Awake In The Night

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It’s going to be another long sleepless night.  It’s frustrating sometimes to be one of the only people awake, while the world slumbers.  I am hot, my uniform seems too warm for the conditions and it sticks to me uncomfortably.  

The loneliness is the worst part.  Okay, my supervisor does come around periodically to check on things, but for the most part I am alone here in the night.  I often wonder why I signed up for this in the first place.  It’s not like the money’s that good, and the odd hours just emphasise that to me.

I jump as a light comes on on the control panel in front of meIt is the moment I have trained for!  I hope I am up to the challenge.

“Welcome to Happy Burger, can I take your order please.”


Tale Weaver #264 – Awake In The Night



Fowl Morning

It was the task Iris hated above all others.  It was time to feed that infernal bird.  Its inky feathers were as black as its soul, and the satanic red head and horn-like comb were further proof of its maleficence.  Every day she was accosted by its onslaught as she sought to do no more than to met its needs.  Many were the day in which she would return to the house bruised or pecked bloody.

As she entered the yard, the fiend clamped down on her foot, intent on gorging its meal.  It was the task Iris hated above all others, but not today.  Iris slowly raised the feed bowl over her head and as the vile creature extended its neck to wrest it from her, she grabbed it by the throat and drawing the knife from her skirts she severed its head from its body.

“Merry Christmas,” she said triumphantly.




Daily Writing Prompt

The Clock


Brainsparker app for iOS

Insomnia was plaguing Henry.  He lay sleepless watching the clock slowly ticking towards midnight.  Thoughts of the Doomsday Clock flashed through his mind.  It too was approaching the witching hour of destruction.  What would prove to be the cause of this devastation?  Thermo-nuclear holocaust?  Global warming?  COVID 19?  All made the sense of anxiety worse as they weighed upon him on this milestone of the midnight of his upcoming thirteenth birthday.


Fandango’s Flash Fiction Challenge #54

Losing Time

Man, Barbarian, Warrior, Axe, Fantasy


The Barbarians had enjoyed several years of success.  No opponent seemed capable of stemming their tide of victory.   They really had seemed underdogs, owing to the relatively small population of their rural homeland.  They were determined, however; and with the advantages of clean air, a hearty diet,  and rugged lifestyle, win they did.  Even defenders from large urban communities collapsed against their offensive skill.  The Barbarians seemed unstoppable.

Victories were narrow at first, but became more regular, and one sided with the passing of time.  After four years, they had come to the pinnacle.  For five years after that, they were virtually without competition for fame and glory.  But as with all winning streaks a fall was on the cards.  It began with an injury to a single Barbarian, and culminated it the absolute collapse of their fortunes.

Yes, after four years of growth, and five years at the top, the Hicksville Barbarians faced a measly 0-9-1 football record.  It was the beginning of what would become known as the Losing Time.



Written for Goodreads Weekly Short Stories





Wheeooop and Ewwwoo were swimming peacefully into the fjord when Ewwwoo said, “Isn’t your sister, Uuwuup afraid of crabs?”

“No she’s fine with them,” Wheeoop replied. “It’s me that can’t stand them.  They are just creepy.”

“Oh, sorry.  But in that case don’t look to your left. There’s loads of them.”

Wheeoop immediately leapt from the water shrieking “Crabs,” as Ewwwoo chuckled to himself.  It works every time!



Daily Writing Prompt Feb 18





Hungry Times

parallel lines

OnHorizon at

“These are going to be hungry times,” Randolf said to Simon.

“I reckon you’re right,” the hunter replied to his brother.

“Pa said it was a bad sign when that early frost hit.  These woods ain’t been quite right ever since.”

“Peggy gathered up some nuts a while back, but they is on the small side,” Simon replied.  “Looks like the deer got the message before we did and hightailed.  There ain’t even many acorns this year.”

“There’s some rutting marks over by that oak though.  Must be a boar or wild hog about,” Randolf said giving a nod towards the tree.

“I hope so,” his brother replied. “I don’t look forward to a winter with just corn cake and mule meat for supper.”

