Crowning Glory


Unicorn, Forest, Fairy Tales, Mystical


Dora was the plainest maiden in all the kingdom.  Some even said that she was ugly.  It was precisely that fact that led to her retaining her virtue far beyond the time in which it was relinquished by her peers.

This purity, however, was also her crowning glory, for she could see and converse with unicorns.

“Oh, I wish I was as beautiful as you,” she said to Daisy, one day.

“And I wish I had your lovely voice,” the unicorn replied.

They were suddenly transformed, but Dora could tell no one – for she had become a little horse.




Flash Fiction Challenge


The Drop


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Dmitri stood in the park and scowled.  It hadn’t been a difficult assignment.  All those two fools had to do was take the stolen plans and tape them in an inconspicuous place, like under the phone book in a telephone box, or under the seat of a public bench.  Then all they had to do was send two messages to headquarters.  One to say the general location, and the second for a specific.  Two separate phones, two separate messages – it would limit interception, especially from these two incompetents.

Natasha had said clearly that the drop would be in the central park.  An hour later, as per protocol, Boris messaged that it was under the red bench.

Dmitri fumed as he stared at a park full of red benches.  Meanwhile, a moose and a squirrel laughed from their vantage point behind a fountain, the red paint can and brushes still in their hands.










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“It looks like it’s had better days,” Deidre said as she looked at the peeling paintwork.

“It don’t look much, but I assure you the timber’s sound,” the old fisherman said.  “Been storin’ my nets and tackle her for right near fordy years.  Only selling-up cuz I’m retirin’.”

“Only 1200, you said?” Deidre asked.

“Yessum, and twenty a month for wharf access if you’re wantin’ it.”

“Okay, when can have your nets and things out?” she asked the old fellow.

“Well all the best tackles been sold already,” he replied.  “What’s left goes with the hut.”

Deidre looked at the assortment of net fragments, old floats, and a well rusted boat anchor, and said, ” Okay. It’s a deal.  My lawyer just wants you to write 1200 here,” she said pointing to a place on a crisp contract, “and sign here and here.”

Thus Deidre acquired the Bayside Studio for Maritime Art.  A few licks of varnish over the peeling paint was all it took to capture the rustic appeal. As for those odds and ends inside they quickly were incorporated into her first commission for an up-market couple from Boston, who said it was “Just perfect to remember their romantic seaside getaway.”

(200 words)








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“Gentlemen, thank you for joining us here at this symbolic venue to complete these negotiations,” the chief American negotiator welcomed.

“Excuse me, Mr. Herbert,” the lead Chinese negotiator interrupted. “But isn’t Ms. Petrova joining us?”

“No, unfortunately the Russians have decided to withdraw from the process,” Herbert replied.

“Let us get on with business then,” Prince Abbas, the Saudi negotiator urged.

“Yes, Let’s,” agreed Mr. Huang.

Herbert slipped an envelope in front of each negotiator. “Well then, the President has reviewed you initial offers, and instructed me to present you with these counter offers for the purchase of New York, and Los Angeles respectively.  I am now prepared to negotiate any reasonable adjustments to these figures.”








The Bargain



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Jack’s widowed mother had been sent him into the town to sell the family cow.  It was hoped that the money raised by the sale of the beloved creature would be enough to tide the family over, through the long winter.

As Jack entered the market, a fruit vendor began calling out.

“Roll up.  Roll up.  We is comin’ to the end of the day, and this fruit ain’t goin’ to be eat’n itself.  Nanners, Nanners, two bunches for a pound.”

The appeal of the idea of fresh fruit became too much for the half starved boy, so he headed directly to the vendor’s stall.

“I don’t have any cash for the bananas, but I have a cow,” he announced.

The shrewd merchant looked the beast over and said, “I’ll give ya eight bunches for er.”

Jack shook the man’s hand, and handed him the lead.

The wily vendor, then took sixteen bananas and separated them into pairs.

“Eight bunches,” he announced, wrapping them in old newspaper.

The dejected lad trudged home with his purchase and laid them on the kitchen table.

“Bananas!” his mother roared.  “I was expecting beans!”


(190 words)





Did You See That?


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“Did you see that?” the mighty eagle asked, gazing at the scene unfolding below.

“Did?  I’m still seeing it.  It’s not just a one-off you know,” his partner replied.

“I guess you’re right,” he replied.

“It’s kind of embracing,” she observed.  “All of this is going on in a place that is represented by us.  It’s supposed to be about dignity and nobility.  And all they seem to see is power, and being on top of the food chain.”

“You have that right too.  Sometimes I really wish old Ben Franklin got his way, and they chose the turkey instead.”




Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner: 2020: Week #25


Still Waters

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Public domain

“Still waters run deep.”  What an amazing metaphor.  But out on the big pond, still waters are a godsend.  “The Deep,” has her moments of calm, but Magellan got it wrong when he named the Pacific.  This expanse of deep shows her temper far too often.

Well, that is what the still waters of Petty Officer Mike Sanchez’s mind were pondering as he checked the lifeline on his harness, and made his way from the gun deck of his destroyer.  As he did, the vessel pitched headlong into a trough, and the bow disappeared into a next rising peak.




June 11: Flash Fiction Challenge – Deep Waters





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“It’s too calm,” Sheriff Martin observed. “I don’t like it.  It’s twister weather.”

“It’s like is was back in ’11,” Deputy Liz Carter agreed.

“Weren’t you only nine in 2011?” the sheriff asked.

“Yes, but I still remember the twister.”

“How could you?  You were nine and living in Maryville.”

“Well it was really calm in Maryville too, and I was at my best friend Tammy’s birthday party.  There wasn’t the slightest bit of breeze, so it was really hot, and then I had to do ‘left foot red.”  I tell you it was almost impossible and it was icky because I had the squeeze under Tommy Ridley and he had cooties.”




FOWC with Fandango — Twist



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Stefan adjusted the rope in his harness, and slide the last lead panel into place.

“It really is quite a view,” he said to his colleague Andre, who was dressing the panel.

“It is, but I really don’t see why we had the come up here and raise the spire by a metre,” Andre said.

“It’s because of Saint Nicholas,” Stefan observed.

“What does he have to do with it?” Andre asked confusedly.

“Not the man – the church,” Stefan replied.  “Risenburg has built a new tower on St Nicholas’, so we need to make St Hilda’s taller.”

Andre pondered this for a moment and then said, “Well personally, I think our lord bishop is trying to compensate for something.”





FOWC with Fandango — Compensate



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Alan adjusted his mask and took the tray from the back of his van.  It was his twentieth delivery for the day.  As he approached the elevator he took out an antiseptic wipe and cleaned the button before pressing it.  He then made his way to the seventeenth floor.  He used the corner of the tray to tap on the door of 1703 and then stepped back.  A glimmer of light appeared briefly through the peephole and the door opened.  He slid the tray towards the customer and stepped back again.

“Mr Patel?” Alan asked.

“Yes, yes,” the man replied as he removed the grocery items from tray.

Alan pressed the Delivered button on his handset as the man pushed a small zip lock bag with a small tip in it towards Alan with a broom handle.

“Thank you very much,” Alan said as he drew out another wipe and cleaned the bag thoroughly before putting it at the far side of his tray.

Alan wondered how many times he had gone through the same process since back in ’20.  The “crisis” of course had been declared over eighteen months before, but no one seemed to be taking any chances.

(198 words)