A story

for The Sunday Muse



There was a time when she was one they envied. Outgoing, exuberant, not a care in the world. No matter what, she saw happiness even where they saw pain. 

Then one day she changed. Why nobody knew. She began to lead a monochrome existence in the technicolour world she’d created.

A shrug of her shoulders, a frown as she gazed to the ground, or a glance over her shoulder was as close as she ever came to expressing her feelings.

Inevitably her circle of acquaintances grew smaller, after all, many of them were only ever there to benefit from her joy and generosity.

A few genuine friends remained but despite their best efforts to withdraw her from the dark place where she dwelled, she resisted. They begged her to open up about what if anything had happened causing her to become so reserved.

But I know. And the pain I caused her is something I’ll regret to the day I die. What I did was unforgivable and even if she offered a hand as a gesture of forgiveness  I couldn’t bring myself to take it.

Please don’t ask me what happened. Thinking about what I did to her is more than I can bear, talking about it would, well…

It’s best I leave.





woman with yellow paint brush

A pory!

for Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt where the given word is Flippant.





A prediction I made received several flippant remarks from my mates.

‘When pigs fly!’ chuckled one.

‘Actually, pigs can fly’ I told them. 


A bump in the night

gave me a fright.

I jumped out of bed

and turned on the light.


Guess what I found

outside my door?

A confused-looking pig

Prostrate on the floor!


I looked to the sky

and realised that I

could prove to my friends

that pigs really fly!



My half-dozen

for Six Sentence Stories where the given word is Strike.





‘You’ll end up in either Heaven or Hell when you snuff it’ said my mate Prayerful Pete, ‘so you’d better begin behaving yourself before it’s too late’.

I wasn’t planning on dropping off my perch just then, but you never know what’s awaiting you around the corner so I decided to become a really good guy in the hope I might just strike it lucky, although my friends found it quite amusing when I said Grace before tucking into my Big Mac!

I said my prayers and hopped into bed early the other night because I really didn’t feel too chipper and soon after I nodded off I woke up again only to find myself in a strange place, and it certainly wasn’t the Land of Nod!

No, there were people standing around with wings, and a lass beating out a boogie on a harp; I kid you not, I’d made it to Heaven!

I was in urgent need of a celebratory beer, so I asked a chap if there was a bar and he said there was a no-alcohol policy but he could introduce me to a guy who knew the back way into Hell’s Kitchen, the bad boy’s boozer on the other side, whenever I needed a pint! 

So, here I am in Heaven and I tell you what, it’s worth behaving yourself for, I’m even getting a bit of a sun-tan.


Thanks to Denise at GirlieOnTheEdge for hosting.


One hundred words …

for Friday Fictioneers.



On my way to my girl’s place, I walked past the flower truck as the guy was packing up. He offered me some cut-priced cut flowers. Being a romantic I could hardly say no. They were almost dead, but it’s the thought that counts.

“Thanks a bunch”, she said, she loves a pun!

“I really lilac you,” I said, “We’re blossom buddies, I love you a lily more each daisy, our tulips should kiss”.

We leaned towards each other, puckering up … then she sneezed in my face!  Wretched pollen.

Fortunately, she doesn’t mind dead flowers ‘cos she believes in reincarnation!


floral-truckThanks to Rochelle for hosting and to Jan Wayne Fields for the photo.


Click Froggie to join in the fun!




It’s Monday again!

For Sadje’s What Do You See? prompt.





There’s a sign in my local pub that says in big bold letters, Drink Responsibly, and beneath it in teeny-weeny letters, Don’t Spill Any!

I admit I’ve suffered a few mishaps like drenching a white tablecloth with red wine and spilling my pint in a bloke’s lap which caused him considerable embarrassment as he left the pub and walked down the street!

I once spilt a drink on someone that was telling a joke. I never heard the end of it!

I don’t cry over spilt milk, but I did shed a tear the time I tipped over a glass of very expensive whisky. 

Having been the landlord of a somewhat lively drinking establishment for many years, I’ve done my fair share of mopping up. Butterfingered bar staff, tipsy tipplers and dosing old-timers have all given me cause to break out my bucket and sponge.

I was going to tell you a joke about when I spilt beer on my computer and it got Corona virus, but it won’t make sense to those that are not familiar with beer brands so I won’t bother!

So, let’s raise our glasses and…whoops, sorry!


Image credit; Avis @ Pexels

A slice of silliness …

for The Sunday Muse.







Pat a cake pate a cake baker’s man

Make me a cake or make me a bun

Or even a muffin or maybe a scone

And give me a call as soon as it’s done


As I was going to strawberry fair

I met some people going there

Come along with us they said,

our picnic you can join and share


Simple Simon met a pie man

struggling up the hill

Cart piled high with scrummy treats

He bought a sausage roll.


The Queen of Hearts, she made some tarts

With jam and fruit and cream

And sandwiches to die for

With cheese and fish and ham


Polly put the kettle on

to make a cup of tea

Sukey took it off again

Then hid behind a tree


Sing a song of sixpence

A pocket full of sweets

Chocolate ones and fruity ones

And lots and lots of treats


Rain rain go away

Come back in half an hour

By then our food will all be gone

And you can have a shower.


One two buckle my shoe

It’s time to leave for home

Fold the rugs and grab the chairs

Another picnic done!





*My poetry site is called No Rhyme or Reason, and if you are interested, it’s right HERE!

A memory

for Six Sentence Stories where the given word is Eruption.


One evening in 2013 I joined a vast audience to witness a performance of Bach’s St. Matthew Passion. As soon as I returned home, I  wrote a 350-word vignette which I still consider to be one of my favourite pieces of writing. 

The following is a six-sentence summary of what I recall. The memory of that evening will stay with me forever. I’ve placed a recording of the final chorus below should you choose to listen whilst reading.




Thousands fill the vast arena, expectant, excited, impatient.

As the orchestra assembles on stage the choir files to the rear. 

To spontaneous applause, the leader appears violin in hand, followed by the conductor who acknowledges his welcome, turns to the musicians, taps his baton on the rostrum then raises it. 

Wrapped in a lush blanket of sound, I close my eyes and everyone disappears, it’s just me and the music, rising and falling, carrying me with it, on and on.

I shudder as it reaches its magnificent climax then a moment’s silence is followed by an eruption of thunderous applause, people standing, clapping, shrieking for more.

And so ends a night of passion.


The original piece on which my Six Sentence Story is based can be found HERE


six-sentence-stories-1Thanks to Denise at GirlieOnTheEdge for hosting.

A flash of fiction …

…for Friday Fictioneers.



She always was a bit flighty but he didn’t expect her to leave him for a toy boy when she was in her eighties!

She left a load of stuff behind: frumpy frocks and woolly socks, her walking cane, her  Zimmer frame. Hair nets, reading specs, everywhere he looked he was reminded of her. 

Down the road was a shop which sold second-hand bits and pieces for charity. ‘All donations welcome’ said the sign in the window. 

There was only one thing for it.

“Excuse me dear” he called through the door. “Do you accept second-hand husbands?”


image-5Thanks to Rochelle for hosting and to John Nixon for the photo. 

Click a Froggie to join in the fun!0