“Hey, Jack! How’re you doing?

“Yeah, I’m out for a walk. Can’t believe I still have a signal out here, but you’re coming through loud and clear.

“What? I didn’t catch that. You sound like you’re exercising. Are you out running? …Yeah, I may be a little short of breath, too. I’m heading to the bay. Just went past the sign.

“What sign? You know, the one about deep cold water and strong currents. It never scared me when we were kids, and I’m not going to let it scare me now.

“Speak up, could you? You sound miles away. What? God, Jack, your voice sounds weak. Are you okay?

“Hold on a sec, Jack. There’s some people coming towards me.”

[distant boy’s voice] “We tried to swim. The water is FREEZING.”

[distant woman’s voice] “And they weren’t kidding about the currents! I almost lost him to the sea!”

Indistinct conversation. Laughter.

[not speaking into the phone]”Thanks! I’m going to check it out anyway. Have a good one….

[back on the phone] “Hear that, Jack? Wish you were here with me for old time’s sake. What? I’m really having trouble hearing you. And you sound so out of breath. What are you doing?

“Your chest is tight? What do you mean? … Wait, is this like when you had that heart attack? What? I’m having a hard time hearing you, Jack. Can you speak directly into the phone?

“Jack? Are you okay? Is anyone there with you? Jack? Jack?”

---

This is my response to the Unicorn Challenge. Write no more than 250 words based on the photo. Easy-peasy.

I wanted to write one side of a telephone conversation. Did I do it right?

He slipped the sunglasses out of his breast pocket and put them on. The yellow sky had been his cue. He pulled the ball out of his right pocket.

His instructions had read,

“YELLOW SKY:

1. Don these sunglasses
2. Oblong ball in your right hand
3. Leave the building.
4. Walk east.
5. Push the button on the ball when you see the ship.”

He left the building and walked east. Other people seemed oblivious to the yellow haze. He reached up to pull down the sunglasses, but jerked his hand away as he recalled the vehemence with which the little man who had handed him the package had said, “Follow these instructions EXACTLY. Don’t do more. Don’t do less.”

He wasn’t sure if pulling the sunglasses down would be more OR less, but it certainly wasn’t part of the instructions.

The haze was heavy, stifling, but odorless. Nobody else seemed aware of it. Nobody seemed perturbed. Nobody cared.

He shifted the ball in his right hand and started to pass it to his left, but stopped. The instructions were clear which hand it should be in.

He stopped when he saw the ship, a huge orb, maybe 20 stories high. Eight spidery legs extended from it and were firmly planted on the ground. A long ramp extended down to the sidewalk and strange humanoids carrying weapons were running down it. People seemed oblivious to the whole thing.

He felt the button under his right thumb, hesitated a moment, and pushed it.

---

I missed last week’s Unicorn Challenge. I have a submission started in my draft folder for it — 142 words worth of set-up.

This week I was determined not to miss it — so you’ve got 250 words of set-up, but — dang it all! — I don’t know what happens. Why the importance of adhering exactly to the instructions? What did the button do?

The Unicorn Challenge is simple:
Maximum of 250 words.
Inspired by photo prompt above.

Not a word about being a complete story.

The door was ajar.

“Dare you to go in,” chided Magnus.

“What’s in there?” asked his little brother, Ulysses.

“Probably dead bodies. Maybe a few dead animals,” answered Magnus. “Just a bunch of dead stuff. Nothing that could hurt you.”

As if on cue, the wind blew a flurry of dead leaves past the boys with a dry rustle. A few settled in the open doorway. Ulysses instinctively stepped behind his brother, so Magnus was between him and the door.

“Dead stuff can’t hurt you, you know,” Magnus continued. “It’s dead.”

Ulysses cowered even more.

“Dare you,” Magnus said again.

The stone faces on either side of the door frowned at the two boys as if to say, DO NOT ENTER. The door creaked a little with the next gust of wind, like a low heavy sigh.

