The teacher set the pile of over-sized photographs on his desk. He picked up the first one and showed it to the class.

“Okay, students. Who can tell me what this is?” he asked.

Susie raised her hand. The teacher pointed to her and she said, “That’s a church!”

The teacher beamed. “That’s right,” he said, pointing to the steeple and the cross.

He held up the next photograph. “Who can tell me what this is?”

Joey blurted out, “Grocery store!”

The teacher nodded and said, “That’s the correct answer, Joey, but please remember to raise your hand.” He pointed out how to identify it as a grocery store — the advertisements in the windows, the shopping carts outside.

Next was a mosque, correctly identified by Kalil. The teacher pointed out the minaret.

He worked his way through the pile. A school — with yellow buses in front. A restaurant — with outside diners. A gas station — with pumps. The students identified each one.

Finally, he held up this photograph:

Silence. Finally Ethan said, “I know where is it. Does that count?”

The teacher said, “Can you tell the class where it is?”

Ethan gave detailed directions to the building, but added, “My dad told me to stay away from that part of town.”

The teacher ignored his last words. “You can all come visit me here over the summer. I have a special place to show you but it has to be our secret. Come in this door and call my name.”

---

This is my submission to the Unicorn Challenge. It feels creepy and yucky — so I apologize ahead of time. I had no idea what it was a picture of — and my mind went to creepyland. I watch too many crime shows!

The Unicorn Challenge has two rules: 1) No more than 250 words, and 2) use the photograph as a prompt.

“How many times have I told you to simply fit in?” Vikrati said.

“But, Dad!” Hernan pressed his lips together. “I try! Look what I’m wearing!” He brushed his hands down his body, over the worn Florida t-shirt with a flaking image of the sun setting on the ocean and the faded blue jeans. He gestured towards his worn canvas sneakers. “This is how all the kids dress!”

“Fitting in is more than your clothing,” Vikrati replied. “It’s -“

Hernan interjected. “Dad, I’m doing well in school, but not too well. I make sure I get things wrong on the tests. I turn in papers late sometimes, just to get the lower grade. I sit in the back and sometimes talk when the teacher is talking, just to get in trouble.” He sighed. “I’m really doing my best!”

Vikrati sighed too. He looked at the boy. His shoulders were slumped and his head was down. Clearly, he was trying.

“Our mission is important,” he finally said. “It’s not just our family in this town, but there are thousands and thousands of us around the world.”

“I know,” Hernan said. “I don’t think I’ve ever done anything to make anyone suspect that I’m any different from them.”

“Then how do you explain this?” Vikrati asked. He pulled half a drinking glass from a bag. There was a sharp jagged edge where the upper half had been bitten off.

Hernan paled. “I’m sorry, Dad. I was just so hungry.”

---

This is my contribution to Unicorn Challenge. The rules are simple: no more than 250 words and use the photo as a prompt.

“There it is,” Dad said. He pointed into the valley at the village nestled there. The brick homes were close beside each other.

Donovan stood on tip-toe to see. “How long will it take us to get there?” he asked.

“No more than an hour,” his father replied. “There’s a road. It’s overgrown but if we stay on it, the walk will be easier.”

Donovan asked, “What will we do when we get there?”

“You know what needs to be done. We’ve talked about it.”

“I’m not sure I can do it, Dad,” Donovan said.

His father stopped and knelt down. He took Donovan by the shoulders and looked him squarely in the eye. “This is important,” he said, emphasizing the last word.

“But… but… they don’t look like us. They don’t talk like us,” the boy said.

“That’s why this has to be done,” his father said. “You have what you need in your pack, right?”

Donovan unzipped it and looked inside. “Dad, I really don’t think I can,” he said again.

“C’mon,” his father said. “Let’s walk.”

They walked in silence. Donovan lagged more and more behind. The overgrown road masked his dragging feet.

“You can do this, boy,” his father said, sounding snappish.

Finally, they arrived. As they walked toward the town square, curious people peered out of windows. Some came out to follow them.

When they reached the square, both took off their packs and reached inside.

“We’ve come in friendship,” they said and extended…

---

Extended what? What did they pull out?

This is my response to the Unicorn Challenge. The Unicorn Challenge is the easiest (rule-wise) challenge: no more than 250 words with the photo as a prompt.

So? What do you think? Is DEI dead? Or is there hope?

Hey! I see you!

Yeah.

I mean, I’ve seen you around on his face, but we never get a chance to talk.

Yeah. [long pause] What’s there to talk about?

You’re new, aren’t you?

Yeah.

I love your shade of blue.

Am I supposed to say I love your boring brown? [pause] ’cause I don’t.

Good for you! I hate insincerity. My brown IS incredibly boring, I agree. I’m intended for practicality.

Aren’t all glasses practical?

Well, he takes me off and shoves me in his pocket. His shirt pocket. His jacket pocket. His jeans pocket. Sometimes, he even sticks me in his back pocket and sits on me! I have to withstand all that.

Yeah.

You get a fun color. You get those cute little nose pads.

I suppose.

Once, when he was putting in his garden, I fell out of his shirt pocket into the dirt. My ‘boring brown’ blended right in. He didn’t find me for three days.

Really?

Yes! You would have been spotted right away! But I got peed on by a rabbit, crawled over by bugs, and even had a slug traverse my lenses. He left a slug slime trail!

Ew.

Yeah — you’re pretty lucky.

Why are we here?

My guy is in that bed. They said something about a heart attack and threw me over here.

Where’s my guy?

He’s sitting there beside him. He took his glasses off because he was crying and set you here.

Where are we?

The ICU.

---

Ah, the Unicorn Challenge. You know the drill, right? No more than 250 words. Use the photo as a prompt.

“How many lives do cats get, Mom?”

“Nine, but they don’t really get more than one life. It’s more like near-misses.”

“I know. I’m just trying to figure out how many Charon has had.”

“When has Charon escaped death?”

“There was that time when she ran out in front of Mr. Jones’ car. He almost hit her, but he hit the tree instead, remember?”

“Oh, yeah. I miss that tree.”

“Then after that, Mr. Jones was riding his bike and she ran out in front of him. He almost hit her again.”

“That was when he crashed and hit his head, right?”

“He should have been wearing a helmet, Mom. In fact, he had one on when he was riding that scooter.”

“Don’t tell me. Charon ran in front of him?”

“Yeah, that was the time he broke his leg.”

“Oh dear.”

“It wasn’t long after that he came out on crutches to get his mail one day. Charon went over to rub against his leg, I think to say sorry –“

“Oh, right, and he tried to whack her with his crutch.”

“She got away, Mom!”

“But he fell and broke his arm. So how many are we up to?”

[counting on fingers] “Car. Bike. Scooter. Crutches. It’s only four. Charon’s got plenty of lives left. She’ll be fine.”

“But will Mr. Jones?”

---

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

The first time he accidentally hit his ball over their wall, he thought it was gone for good. He wasn’t even sure anyone was home. Within minutes, though, it came sailing back to him.

The second time he was again playing alone, throwing the ball up then quickly getting both hands on the bat to try to hit the ball.

His friends weren’t interested in American baseball.

“Too many rules,” they would say. “Strikes? Balls? Three of one and four of the other? It makes no sense.” “Where’s the wicket?”

Anyway, the second time he whacked the ball over the wall, he worried, but the ball was gently tossed back. Right to him. He wondered as he caught it, could they see him?

The third time he had been distracted by the noise coming from behind the wall. Laughter — odd, grunty laughter, but laughter nonetheless. Boisterous shouts in languages he didn’t know.

He inched his way closer, listening. He hit the ball the other way. Until he hit directly over the wall.

A silence settled on the other side. The ball did not come back.

The door opened and a tall gentleman in formal attire called to him, “Is this your ball?”

He went to retrieve it but the man didn’t hand him his ball. He ushered him in.

The boy heard the door lock behind him.

“Three strikes and you’re out,” said the man.

The boy looked at the odd array of monsters approaching him. His heart squeezed inside.

---

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

She always ran to the toad.

Oh, there were horses and unicorns on brass poles that rose and fell during the ride. The huge golden retriever seemed to be bounding home. The smirking goat went up and down. The pig did not. The swan with a graceful neck was stationary as was the toad.

