One more lap, she told herself, and I should have it figured out.

The “lap” was a strange triangle of steep uphill, steep narrow stone stairs, and a broad, flat straightway.

She was on the hill segment. Her legs, lungs, and heart always complained on this part, but she would lean into it and push herself to continue the pace and ignore her body’s complaints.

It was that leaning in that made the laps so worthwhile. If it was easy, she wouldn’t think twice about anything. She would just la-di-da her way along and miss something significant.

No, the pushing-pushing-pushing, her heart beating harder and faster, her breathing strained, and her thigh muscles contracting and extending as she fought gravity to propel herself up the hill – that’s what helped.

This is my life, she thought.

Halfway up the hill, she almost allowed herself a rest. Almost. She pushed through it though because she didn’t want to lose momentum. She shifted her thoughts away from her ever-more-hurting body.

If I do this, she thought, he might respond with that. That would be bad.

But… if I don’t do it, she continued, we’re just stuck where we are.

She reached the top. The stairs beckoned — an easy step-step-step down to the bottom.

Walking the broad road gave her no insight, so up the hill she began again.

Push. Push. Push.

If this … then that.

Step-step-step-step-step down the stairs.

Walk the broad road.

One more lap, she said to herself.

---

The Unicorn Challenge: no more than 250 words and inspired by the photo

She opened the Valentine he had left by the bed.

“This year no hike.
Go ride your bike.”

Last year’s hike had been a disaster. They walked along the edge of the jetty. He clowned around, until he fell right into the ocean. After floundering to the shore, she wrapped him in her pink jacket as they hurried back to their apartment.

Oh, the looks they had gotten! He was soaking wet and wearing a pink jacket; she was wearing a thin shirt. They laughed all the way home, and sneezed for the next month.

On her bike she found another note:

“You know where you want to go —
Ride on down to the studio!”

She rode to one of her favorite places — the clay studio.

She parked her bike by their unused door and saw her next Valentine taped to it.

“The clay is ready; the wheel’s all set —
Go make something, my Coquette.”

She rolled her eyes. She hated that nickname, but the clay and wheel were both waiting for her as the note had said.

She was soon absorbed in her work. Time stood still as she shaped and reshaped the vase. She was startled when the studio owner tapped on her shoulder and handed her another card.

“Come outside and you will see
A special valentine from me.”

She washed her hands and stepped out the door. Her bike was covered with flowers, all her favorite kinds.

He knelt beside it, holding a small square box.

---

Too corny? Probably.

This is my response to the Unicorn Challenge this week. It’s an easy challenge (in theory) — no more than 250 words and base whatever you write on the photo prompt.

Chorus:
It’s the man with the iron finger
Whatever you do, don’t linger!
Don’t stop and look!
He’ll open that book
And you will fall down dead
OOOO-oooo-OOOO-oooo-OOOO-oooo-OO!

v. 1
One day young William wandered
And all the while he pondered
What should he do
With Mary-Sue
When suddenly he saw
A giant of a man
Who raised his heavy hand
As William filled with dread
The giant stared and said:
“Come take a look –
It’s in my book –“
Then William fell down dead.

Chorus: (see above)

v. 2
Miss Mary Sue came searching
Love like a bird was perching
Upon her heart
But she did start
When she saw that man
Who raised his heavy hand
Her light heart filled with dread
The giant glared and said,
“Come take a look –
It’s in my book –“
But Mary Sue fell dead.

Chorus: (see above)

v. 3
Simon, he was walking
A-whistling and gawking
At that and this
In simple bliss
When he saw the man
Who raised his heavy hand
So Simon stopped and smiled
He asked him like a child,
“What’s in your book?
May I please look?”
The giant ran off wild.

OOO-oooo-OOOO-oooo-OOOO-oooo-OO!

Final chorus:
It’s the man with the iron finger
Yeah — Go ahead and linger!
As for that book?
Ask for a look!
And he will run away!

