“Get down from there. That elm has rotted. It’s not safe up there.”

“As soon as I get the picture.”

“Why from up there?”

“We are here birdwatching, so we should have a bird’s-eye view of over first campsite.”

“That’s ridiculous. You’re going to fall and damage the camera.”

“Damage the camera!”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yes. You’ve stated it very clearly.”

“Look. All I meant was that we didn’t bring another camera. We have to be careful if we going to win Arckland’s Bird Safari scavenger hunt. The prize money will set-up our studio.

“I am wedged between these branches in danger … you tell me. This tree has rotted. I could fall to my death any moment … you tell me. Then you remind me NOT to damage the camera.”

Creak … Crack … Snap … Boom.

Lori lands in an unceremonious heap at the base of the elm.

Kyle rushes to her. “Lori are you hurt?”

Just as he arrives, the Nikon D850 hits Lori in the eye and gently rolls to her lap.

“Thank goodness you caught the camera.”

With a snicker, Kyle walks away. An apology now would do no good. Maybe after breakfast?




michigan“Can we go again?” Aunty May. “Can we, please?”

“Brewster, there’s an entire island we can walk. Trails for deer, maybe even a coyote, if you’re real quiet. We haven’t even been to Fort Mackinac to see the tradesmen.”

“But I want to go back to Skull Cave.”

“We’ve been there twice this week. Don’t you think the tour guide will think it strange?”

“Not at all. David said to come back again. He had more stories about the Yavapai.”

“I believe David might’ve been referring to our next vacation, not after lunch.”

“But he said if I came back when I was older he would tell me the true story of the massacre. Well, I feel a whole lot older than I did yesterday.”

Written for What Pegman Saw- Septemebr 1, 2018. 

Armenian Assassins


Armenian Assassins

I couldn’t find a pulse.

Her body was cold… but so was mine. The gently rolling hills of the Armenian countryside were beautiful, but the nightly temperatures sometimes dipped into the lower teens.

Grabbing Maggie’s purse from the tent’s wall compartment, I found her compact. I snapped it open and held it beneath her nostrils.

Hallelujah! … A small, but steady, mist.

She was alive.

Apparently Marsha, my ex, hadn’t been metaphorically speaking; in a jealous rampage she had said I would rot in hell for leaving her.

Hell was beginning.

A delicate, lipstick-imprinted kerchief lay near Maggie: her calling card.

Marsha hadn’t killed Maggie.  She easily could have.

She was making a point. She was just as good- alone- without me.

We’d been a team… unstoppable. Every contract successfully closed.

Then I met Maggie.

I wanted a life away.



Apparently, I had one more contract to close.

Written for What Pegman Saw: Requirements: Using the photo prompt provided, create a 150 word flash fiction story.

Written for Be a Writer Now- 2018. Requirements: Write a part of a story or poem that includes all three of these elements: a lipstick print, jealousy, and something glimpsed in a mirror.

Ask Cosantóir

Caernarfon Castle, Gwynedd, © Wales Wane Law, Google Maps

The footmen were gone.

The stables empty.

The entry chamber and all the adjoining rooms… cleared.

The will… Duke Bellingshire’s Last Will and Testament… clearly stated that all of The Bellingshire’s Retreat’s furnishings were to go to MoDA (The Museum of Domestic Design and Architecture) in North London.

I had the castle.

Actually, I had the castle, the remaining monies left from the closure of the estate (no small sum), and an accompanying letter.


To retain ownership of Bellingshire Retreat bring your family, complete with camping provisions.

Stay one entire weekend.

Prepare your meals in the kitchen’s oversized fireplaces and enjoy them in the grand dining hall.

Make yourselves at home. Tour the remaining rooms at your leisure.

Daytime guests are permitted, but only family- your wife, son and daughter, are to remain in Bellingshire for slumber.

For further assistance, ask Cosantóir.

The only problem…. No one knew Cosantóir?

Written for What Pegman Saw: Requirements: Using the photo prompt, create a flash fiction story of approximately 150 words.

FYI: If you did not catch one, Cosantóir is the Irish word for protector.