She noticed the token on the platform and picked it up, slipping it into her pocket before boarding the train.

Once seated, she closed her eyes and replayed her day. God, she needed to get away. Glasgow may be one of the world’s friendliest cities but today she needed to get far away.

She felt a vibration in her pocket and pulled out the token. It was glowing, an eerie pearly white. She tried to read the words but the characters weren’t familiar.

The train ticked, hummed, click-clacked. She closed her eyes, holding the token, and thought, I should just go to London.

She opened her eyes at the squeal of brakes as the train eased to another stop. Her brow furrowed at the symbol outside her window: a red circle with a blue line. The Roundel.

Wait — what? London?! No-no-no-no-no-no!

If she really wanted to start over, she needed to go to a new continent.

The token vibrated. The doors swooshed shut and the train left the station, plunging into darkness. Clackety-clackety-clackety. Again she closed her eyes. Again she opened them at the squeal of the brakes.

Times Square — 42 Street Station.

New York. No, she thought, farther. The train unexpectedly lurched out of the station. The token flew from her hand. Darkness.

When it stopped again, she had no token. She looked at the other passengers. Their green skin tone and oddly-shaped heads told her. She WAS far away — and now with no way back.

This is my rather tardy response to this week’s Unicorn Challenge. The Unicorn Challenge seems so simple, just 250 words based on the photo. Yeah. Right. I whittled out so many words that this may no longer make sense.

For another ultimate exile, here’s the Kingston Trio singing about poor old Charlie, riding forever ‘neath the streets of Boston.

And all of this grew out of a quote I read the other morning about meteorites. Go figure.

“From above and outside the earth, there come the meteorites. These are debris from other galaxies in the cosmos. They were stones falling through the universe and the earth got in the way. This is the ultimate exile. Stones that fell out of their own story, fell onto a foreign planet. They are now total exiles here. They will never be able to leave.“

John O’Donohue, The Four Elements. “Fire in the Earth”

“Here’s my idea for a story,” Jakob said. “A girl with long hair gets locked in the tower.”

Wilhelm scoffed. “That sounds dumb.”

“No, listen! She’s locked up there and she lets her hair down for people to climb up.”

“Climbing up hair? That’s ridiculous!”

“It’s magical hair.”

“That’s even dumber. Magic hair. Besides, there’s a stairwell right there.” Wilhelm pointed to the door at street level.

“What if,” Jacob said, “she was locked up there with a bunch of straw and spinning wheel? What if she had to spin the straw into gold?”

“What if she pricked her finger on the spindle and fell asleep?”

“What if the whole country fell asleep?”

“What if a frog hopped up and kissed her?”

“No, no — it should be a prince.”

“The frog could turn into a prince!” Wilhelm suggested.

“You thought magic hair sounded dumb. Listen to your ideas. Frogs kissing people and turning into princes! Pshaw!”

The two boys walked slowly out of the city in silence.

Suddenly they both stopped.

“What if…” they said at exactly the same time, and then both started laughing.

“What if it was just a story about kids walking in the woods?” Jacob suggested.

“Yeah! And they find a house made of gingerbread with icing and all?”

“How about walking to Grandma’s house and meeting a wolf?” Jacob said.

“That could be scary,” said Wilhelm.

“Really scary,” said Jacob. “Let’s try to write that one.”

With that, the Grimm brothers headed for home.

A struggle — but it’s done!

Unicorn Challenge — no more than 250 words launched from the photo prompt

Waiting.

How many word games can I play while waiting?

Got Wordle in 4. Typical.

Connections: yellow, purple, blue, green. No mistakes.

Crossword Mini: 56 seconds. Under a minute, but, dang, not much under a minute.

Dordle. Quordle. Septordle.

Sheesh. My back hurts from hunching over this phone.

I’m tired of these games — in more ways than one.

I walk over and check the monitors. Again. Nothing is arriving at 10:45 AM. Why did he give me that time?

It’s 11:15 now. The next arrival is noon. A few folks have trickled in to wait.

Stupid games. Stupid waste of time.

I should just leave. I should go for a walk. I should call him.

No. Way.

I am NOT going to call.

“Be there at 10:45,” he had said. It’s 11:22 now.

Scroll. Scroll. Scroll.

I’ve looked at everything on my phone 27 times.

The ball is in his court. I did my part. I’m here. He needs to show up.

Or call.

Good golly — why doesn’t he call?

It’s 11:28.

I look. A few more people have trickled in.

A guy gets out a guitar and starts strumming.

Another guy pulls bongo drums from his bag. I kid you not. Bongo drums. He starts playing.

A girl pulls out a whistle and starts playing.

Wait — I know that song.

A fiddle starts.

In he walks. Singing to me, “Will you marry me, lassie, at the Kirk o’ Birnie Bouzle?”

I start to cry.

“Sorry, I’m late,” he said.

Okay, okay — I know it wouldn’t be a guitar, but a bouzouki. And it wouldn’t be bongos but a bodhrán. A tin whistle — yes.