---

Good grief. It’s been a long week. And now this.

I think this is my strangest response yet to the Unicorn Challenge, which is a pretty simple challenge: Base your post on the picture and don’t write more than 250 words. This little ditty came in at 223.

Here’s a peek into my creative process which I don’t even understand myself: The photo begged Cautionary Tale. Am I right? Then, in the strange workings of my mind, I started hearing a didgeridoo which would explain all the “OOO-oooo-OOOO-oooo-OOOO-oooo” stuff. I suppose this is some strange children’s song?

“Thank you, thank you,” said Delia. “We’re so grateful that you came to hear us play!”

“There’s nobody here,” said Hugh dryly.

Geena kept hammering away at her keyboard.

“It’s this stupid name,” said Hugh.

“Oh, come on,” said Delia. “D for Delia, U for Hugh, G for Geena! It makes sense. Besides, here comes someone. Let’s start playing.”

Geena paused, while Delia called out, “Africa — by Toto! And a-one, and a-two–“

“Excuse me,” said the young man. “I’m looking for the animal rescue place?”

Geena had already started to play, but Delia turned to both of them. Hugh shrugged. Geena played.

“Sorry,” she said to him. “I have no idea.”

Delia paused and then said, “Let’s try again.”

Geena stopped while Delia counted, “A-one and a-two —“

A child dragging her mother by the hand approached. “I KNOW THEY’RE HERE! I HEARD OLD MISTER ANGUS TALKING ABOUT IT!”

Delia looked at them expectantly. The mother asked, “Have you seen any puppies around here?”

“Uh — no,” she answered. Geena started playing her keyboard.

“Maybe they’re further up,” the mum said, and they walked on.

Hugh picked out the notes to “How Much Is That Doggie in the Window” just to irk Delia.

She glared at him.

Geena paused for Delia to count into the song. “And a-one –“

“Excuse me,” said a woman. “I’m looking to adopt a pet.”

Delia snapped, “We don’t have any pets here!”

Hugh spoke up. “It’s our name. The DUGs. Playing here now.”

Geena played her keyboard.

---

This is my attempt at the Unicorn Challenge this week — 250 words (NO MORE) based on the photo.

Week attempt. Weak attempt. Maybe a little of both.

“WHO’S THAT I HEAR ON A WALK-WALK-WALK?
YOU MUST PLAY PAPER-SCISSORS-ROCK!”

The man walking on the path in the woods was startled to see an ogre towering before him, pounding his fist into his palm.

“Wha-a-a-a-t??!!?”

“PAPER. SCISSORS. ROCK. SHOOT!” The ogre bellowed, making the motions with his hands, then thrusting out the two fingers of scissors.

The man was so startled that he did nothing. The ogre grabbed him, threw him over his shoulder and carried him away.

A few days later it happened again. The ogre seemed to magically appear from beneath the little footbridge as a woman was crossing it. She formed rock with her fist which defeated the scissors so she was allowed to pass.

And so the days went. People mysteriously disappeared or came off the path with strange stories of a child’s game on a footbridge. Children were warned never to travel that path.

However, as children are wont to do, one day the pack mentality took over and a group of children decided to go that way.

Some of the boys boldly led the way. Some of the girls hung back clutching each other’s arms or hands. The muddled middle moved ahead, curious and cautious.

They reached the bridge

“WHO’S THAT I HEAR ON A WALK-WALK-WALK?
YOU MUST PLAY PAPER-SCISSORS-ROCK!”

The children gathered together and faced the ogre.

“PAPER. SCISSORS. ROCK. SHOOT!” The ogre bellowed.

Every child formed rock with both hands and rushed the ogre.

“GAH!!” he shrieked before – POOF! – he disappeared.

---

Unicorn Challenge: No more than 250 words and base it on the photo.

A strange tale, I know, with absolutely no wise moral other than the knowledge that an ogre will always play scissors.