“Did you hear that?” asked Ulysses.

Magnus nodded. “Dead bodies moan sometimes. I read that in a book.”

The door moved, almost imperceptibly. Both boys looked at each other.

“Do dead bodies open doors?” asked Ulysses.

“Don’t be dumb,” answered Magnus. “Just go look.”

Slowly the younger brother tiptoed toward the door, looking back at his brother multiple times.

“Go on,” hissed Magnus.

Slowly, Ulysses placed a trembling hand the massive stones framing the door. With his other hand, he pushed open the door.

Suddenly, a hand from inside reached out and yanked him in.

Magnus screamed and ran.

---

The Unicorn Challenge: Write a story of no more than 250 words. Base it on the photo prompt.

Who/what is behind that door?! I wish I knew.

He looked at his watch and sighed. It had been 20 minutes, then thirty. Her vest still hung on the back of the chair.

Surely she would be back.

When he had seen her photograph on the dating app, he knew. Okay, maybe creating that fake account posing as a younger man had been deceptive. Maybe even creepy. But he had to meet her.

He described exactly what he would be wearing. She would have no question that he was the man she was meeting. Nobody else would be wearing a brown argyle sweater sitting at the exact table he described.

He watched her stop when she entered. Her face went blank for a moment. Then she took a deep breath and smiled that glorious smile as she approached him.

“Dan?” she asked.

He nodded and rose. She hugged him, something he hadn’t expected.

They ordered drinks and chatted without a word about his age or appearance. She simply chatted about her work as a nurse and her orange tabby that greeted her each night.

He barely heard a word. He was studying her perfect lips and teeth, her high cheekbones, her tiny nose. He had been correct.

When she excused herself to go to the ladies’, he resolved to tell her when she got back. She was his daughter. He knew.

She never came back. The bar closed. The vest still hung on the chair.

As he was leaving, he realized that his wallet had disappeared in that hug.

---

This is my submission for this week’s Unicorn Challenge. The Unicorn Challenge is simple: write 250 words or less (DON’T YOU DARE GO OVER) based on the photo prompt.

One of my co-workers is newly single and he was reading me posts from Facebook Dating. We both open at the facility where we work — so this was about 5:30 AM when he started. He wandered off as people came into the facility, but later stopped in my office to read me some more. Later I saw him sitting in another office, reading posts out loud.

At the end of the day, he stopped by my office again. “When I first started reading them posts,” he said, “I thought they was pathetic. Now, after reading them all day, I think they’re just funny.”

Yes, funny. In a pathetic way.

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.

She couldn’t have imagined ever seeing the station filled with masked people.

Every single person — children, parents, elderly, middle-aged, travelers, security guards. It didn’t matter who they were; all were masked.

She was a studier of faces, now she became a studier of hands, of postures, of gaits.

Hands tell so much about a person. That young woman must have treated herself to a spa day recently. Her hands were as coifed as her hair. The gnarled hands of the older woman told of painful struggles with arthritis. The bandaids on the little boy’s hands (and knees) spoke of lessons learned hopefully amidst fun. Wedding rings (or lack thereof) said something, but she knew not to trust that clue. The rough working hands on the one security guard suggested a second job or hobby; she wondered which.

She watched an older man, his shoulders slumped, as he studied his phone. Was he lost, she wondered, or had he just received bad news?

A little girl was tugging at her father’s hand, peering up towards his face, clearly wanting something from him, but he was engaged in conversation with another adult and paid her no mind.

Then she watched the older woman bury her face in those arthritic hands. Her shoulders heaved.

Was she crying? she wondered. Can I help her?

Her nature was to reach out and help, but this damned pandemic had handicapped her handicap. Without the ability to read lips, she was even more isolated in a crowd.

---

This is my response to the Unicorn Challenge. Each week they post a picture. Those who take up the challenge write no more than 250 words based on that prompt.