Honestly, I didn’t know where I was going with the story. Those really are word games that I play on my phone. I started writing about them — and the boredom of waiting.

Then about 223 words in, that song popped into my head. I kid you not.

Edit. Edit. Edit. Here’s what you get: 250 words of a marriage proposal that almost didn’t happen.

My response to the Unicorn Challenge — no more than 250 words based on the photo.

Here’s The Corries’ version of the song:

“Tell me what you see,” Dr. Moon said quietly.

She studied the photograph. “I don’t understand,” she finally said.

“What don’t you understand?” he asked.

“Any of it,” she replied. “I don’t understand the words. I don’t even know what language it is. Italian, maybe? But vente is just a coffee size at Starbucks.”

She studied the photo some more. Dr. Moon waited patiently.

“I don’t understand the picture itself. Why all the shuttered windows? Why are they closed? Why is that one open?”

More quiet.

“And the doors are closed. And the lines don’t line up. And there’s like a tan castle painted on the wall over here.” She pointed at the left side of the photo. “Everything about this picture bothers me,” she said, and handed it back to the doctor.

“Everything?” Dr. Moon asked.

“Everything,” she said emphatically.

Dr. Moon handed the photo back to her. “Look for something that you do like here. There must be one thing.”

“Well,” she said frowning, “I might like the open window. If there was a plant in it, I mean. A spider plant with lots of shoots.” Silence. “But there isn’t, so I don’t.”

“Look again,” he said gently.

“It makes me want to cry,” she said. “I don’t like that. I don’t understand.”

“This was where your grandparents hid before they fled France in 1942,” he said.

She studied the photo again.

“Can I keep this?” she asked.

This is my response to the Unicorn Challenge.

Don’t ask where the story came from. I honestly don’t know.

I DO know that a Starbucks venti is spelled with an “i” and the language on the sign is French. I am just as bothered as she is about the photo though.

There really should be a spider plant in that window. It should be an open window with a gentle breeze causing the shoots and leaves of the spider plant to sway a little. Yes, a spider plant would make everything better.

“Found him!” cried Marco.

The search party had widened and widened their area, but no one expected him to be this far afield, or at the bottom of those overgrown stairs.

The old man studied Marco’s face. “You look so familiar,” he said.

“I’m your grandson,” Marco replied. “Marco. Jenny’s son.”

The old man just stared and shook his head. “How did I get here?” he finally asked.

Marco laughed. It was a friendly laugh, intended to put the old man at ease. “We were hoping you would tell us,” he said.

“Jenny,” the old man repeated, rolling the name around in his mind and occasionally repeating it. “Son, I don’t remember knowing any Jennys.”

“Jenny — your daughter, my mum!” he said. Then he added, “You always insisted on calling her Jennifer, remember?”

“Ah, Jennifer! Yes! She should be getting home from school any minute now,” he said, smiling.

He looking up the old tree-lined steps. “That’s a long set of steps. I don’t remember coming down them.”

Marco steadied the old man, slipping his arm under the man’s left arm and gripping his forearm. “Let’s find a place to sit for a minute,” he said, peering around the lower garden for a bench. “We’ll figure this out.”

“You look familiar,” said the old man.

“I’m Marco. Your grandson,” the younger replied.

“Grandson? I’m a grandfather?”

“I’m Jennifer’s son,” Marco replied.

“Jennifer should be getting home from school pretty soon,” the old man said. “How did I get here?”

This is my (late) submission for the Unicorn Challenge. The challenge is pretty simple — no more than 250 words, and use the photo as a prompt.

“I’m going to live there,” he said, jabbing his dirty finger at the picture in the book.

The castle in the picture loomed high above the city.

“Ach, wee laddie, that’s nae place we will ever live,” said his mother.

“Not we. Me!”

His mother looked at his ragged dirty clothes and shook her head sadly.

“Mama,” he said, “someday I’m going to walk right up there and –“

“Nae, wee laddie. Ye cannae!”

“But I will,” he insisted. “I’m going to walk right up to the big gate.”

“Ye ken there’s a gatekeeper? He will nae let ye in,” she said, trying to be gentle with her words, but realistic for her son.

“Ah, but he will Mama! I am sure!” he said, so earnestly that she felt her heart breaking as she looked into his face. “My hands and face will be clean! I will scrub them!”

“Aye, but yer clothes, wee laddie,” she said.

“My clothes will be new. I will work hard for them!”

“Aye, I ken you will, but –“

“Mama, listen. I will walk to the gate with clean hands, clean face, new clothes. The gatekeeper will look at me, and maybe he’ll growl.”

“Aye, he will most definitely growl.”

“‘State yer business,’ he’ll say.”

His mother nodded.

“I’ll smile up at him and say, ‘”‘Sir, my mama is the best cook in the land. She taught me how. I want to work in your kitchen.’ He’ll let me in.”

She hugged him and cried.

This is my response to the Unicorn Challenge: base the writing on the photo, no more than 250 words.

It feels slightly audacious to try to write a brogue I’ve only read. How’d I do?