That bird annoyed the bejeebers out of him.

Oh, it seemed sweet when she was around, cooing, preening, making little chitterings of happiness. Once she was walked out the door, everything changed.

It hissed at him. Who knew birds could hiss?

It glared at him with a withering stare.

Lately it had started dive-bombing him.

“Can we cage the dang thing?” he asked.

“Cage Dexter?!” Clearly, he had offended her. “No-no-no-no-no-NO! He needs his freedom!”

What about mine? he thought.

“The cat’s gonna eat him,” he told her.

“They are friends,” she insisted.

The hell they are, he thought.

That day, after a particularly bad bout of hissing, withering stares, and dive bombings, he donned some disposable gloves (so he wouldn’t have to touch it) and snatched it right off its perch.

“I’ve got you now,” he hissed, in a meaner hiss than Dexter had ever done, and he wrung his little neck.

He scattered feathers around the apartment, to simulate a struggle, and put a good amount near the cat’s bed. Then — and this is the part that turned his stomach – he ripped wings and feet off to leave them as further evidence.

He carried the rest of the carcass out to the dumpster and threw it in with the gloves.

Or so he thought.

Back upstairs, he was in the bathroom washing up when she came in.

“I found this on the sidewalk,” she said, holding a glove and feather. “Doesn’t this look like Dexter’s?”

---

The Unicorn Challenge — no more than 250 words based on the photo prompt.

Pretty proud of myself today – I started with over 270 words and got it down to 247!

“C’mon, Blackie,” Iain said. “Let’s go home.”

The fluffy white dog looked at him questioningly.

“Ach, you know what I mean,” he said, reaching over to scratch Blackie’s ears. “Our home here.”

Neither one stood. They both leaned into the other, Iain finally burying his face in the dog’s ruff while he wept.

God, how he missed his home. He missed ducking his head under the low door-frame as he entered. He missed the smells of the kitchen: the soup simmering on the back of the stove, the bread in the oven.

He missed the clutter on the kitchen table: the to-do lists, the newspaper, the mail.

He missed the muddy boots and shoes in disarray by the door where they had been removed and kicked aside.

He missed the gardens, always half-weeded, never perfect.

The busy-ness of the city where he now kept a tidy apartment didn’t fill the emptiness.

The sounds of the water lapping at the boats, the view of the sun setting on the mountain didn’t fill the emptiness.

Blackie, the white dog — that name was his father’s sense of humor through and through — couldn’t fill the emptiness.

He wept into Blackie’s ruff until there were no more tears.

“Let’s go,” he said again, wiping his nose and face on his arm. This time he stood.

He walked in silence, Blackie beside him. She always understood.

“How much for two tickets,” he asked at the train station. “One for me, one for my dog.”

---

This is my response to this week’s Unicorn Challenge.

Such a simple challenge: no more than 250 words and base it on the photo prompt.

“Psst…. hey, kid!”

Jack looked around.

“Pssssst… kid! Over here!”

Jack looked to his left and saw a man urgently beckoning him with his hand.

Jack had had the stranger-danger talk at school. He knew he shouldn’t go over, but there was something about the man that made Jack very curious.

When he saw that he had Jack’s attention, the man said, “Kid, you believe in magic?”

Jack took a step nearer.

“Listen, kid,” the man said, “I got these magic beans, see, and I gotta unload ’em.”

Instinctively, Jack stepped back, eyeing the man warily.

“I ain’t gonna hurt ya, kid,” he said. “I just gotta get rid of ’em and you look like a boy who would appreciate a little magic in your life.”

He slowly unfurled his fingers revealing five white beans in the palm of his hand.

“Want ’em?” he asked.

As if in a trance, Jack extended his open palm to the man, then closed his fingers over the beans that were placed in it.

…..

Months later, Jack leaned against the brick school building waiting for his ride. He was imagining what it would be like to have a horse.

