The Birth of the Unicorn


The basilisk grew and grew. A miniature horn slowly calcified into a tiny spear-like appendage on its forehead. Soon the basilisk was the size of a Rottweiler. Then with three quick breaths, its eyes rolled and it collapsed.

“Two spells at once?” My instructor materialized behind me. “Novice idiocy. What were you attempting?”

“A present for the King’s daughter.”

“Then try it on a horse”

Written for Chimera 66: Grammar Ghoul Press. (I was late in completing  the assignment.)



(Photo WXIA)
(Photo WXIA)

Snow, rain, heat, and gloom of night are constant marauders to my well-being.

Safety in numbers, yet the choosing of isolation: the marking of alliances.

Proximities to shelters and food kitchens: components in selecting a residence.

Kindness of strangers and the familiarity found in mutual self-preservation from local colleagues: indispensable for functional longevity.

Consideration given to all: the necessities required for a full-night of rest.

Written for Five Sentence Fiction: BEDTIME

Not All Houses Are Homes

My book bag –Old Navy, camouflage – was in the back: four sets of clothes, sneakers, and a set of tightly, rubber-band bound envelopes. My life: assorted letters, and two photographs, from the last three years. That was everything, except for my Riptunes MP3. I was listening to Bastille: Things We Lost for the umpteenth time.

We were watching for a large white SUV driven by a balding, older man and his grey-haired wife.

My ninth home: a new family- this one much older. I was ready: eyes- dry, dulled, unexpressive. New starts aren’t what they’re cracked-up to be.

Written for Carrot Ranch Communications: The Flash Fiction Challenge: Requirements: 99 words. Topic: Causes of Disorientation.

Burning Down The House


Burning Down the House

Your home is on fire. Grab five items (assume all people and animals are safe). What did you grab?

The mist was falling all around. Some of it was from the heavens. Some was backwash from an errant hose.

Thank God, I had checked the batteries in the detector on the first of the month… it least I was alive and could complain about the mist.

Redkey, my six-month-old Cocker Spaniel, was wrapping his leash around my left ankle as the firemen continued to put down heavy spray upon the back rooms of my house. It didn’t really matter. I was out … and so was the dog.

When I was awaken by the barking of Redkey in my ear and the horrendous blaring squeal of the alarm, I realized instantly what was happening. I had often wondered what would go through one’s mind if one was awakened by a fire. This morning, I no longer had to wonder.

Quickly grabbing my robe and sliding on slippers, I exited the bedroom through the back window- Redkey tucked under my left arm.  I tied Redkey to his awaiting yard leash and surveyed the smoke billowing from the window and side door of my house.

I was far calmer than I thought one should be under the circumstances.

The fire, for whatever reason, seemed to be concentrated to the one side of my house, so I did what every red-blooded man (idiot) would do. I realized that by the time the firefighters arrived, there might be nothing left of my house. Now was the time to act. So I did.

Quickly climbing back into my bedroom window, I scrutinized what lay around my bed and dresser. My laptop was still in Rhapsody mode: tonight it was cycling and recycling through the hits of Brahms as I had slept. Closing the lid on the laptop, I hastily stuffed the notebook into its carrying case that was setting on the rocker by the bed. In the case were all my files from my college classes and flash drives which contained copies of most of my photographs.

Upon thinking of the salvation of my photographs, I opened the sliding doors to the closet and pulled down the carrying case with my Canon EOS 5D Mark III; it had been a Christmas present to myself.

Exiting the bedroom window one more time with both cases, the computer case and the camera case, I heard the wailing of the sirens of the trucks entering my subdivision. I quickly went to the back shed to stow my belongings, and went to stand beside Redkey to await my guests.

Somewhere mid-window, I had realized how stupid I had been to enter a burning building for a computer. Having stowed my belongings, I felt like a far more responsible and confident victim.

Smiling, I walked Redkey over to the firemen as they were disembarking the truck. Knowing the house was empty of all occupants, the rescue team auxiliary assisted me with warmth while Redkey and I reclined on the back gate of the squad truck… content to enjoy a reality show with me playing the lead. And of course Redkey.

Requirements: Your house is on fire. Name five things you would rescue. All pets and people are safe. My rescued items: Computer, Flash Drives, Camera, Accompanying Cases. I hope that this story will remain fictitious… or if not, I will not be that stupid. I guess I rescued a robe and slippers as well… but one should be properly attired when one greets guests.

Written for The Daily Post.

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Burning Down the House.”


“Sunny-side-up, three bacon wedges, and two slices of toast. And the milk, it is barely chilled.” The words spat from the mouth of Wild Bill.

“I’m sorry, sir,” conceded the chef. It was not the first time that he had held conference with Wild Bill at gunpoint. Wild Bill seemed to think people’s attention was more fully focused with his six-shooter in hand. It was.

“Eggs are so hard my pup turned up his nose.”

“Another meal is being prepared right away, sir.”

“Excellent.” And with a double-clutched twirl of his pistol, Wild Bill returned to his seat. Savvy followed.

Written for Saturday Photo Prompt. Requirements: 100 words and use of the photo prompt.

Embrace the Ick

DAILY PROMPT: Embrace the Ick

Think of something that truly repulses you. Hold that thought until your skin squirms. Now, write a glowing puff piece about its amazing merits.

Once the sounds were over, the luscious, somewhat iridescent remains gently coated all that was exposed.

One could still breathe in the heavy fragrance of the Madagascar vanilla bean carefully mixed with chocolate mint. Yes, one too many Black Licorice Lagers were imbibed last night.

Larger chucks of half ingested mushrooms were present, along with tinier bits of well-toasted bacon pieces.

There was still a quaint aroma of a spiced yellow mustard whiffling from the mixture sprayed across the floor and on the front lapels of his suit.

“Officer,” I smartly stated. “I don’t think we have to ask him where he was last night. The proof is all over the floor.”

The somewhat incapacitated victim began to reply, but I silenced him with one up-right digit.

“He was at a celebratory meal in Bellaire. I believe you will find check stubs for the Fried Oyster’s Bruschetta from LuLu’s there on Bridge Street. It was followed by several Black Licorice Lagers.”

The lethargic man looked up and nodded… suddenly turned more pale… and blessed us with a second helping of evidence.

Just to Be Informative: People who are ‘afraid of vomit’ are said to have emetophobia. I love words, so I have quickly latched on to this one!

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Embrace the Ick.”

It Looked So Easy

It was a carnie’s trick I had seen at the beach.

It looked so easy.

I had no idea the celebratory garlands were hanging so low.

In a flash, pandemonium.

Walking beside the police at the scene the next morning, I felt like an idiot.

Written for Five Sentence Fiction.