Host with the Most!

Rhonda and Steve were awestruck as they stared unblinking at the magnificent interiors of the Airbnb.

The walls were covered with such grand paintings that it looked like they were in the Louvre.

Add Bach’s Goldberg Variations playing in the background, and they felt as if they’d been transported to another century.

“We simply love it,” Rhonda cried out, ecstatically, “I don’t ever want to leave this place, Doctor.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged, my dear,” replied their host with an indulgent smile, a picture of old world charm, just like his home, “And please call me Hannibal.”


Written in response to the Carrot Ranch Flash Fiction challenge.


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How I Met your Grandmother


Photo prompt courtesy Sue Vincent

After a long, leisurely lunch, I was eyeing the shade of a thick grove of trees, but my plan of stealing a siesta went for a toss as my grandkids immediately surrounded me.

“Grandpa,” said the eldest, “tell us a story.”

His younger brother butted in, “Not a story Grandpa, THE story!”

I pretended to be confused by this, and said, “Ohhh, the one about the trucker?”

“Nooooooooo,” came the collective groan from the brood.

I smiled indulgently, and said, “OK OK, by popular demand, I shall once again narrate the story of…How I Met Your Grandmother!”

They all gathered closely around me, for my voice was no longer as loud as it used to be, and I started off.

“The sun was out for the first time after a long and harsh winter, and so, I decided to go to the pool in the woods. It was a glorious day, and the trees seemed to be singing with pleasure. Butterflies flitted by here and there, and the only sound breaking the silence was the buzzing of some bees.

I arrived at the pool, and it was heavenly.

The clear pool was reflecting the dazzling sunlight like a mirror, and the surface of the pool was home to countless rainbows.

And to them.

Two girls, frolicking about in the pool, not caring whether anyone could see or hear them, as their laughter echoed through the woods. But I ignored them, for swimming next to them was the most gorgeous creature I’d ever seen.

Our eyes met, and it was like magic. I felt as if we’d not only met before, but had always been together. I’ve never known such strong animal attraction before, or since.

I slipped into the water, and started swimming strongly towards her. Within no time, I was next to her.

We were now so close that we could touch each other. We kept gazing into each other’s eyes for what seemed like an eternity, and then…”

“Did you radish her, Grandpa?” my youngest grandson asked innocently.

The entire clearing was filled with peals of laughter, as my son answered, “Radish is a vegetable. I think you meant ravish, which means…”

“A fruit,” his wife stopped him mid-sentence, “And you need to spend less time with your cousins from across the Pond. Dad, please finish off quickly, they really need their sleep now, and so do you.”

I cleared my throat and resumed my tale.

“OK, so where were we? Aah yes, we kept gazing into each other’s eyes, and then….pounced upon the two girls together, and made a nice, juicy feast out of them. And then, we lived happily ever after.”

The kids nuzzled me and drifted off, while I started moving towards the shade, cleaning my teeth with the ‘Beware of Crocodiles’ sign that some interfering humans had tried to put up next to our pond.


Written in response to Sue Vincent’s #writephoto Prompt – Mirror.






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The Hold-Up

Photo prompt courtesy Dale Rogerson

The early-morning tranquility of the café was shattered by the entry of a wild-haired, red-eyed woman, who rushed to the counter, and shouted hysterically, “Give me everything you’ve got!”

The shivering man behind the counter immediately opened his till, and held out a thin wad of notes.

“What’s this?” she screamed.

The man mumbled, “This is all I have.”

The woman, let’s call her Dale for convenience’s sake, shook her head in exasperation, and said patiently, “I just need all the coffee you’ve got. I’ve spent the entire night thinking of a story on Rochelle’s prompt, but still got nothing!”


100 words.

Written as a part of the Friday Fictioneers challenge, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields (more details HERE).

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The End

Photo by Felipe Ribeiro at

The flood had subsided, but no one was celebrating.

I stood on the deck alone, a pariah, for no fault of mine. They blamed me for the ending of the human race.

But how was I supposed to know that Noah’s wife would have a heart attack upon seeing a cockroach in her cabin?


272 characters.

Written as a part of Kat Myrman’s Twitting Tales #150 – 20 August 2019

Note: I know Noah’s family (three sons and their wives according to Wikipedia) were also supposedly there on the Ark, but this was more fun 🙂


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The Honeymoon Special

We arrived on the runway in a disheveled state, running like crazy. As we hopped on aboard, and finally took a breath, I poked Tom with my elbow, and said, “Smile, we’re on our honeymoon.”

“Smile?” Tom sounded exasperated, “We almost missed the flight because of your packing. And now, we’re about to fly…on this ….thing! ”

I said lovingly, “I know my brush with death nearly broke you, but there’s nothing to worry, sweetheart. Or five-star deluxe resort is waiting for us, and we’ll reach there within no time.”

And as I finished speaking, we took off.

“See,” I said after five minutes, when we were cruising through the clouds, “Absolutely nothing to worry about.”