He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and pulled out a white bean. He couldn’t remember where it came from, but he popped it in his mouth. Crunch! he bit down.

The building behind him rumbled. A few bricks tumbled. His knees grew weak. He looked up and peeked.

The wall, the wall — OMG!

---

The Unicorn Challenge: Max 250 words. Base it on the picture. That’s it!

“Where is Jolly — again!?” asked Starlight, the chief elf in the workshop.

Twinkle and Doodle looked at each other. Each mouthed the same words to the other — Tell him! Each vehemently shook his head at the other in disagreement.

Starlight looked back and forth at them as he spoke. “I’m going to find out,” he said, “but you can tell me now and any extenuating circumstances.”

“What does ex-ten-tu-tat-ing mean?” asked Doodle. When he heard things, his brain doodled around the words adding flourishes and confusion.

“Extenuating,” repeated Starlight. “It means sometimes there’s a reason for doing something that needs to be taken into account.”

Neither elf responded. Starlight wasn’t sure they understood.

“Twinkle,” Starlight said, “you’re heavy-handed with the glitter in the workshop, but that’s your nature and how you got your name.”

Twinkle looked down at the glitter that was on his hands, shirt front, elf pants, and shoes. Other elves would have scolded him, but Starlight never did. Twinkle knew he understood.

“Doodle, your curlicues and smiley faces in your signature?” Starlight asked.

Each elf signed their work and Doodle’s signatures were, well, doodle-y.

Doodle and Twinkle looked at each other. Finally, Doodle spoke, “You know how Jolly is so happy? This time of year, he taps a keg in the break room. It’s how he gets through. He sneaks down there and –“

“Sometimes he passes out,” said Twinkle.

Starlight bolted out the door. Jolly needed help with his extenuating circumstance before it killed him.

---

Unicorn Challenge — base a 250 word (or less) fictional piece on the photo.

Forgive me if this piece sounds preachy. I have two new friends who are very active in AA and talk about their struggles quite openly. So when I looked at the photo, my first thought was, What if one of Santa’s elves had a drinking problem?

Don’t ask my why I thought of that! My elf name would be Questions. I’ve got loads of questions and few answers.

“Three swans means danger is near. So what do four swans mean?” Fiona asked.

“Ach, no, Fiona,” said her mom. ” The three swans must be flying to signal danger. Those four swans, swimming — well, that’s a different story. Would you like to hear it?”

“Yes, please,” Fiona said.

As they trudged along the beach toward home, Mom began. “The King of the Swans had a beautiful daughter named Eala. Male swans, you know, are called cobs, and two cobs were always assigned to be with Eala, one of either side of her. When either cob sensed danger, they urged her to fly to safety. They flew in that three swan formation. That’s how the three-swan story came to be. The cobs had a keen sense of nearby trouble.

“When cobs from other flocks tried to approach Eala, her guards sensed them coming and helped her escape.”

“How did they know about the other cobs?” Fiona asked.

“Guard cobs have an intuition,” Mom explained. “They can detect evil intent better than any other creature.”

“So how did the fourth one get there?”

“Ah — only a cob that is pure of heart gets past the guards and is worthy of the princess.”

“So he’s good?”

“Yes — he passed the test,” Mom replied. “Eala was the first swan to have guards, but it continues today.”

Fiona furrowed her brow. “I think I want cobs, too.”

“Ah, my Fiona, you don’t need cobs. Human girls are given that intuition, Learn to listen to it.”

---

250 words.

My submission to this week’s Unicorn Challenge, whose only requirements are base the story on the picture and limit yourself to 250 words.

I read somewhere that three swan flying in formation portends disaster. Is it true? Is a black cat an evil omen? How about broken mirrors? Who knows.

And I certainly don’t know about cob guards — total fiction.

Should girls listen to their creep-meters? YES!

Oh, and — Eala is the Gaelic word for swan.