The toad was greenish-brown, bumpy, and ugly. No one ever rode the toad. She felt sorry for him so one day, she climbed aboard.

On her first toad ride, she wasn’t expecting the total transformation of her surroundings when the carousel started to revolve. The organ music started, the platform picked up speed, and suddenly she was in a garden on a toad who hopped a time or two before unexpectedly shooting its tongue out to catch a fly.

As the platform slowed, the garden faded and she was back where she started.

“Can I ride again?” she begged her mom.

On the second ride, the toad hop-hop-hopped before stopping to grab a worm wiggling on the ground. the scene faded as the ride stopped.

After that, it was always the toad. At home, she read about toads: their habitats and their diet which she saw on every ride. She also learned about their means of protection.

One day when she was riding, the toad was hopping and encountered a yappy dog. She immediately knew what sticky stuff was coming out of the toad’s skin.

I wonder if toad-toxins kill, she thought.

---

This is my submission to the Unicorn Challenge. The challenge has only two rules: 1.) no more than 250 words, and 2.) use the photo as a prompt.

In my town, we have a beautiful carousel, handcarved by artists from around New York. It has quite an array of animals, but no toad.

Emma didn’t go down that street anymore.

In fact, she hadn’t gone down it in years. The last time had been with a policeman and her mom. The time before that had been with Linette.

She remembered that day so well.

“Don’t you hear it?” Linette said to her. “The tree knows my name.”

“I don’t hear anything,” Emma replied. Well, she heard cars and people in the cafe and such, but she couldn’t hear the tree.

“It wants me to put my hand in there,” Linette said, pointing to the oddly shaped cavity in the trunk.

Emma tugged at Linette. “Let’s go,” she said. “This is creepy.”

But Linette ran back. “I’ll catch up with you,” she said.

Emma never saw her again.

Emma repeated that story umpteen times to her parents, Linette’s parents, and the policeman. She showed them the tree.

They shook their heads and looked at her with sad expressions.

Poor confused little thing, she could hear them thinking.

Now, she could hear the tree calling. It did know her name. She was blocks away, but somehow she knew.

She knew it was the tree.

Emma, Emma, the tree called. Come see me.

“No!” she said aloud.

Emma, Emma, the tree called.

Emma found herself walking toward the street, then down the street, then approaching the tree.

She had forgotten the way the cavity in the tree looked like a yawn.

Put your hand inside, the tree said.

Timidly, Emma reached her hand toward the hollow.

---

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

“Just look!” she said. “Isn’t this amazing?”

He was studying his phone. “I can’t get a signal, Mom. This is stupid.”

She hadn’t told him that she put a temporary hold on his phone plan while they travelled. God only knew how much he would run up in charges.

“C’mon, look,” she said again. “It’s so beautiful. You’ll never see anything like this in Binghamton.”

Binghamton, New York. A city well past its glory days. Gone was the IBM plant. Gone were the shoe factories. Gone were all the manufacturing jobs that had drawn people there a century before.

Gone, too, were many of the historic old buildings. The upkeep and repair was too much. Gone.

Now they were on a European tour. She hoped it would open his eyes.

“Put your phone away,” she said. “Look.”

He slid his phone into his back pocket and looked. “The streets are too narrow, Mom. I don’t like it.”

“But it’s so –” she started to say.

“It’s claustrophobic, Mom,” he interrupted. “And I haven’t seen a single pickup truck. Just those stupid clown cars that are too tiny. I’m amazed people can fold themselves small enough to fit inside.”

She sighed. Pickup trucks and beer, she thought and shook her head.

He sighed too, and thought, Pickup trucks, beer, and weed. What I wouldn’t give for a little right now.

“Let’s walk down this street,” she said.

He pulled out his phone and looked at it. “I still don’t have a signal.”

---

This is my submission to the Unicorn Challenge. It’s a simple challenge — no more than 250 words and use the photo for a prompt.

Thankfully, this was NOT my experience when I traveled (pre-COVID) with my children. I do think that travel is the best way to open people’s eyes.