In hindsight, I shouldn’t really have said that, for suddenly, we were plummeting at super speed towards the ground.

Tom and I held each other tight, as I shouted, “What happened?”

“Nothing to worry ma’am,” pat came the reply from the front, “Just saw a worm on the ground that I’ve been wanting to try for a long time.”

Tom stared at me angrily, and cried out, “We’ll walk back if we have to, but I’m not getting on to this crow again, Thumbelina!”

Photo courtesy of DB McNicol via Pixabay


200 words.

Written in response to the Sunday Photo Fiction prompt.

Tom Thumb and Thumbelina first made an appearance as a couple here:


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In a Jam

As I opened the refrigerator door, my wife’s words of warning reverberated in my ears, “No more sweets, or you’ll be in a right royal jam!”

But her words soon faded away, and all I could see was a treasure trove of cakes, pastries, muffins…and standing tall amidst them, a bottle of fresh home-made rhubarb jam.

I took out the bottle, gazing at it lovingly, when suddenly, the lights came on, and a voice, possibly belonging to the owner of the house, spoke sharply, “Gotcha! Robert, keep the gun trained on this thief while I call the police.”


Written in response to the Carrot Ranch flash fiction prompt, Sweet Jam.

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A Giant Step for Mankind


Photo prompt courtesy Sue Vincent

It was the 12th day of our journey, and I was exhausted, drained of all the enthusiasm and excitement that I had started off with. I just wanted to reach our destination and get it all over with.

Next to me, Sophie was still chattering away to glory, immune to the vicissitudes of the arduous journey. Youth is like a superpower, I guess, though I didn’t remember being this full of beans when I was her age. To be fair, there’s little I remember from that far back.

My joints were stiff now, and each part of my body ached with the slightest movement. Plus were not really making good time, what with being able to travel only at night so that nobody could see us. And I was still doing it, all because of one little girl.


I looked at her again, my heart filling with warmth. She was helping me realize my life-long dream.

“BFG,” she’d said, “let us go to the Buckingham Palace and meet the Queen. She’ll help us get rid of the evil giants.”

I thought about it for three days and three nights, and then, on the fourth day, I told her that I was on.

And so, here we were, on our way to see the Queen.

Sophie was confident that she would be able to get us both inside the Palace despite the heavy security.

And once inside, it would be child’s play for me to gobble up the Queen, and become the new King of the British Empire.

Till then, even though it killed me, I would need to continue with that silly garbled-up English while talking to Sophie. Couldn’t have her suspecting our intentions, could we?


Written in response to the #writephoto Prompt – Journey at Sue Vincent’s Daily Echo.



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His First Sleepover

PHOTO PROMPT © Jan Wayne Fields

Martha and Joseph woke up suddenly, to find their entire home shaking violently.

They looked at each other and then cried out together, “The sleepover!”

They ran out, only to find their yard looking like it had been struck by a tornado.

And then, they saw the kids, crowded together, but safe. She checked once again, and then cried out, “Where’s Dorothy?”

“I don’t know Mom,” her son replied meekly, “I was fast asleep, when she tickled my nose….and I sneezed.”

Martha shook her head, and sighed, “Clark Kent, what am I ever going to do with you?”


99 words.

Written as a part of the Friday Fictioneers challenge, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields (more details HERE).

Note: The State of Kansas has given three notable figures to the literary world- Dorothy (of Wizard of Oz fame), Clark Kent (the mild-mannered reporter who’s the secret identity of Superman) and our illustrious host, Rochelle!

Posted in Children, Comics, Fan Fiction, fantasy, Flash Fiction, Humour, literary fiction, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 37 Comments

Just Jammin’

Photo by Wal_172619 @

The jam stretched on for miles, but there was no honking of horns, no loud grumblings of frustrated drivers or impatient passengers.

Everyone was just staring out of their windows, mouths wide open.

You would think that they’d never seen giant sloths crossing the road before.


279 characters.

Written in response to Kat Myrman’s Twittering Tales #149 – 13 August 2019.

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The Makeover

Photo from Morguefile

My face lit up with pride as I watched Anne write.

When I’d found her running cheap scams on Pub Street, she couldn’t even spell her name, let alone being able to write it. But I’d seen something in her…a hunger – to succeed, to leave this state of destitution behind, to live life on her own terms.

Convincing her to allow me to change her life was the easier part. But grooming her, teaching her how to stand, sit, talk, even eat and drink, took a lot out of both of us.

I would be lying if I told you that I didn’t contemplate leaving this crazy project of mine unfinished numerous times, but one look at her face, and I doubled down to trying even harder than before.

For it was her face that had worked its magic upon me, right from that night on the street when I first saw her.

The face that would make all this blood and sweat worth it in the end.

The face that was an exact replica of the missing heiress of a multi-billion dollar empire, a spitting image of the girl buried in an unmarked grave in my backyard.


199 words.

Written as a part of Sunday Photo Fiction – Aug 11 2019.




Posted in Flash Fiction, Humour, Thriller, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments