,” she repeated. “There are usually disgusting piles of them, spilling out of dead things in horror movies.”

He stared at her.

She continued, “All squirmy, white, gross. Coming out of eye-sockets or cheeks or pouring out of ripped-open stomaches.”

He shook his head. “Why are you talking about this?” he asked. “Halloween was so last month.”

“Two. Maggots,” she said.

He stared.

“Two maggots. Twomaggots. Twomaggots. C’mon TWO MAGGOTS,” she said, and pointed at the cafe sign.

“Les Deux Magots,” he read, and started laughing.

“What??” she asked.

He took a deep breath. He had only just met her through the dating app and wanted to be careful not to offend.

“Les Deux,” he said, “IS two or both.”

She put her hand on her hip and said, quite sassily, “I KNOW. I took French in high school.”

“But magot is NOT the same as maggot,” he continued. “Magots is loot or a jackpot.”

She looked disappointed.

“I can show you some maggots, though,” he offered.

“Really?” she asked.

He thought about the newly vacated room in his dungeon. Yeah, the maggots were probably pouring out his recent carcass. But she would be a lovely addition to his tenants.

“Yes,” he said.

This is my response to the Unicorn Challenge, and also something more than a nod to C.E.Ayr’s rather horrifying tales that he contributes to it.

I usually write a mundane parent-child conversation as a response to the photo prompt. CE writes stories — in 250 words or less — that respond to the photo, but that leave me with nightmares.

So — I tip my hat to you, C.E. Ayr.

He stood on the top step. “Spiritual awakenings are a bunch of sh*t,” he said.

He took a step down and mis-recited, “Prayer and meditation are also bullsh*t. There is no God.”

Next step, “I KNOW when I make mistakes. Why do I have to tell the rest of the world?”

Down again. “People are frickin’ unforgiving.”

Another step. “Make a list? Make amends? No. Way. In. Hell.”

Step down again. “There is no God. Nobody is listening.”

Down. “If there is a God, He sure as hell made me defective.”

Another. “My life is an open book. I have f–ed it up.”

Four steps from the bottom. “Moral inventory. That’s a laugh.”

Three. “I am not turning my life over to anybody but me. I can take care of myself.”

Two. “There is no hope.”

One. “I am powerless over alcohol. Give me a drink.”

He looked up at the man waiting with a shot of whisky poured for him. He could see the rest of the bottle in the man’s other hand.

He reached out to take the drink and his granddaughter stepped out from behind the man with the whisky.

“Grampa?” she said.

This is my response to the Unicorn Challenge. It’s such a simple challenge: write no more than 250 words and use the photo as a prompt.

I counted the steps in the photo — twelve of them — and decided to do the twelve steps of AA in reverse.

When the bag holding the box came through the security scan at the airport, she quickly retrieved it. She was so relieved that nobody had questioned the contents.

As she walked the concourse to find her gate, another traveler had bumped hard against the bag. She quickly stopped and checked to make sure the contents were still secure.

After boarding, she held the bag on her lap.

“Would you like me to put that in the overhead compartment?” the stewardess asked.

She shook her head. “I’d prefer to hold it,” she said.

“You can’t have it on your lap during take-off or landing,” the stewardess said, “but you can put it on the floor if it will fit under the seat ahead of you.”

She folded the excess bag over the box and it neatly fit in the prescribed spot. After take0ff and before landing, she held the box on her lap again, cradling it protectively.

When the plane landed, she retrieved her checked suitcase. She wheeled the suitcase and carried the bag to a City Cab which drove her to the house.

She found the key under the mat where it always was and went inside. Leaving the suitcase in the kitchen, she carefully removed the box from the bag and headed outside.

The rocky shoreline was just how she remembered it. She found a place to sit and opened the box.

As the wind lifted ashes from the open box, she whispered, “I brought you home, Mom.”

This is my submission for the Unicorn Challenge. The challenge is simple if you’re a person of few words. Write no more than 250 words using the photo as a prompt. I could easily have used at least 100 more this time.

“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.