“Well then lets stop this jawing and get ourselves a pig.”





“Why are those old books in the museum, Grandpa?”

“They are law books – books about the law, Sweetie.”

“Law books?  What’s law?”

“They are the rules we live by.  They tell people what they should and shouldn’t do.”

“But doesn’t the Great President do that for us?” the little boy asked with an expression of confusion.

“Well yes, Sweetie, but before the Great President’s father became ‘President-for-Life,’ many people worked together to make the rules.”

“That’s silly,” the child retorted.  “What if those people had different ideas?  At least now we know exactly what is right cuz the Great President tells us so.  And we don’t need lot’s of dusty books, we just need to read the Tweets.”

Grandpa took a quick look around the museum, noting the woman in the regulation black skirt-suit.  He then said in a loud but sad voice, “Exactly right Sweetie.”  Then trailed off looking down at the floor, “Exactly right.”


Sunday Photo Fiction




War Room – Public Domain

“What will they do next?” the Prime Minister asked his Joint Security Team.

“It’s impossible to say for sure, Sir,” the head of Military Intelligence replied.

“Not so fast John,” the acting head of Communications and Intercepts interrupted.  “Prime Minister, we have had a lot of coded chatter on their system.  We have cracked several sections of it, and while most is as Sir John suggests, largely inconclusive, there has been a recurring mention of Kenya lately.

“We have picked up on that as well,” the First Sea Lord interjected.  “But it is usually followed by mention of Sri Lanka on most days.

“So do I have this right?  You are suggesting that the Terrorists are planning an attack somewhere in the Indian Ocean region, with Kenya and Sri Lanka likely targets?”

“I think that is a reasonable assumption, Prime Minister, but as I said before it isn’t an absolute,” Sir John replied.

Meanwhile in a fortified compound near Jalilibad, the network’s leader, “The Hyena” was sending his orders for the day.  Two croissants and a large latte, and be sure it is that nice Kenyan roast.   ‘The Scorpion’ would like a Sri Lankan bean cappuccino and a raspberry muffin.”


FOWC with Fandango — Impossible

The Audition

Gladiator, Street Performance

image: Pixabay

Walliamius had already given his golden thumb-up to a scantily dressed Athenian poet, early in the season.  He would be joined in the grand final in the coliseum by a strange contestant from a place called “the crossroads” who posed an unsolvable riddle about a beast that traveled on varying numbers of legs.

Cowellus Simonius Maximus had just given a thumbs-down to an Egyptian juggler, and glanced at his audition schedule.  He smiled as he considered the lively performances the afternoon session held in store.  He really did enjoy these live semi-finals – after all they provided so much spectacle with it being a head-to-head competition.

As Spartacus, Judah Ben Hur, Maximus Decimus Meridius entered the audition space the audience roared with anticipation.  This truly was going to be a close competition to gain the final spot on Rome’s Got Talent.




FOWC with Fandango — Riddle


Letters and Such Like

Hunter Morgan was mighty proud of the new home he had built in the Willamette Valley.   He had arrive in Oregon from Mason County only a few weeks before.  He immediately set about building the house that he would share with his new wife, Mariah, a fellow Kentuckian he had met on the Little Train on the trail.  The couple now stood before the completed structure.

“What’ja think, Riah?” the farmer asked.

“I think it’s perfect?” the eighteen year old replied, giving him a big hug.

Hunter went to the wagon that had been their home, and took a chair and carried into the house.  He then returned and carried his bride across the threshold, and sat her down on the chair, before returning to the wagon to carry in their possessions.

As he brought items in, Mariah began to assemble them, and put things away.

Hunter brought in the final chest, a straw packed box of dishes that had been given to them by Mariah’s parents.  When it was opened, they came across a framed sampler that Riah had stitched a few years before.

Though Hunter couldn’t read, he could recognise most of the letters, and especially the ones which were in his name.

“Riah darlin’, you is right clever.  I have the perfect place for this.”  With that he took the frame and placed it with pride of place above the mantelpiece. “There, now we can always see your letters and such like.”


Daily Writing Prompt