“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.

The phone was ringing inside the phone box as Lisa walked past.

Nine months had passed since her mother died. Walking had become her way to cope.

The first months were the worst. Her very soul shivered. With grief, regret, sadness and with the damp cold of winter.

She bundled in layers and walked the country roads for hours.

At first she focused on her feet, watching them move forward as if they belonged to someone else while her mind replayed that last conversation.

Her mom had called that morning, “I’m not feeling well. Could you stop over?”

“Is it urgent?” Lisa had asked. “I’ve got a lot happening today. Could I come tomorrow?”

Her mother had yielded. She never wanted anyone to fuss over her.

She never wanted anyone to fuss over her. Lisa repeated those words in her mind. That’s why I should have listened. That’s why I should have gone.

But she hadn’t.

Instead she had found her mother the next day, dead.

So she started walking. For hours upon hours.

She thought knew these roads, but she had never noticed the phone box.

Now it was ringing. She pushed the door open and lifted the receiver.

“Hello,” she said.

“Lisa? Is that you?” It was her mother’s voice. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you that I loved you.”

“Mom? Mom?!” Lisa shouted into the receiver. “I love you, too.”

With a click the line went dead.

Lisa stood, staring and wondering at the receiver.

---

My Unicorn Challenge submission for this week.

This is 250 words, the limit for the challenge. It also has to be based on the photo.

I had to edit out SO MUCH to make the word count and I didn’t even finish the story in my head. I hope it makes sense.

She sat at a table with a tall iced lemonade. Waiting. Waiting.

He said he would meet her here.

“Don’t be late,” he had said. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

She waited and sipped.

Not far away, he waited, watching for her.

Where was she? he wondered.

He felt his anger rising.

He had told her not to be late and that he had a surprise.

Surprises always intrigued her. She was like a fish chasing a shiny lure. Dangle some bauble and she’ll follow it anywhere. He scoffed aloud as he thought of her stupidity.

The outdoor seating was crowded. She leaned against the tree and wondered if she was in the wrong spot. She sipped the last of her lemonade and decided to stroll to the other side and see if he was there.

At about the same moment, he rose and walked to see if he could find her.

“Damn tourists,” he muttered as he picked his way around the busy tables.

There was no sign of her. He clenched and unclenched his fists angrily. He shoved his hands into his pockets and fingered the packet of cyanide salts he had hoped to slip into her drink.

“Damn,” he said aloud and stalked off.

She, too, scanned the crowded tables — no sign of him.

She sighed a deep sigh, thinking about the container of arsenic in her purse. It would have to wait for another time.

---

This is my response to this week’s Unicorn Challenge. The Unicorn Challenge is simple — 250 words based on the photo prompt.

Clearly I watch way too many crime shows.

Plus, my dramaturg daughter is probably rolling her eyes at my choice of poisons. I don’t know about poisons — and I was afraid to search on my computer for the best poison to slip into a drink. Again — too many crime shows.

“This is very strange,” said the cardiologist. “I have never seen anything like it.”

“What is it, doctor?” she asked.

The monitor was facing away from her. The doctor stared, furrowing his brow and shaking his head. Finally, he stepped away and came around to sit beside her.

“Tell me again what you’ve been experiencing,” he asked.

“My heart starts racing. I get short-of-breath,” she said.

“Are you exercising when this happens?”

“No! I’m just sitting at my desk,” she said.

“It just starts randomly?” he asked.

Her face flushed. “Kind of,” she said.

“Is there something you’re not telling me?” he asked.

“N-n-n0,” she said.

He paused and moved on to explain what she was about to see. “We have new technology,” he said, “that takes information from many different studies and layers them to form an image of your heart. We took the images from your electrocardiogram, echocardiogram, MRI, and CT scan, and combined them. Then we took the electroencephalogram, the study of your brain waves, and layered that too. The result is an image that should show what is happening with your heart.”

She nodded, showing that she understood.

He stood up and turned the monitor to face her.

She looked at the image showing dry ground and a box marked, “Fragile.”

Just then her cellphone buzzed. She look at her phone, at the photo of the man calling her. Her face flushed; her breath caught; she put her hand over her heart to hold it in.

---

This week’s Unicorn Challenge. Rules are to use the image as a prompt and write a maximum of 250 words.

“Is that my shirt?” Deena asked.

“What are you talking about?” her sister Sadie replied. “I bought this shirt a year ago.”

Deena shook her head. “No, in the photo.”

“What?! That’s a soap dispenser!” Sadie said. “I balanced it on the post and liked the shadows it made, so I snapped a photo of it.”

“Well, that’s my shirt,” Deena said, pointing to a faint bit of plaid visible through the doorway.

“Oh, yeah, oops,” Sadie said sheepishly. “I suppose you want it back?”

“Nah, you can have it.”

“Come here, Deena, and tell me what you see,” Sadie said, looking out the front window.

“I see Mrs. Smith weeding her flowers,” she answered, pointing off to the side. “Why?”

“Because I see your bike left on the lawn,” said Sadie.

“How about here?” she asked, pulling Deena into the kitchen.

“I see a sink full of dishes,” Deena said.

“And I see the fruit bowl on the counter!”

They both laughed and ran into the living room.

“Guess what I see here,” Deena asked.

Sadie looked off to the side, and saw the unfolded blanket on a chair. She pointed at it and Deena nodded.

“But what do I see?” Sadie asked.

Deena furrowed her brow and studied the center of the room. “The pile of books?”

“Yes!” Sadie squealed.

“Guess what I see,” said a stern voice behind them.

The girls turned.

“I see two girls with Saturday chores to do,” said their mother. “Start cleaning.”

---

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

Using the photo prompt, write a story of 250 words or less.

Then go clean your room.