Embarrassed, I flick my mane, wondering if my ancestors would have ever allowed a human to groom them thus.

I, who came from a proud lineage of race-winning and battle-leading studs, now looked like some metrosexual poster child.

All thanks to the whims of a sixteen year old and my addiction to sugar cubes.

In response to Sonya’s Three Line Tales: Week 96 challenge, based on a photo by Patrick Wittke via Unsplash

The Dignitary Flower

Grasshopper rubbed his feet in displeasure. This was a convention for herbivores, and he was not permitted.

“Your not a pure herbivore. You eat insects at night.”

“Rubbish, that would be my cousins, the crickets.”

“All the same.”

Just his luck that they post a donkey at the entrance.

“Not the same. Whose in charge?” he demanded.

“Well, Mr. Huge Elephant, I suppose, or perhaps Mr. Bison or Mrs. Camel. But your too tiny to interest the likes of them.”

Right then he spotted Mr. Elephant. Before Donkey could stop him, he leapt onto the elephant’s head, where he started rubbing his feet and wings together to make that awful chick-chick-chick.

“Stop it,” roared Elephant.

“Not until you let all the herbivores in, irrespective of species, size or colour.”

“Let him in,” permitted Elephant, helpless before his sensitive hearing.

And that is how Grasshopper got his bright yellow dignitary flower.

In response to the Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers challenge based on a photo provided by Mark of @any1mark66 blog.

He lives

What’s that? Sam asked me.

An ant hill.

What’s an ant hill?

A place where ants live.

But ants are tiny. Why do they need such a big house?

Cause the entire colony lives together.

What’s a colony?

A place where many ants live.

But why do they need such a tall apartment?

Look, it’s a really tall ant. OK. Lets go home. I have tones of work to do.

The next day I am met by an amused teacher, when I go to pick Sam up from kindergarten.
Did you tell Sam that Ant-Man is real, and that his apartment is right near yours? He’s invited the entire class next weekend to visit!

In response to the 139th Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers challenge, based on a photo by Yarnspinnerr.

In the farm

A second post in response to Frank’s Tuesday Photo Challenge – This time a few farm bird.


There once was a bird on a tree
with disdain at me she did see
‘It’s lunch time dude
Staring is rude
So stop pointing your camera at me.’


Two birds of healthy stock
Primped for the catwalk
Goose boasted she was fair
Hen shook her colourful hair
While farmer went to fetch his chopping block.


I once met a family of geese
whose honking would never cease
All day they would scamper
The quiet they would hamper
Until they were locked up for the sake of world peace.

Hot damn

Her name was at the bottom of the list.

He had warned her. Unless her GPA improved she wouldn’t get any apprenticeship. No apprenticeship, no job. End of the road. Maybe he was right. She was not good enough. They were all right. She was useless.

Suddenly her chest constricts, like something tightening her rib-cage, making it difficulty to breathe.

She stares at the hot pink wall, and remembers Mrs. B’s psycho babble. Pink represents caring and sharing. Pink asserts strong sensitivity. Bullshit sensitivity.
Even the smiley taunts her.

Should she go talk to the professor. Cry. Beg for help. Her body was 70% water. Certainly enough to cry for hours. Then when she was all done, she could drink a glass of water and start all over again.
Surely she was at least capable of crying!

“Excuse me,” a gentle hand nudges her. “I need to put up the second half of the list.”

In response to the 137th Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers challenge, based on a photo by Grant-Sud

Out-foxed : A contemporary fable

Curious Cat came charging back from her prowl. “The hunter is coming. ” she screeched.
“We’re dead,” wailed Timid Mouse.
“He would never hurt us,” defended Loyal Dog.
“He would not dare,” roared Brave Lion.
“We cant be sure,” squeaked Quiet Mouse.
“Let’s run away,” suggested Slippery Eel.
“Peacocks don’t run, we promenade,” scoffed Proud Peacock.
“We’ll fight him,” challenged Strong Ox.
“And I suppose you’ll ward off his bullets with your horns,” taunted Mischievous Monkey.
“I have a plan,” suggested Sly Fox.
Now none of the animals trusted the cunning fox. They were unwilling to listen.
“Let him try,” insisted Stubborn Mule.
“Yes, if anyone can out-fox the hunter, it’s him,” added Eager Beaver.
“He’s getting closer,” spotted Tall Giraffe.

To everyone’s surprise, fox took off towards the hunter. No sooner did the hunter spot him, than he charged towards the ranger station, crashing into the ‘No Poaching’ board with a loud thud. Hearing the noise, the ranger rushed out, only to spot the hunter.
Quickly circling back to his friends, “We are safe. The poacher has been apprehended.” informed the clever fox.
All the animals cheered.

“Its good to be brave. It’s even better to be smart,” declared Wise Owl.

In response to the Sunday Photo Fiction challenge of 1st October 2017 based on a photo by A Mixed Bag 2012

Talking Math

I was going to give this week’s Tuesday Photo Challenge on Signs a miss. Couldn’t pull out anything interesting enough. Mentioned this to my son last evening. After he left for college I walked into his room to square up, and found this cute little scribble he had left for me…


I know he was just pulling my leg, but mums will be mums, and even post silly squiggles done by their kids 😉

O, and just to mildly salvage my reputation, here is the sign above our local train station. The graffiti obviously overshadows…


India being multi-lingual, you will note that the name is displayed in three different languages.

On duty

Bloody hell. Years of intensive training… for what? To stand around guarding a bunch of politicians. Obliged to protect the very ones over whose dead body I wouldn’t shed a tear! Sucks.

I look at Al. He looks equally frustrated. We have been here for the last three hours. Another half hour till he passes by? I need to take a leak.

Forget a damn crowd, other than a few photographers, no one has even turned up. Total boycott. Smart move. Small crowds piss him off; let’s see how he reacts to no crowd.

In response to the 100 Word Wednesday: Week 36 challenge based on a photo by Izaak Standridge.

Crank the engine

The wind pushes back on the car but to no avail. The gentle slope feels like a cliff drop as the car quietly but rapidly rolls forward, like nothing but a miracle would stop it.

They say your life flashes before your eyes when you are at the precipice of eternal oblivion. Well murder mystery scenes flash before mine. Did someone sabotage my brakes? At 16, I had neither a psychotic spouse nor a phenomenal insurance policy! White noise on the radio plays an ominous requiem. They don’t even know that I have taken the car. Was this how I was destined to go – A Jane Doe!

Suddenly words of caution penetrate my fog of despair – Remember, its an electric system, the brakes wont work unless the engine is running.

In response to Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers challenge of July 19th based on a photo by Kent Bonham