Unicorn Challenge

Rapture

/ Liz H-H / 17 Comments
Night view of a city street, post rain, described in text

© Ayr/Gray

Many thanks to Jenne Gray and C.E. Ayr for their photo prompt, THE UNICORN CHALLENGE. 10/18/2024). No more than 250 words in length.

It’s dark, past midnight on Edgewater Ridge. The night is closed and starless, though the rain passed through less than a half an hour ago. Except for the line of cars parked along one side of the street, nothing moves through the shadows or under the sporadically spaced houselights.           Continue reading →

Summer Day

/ Liz H-H / 13 Comments
Woman with hiking poles, standing at the side of a road, tall mountains across a field and creek behind her.

© Ayr/Gray

Many thanks to Jenne Gray and C.E. Ayr for their photo prompt, THE UNICORN CHALLENGE. (10/11/2024). No more than 250 words in length.

Agatha Marie had been an intrepid hypothetical explorer all her life. Impatient with the boring landscapes of the Midwest USA – cornfields in every direction, surrounding the lackadaisical cow or ten nibbling a fenced green pasture – she decided to risk all and transform the hypothetical into the empirical.                Continue reading →

Speedy Deliveries

/ Liz H-H / 12 Comments
Unusual bicycle, desribed in story

© Ayr/Gray

Many thanks to Jenne Gray and C.E. Ayr for their photo prompt, THE UNICORN CHALLENGE. (09/27/2024). No more than 250 words in length.

Theirs was an unusual match. If not made in Heaven, then it was surely not made for the other place down below, too hot for either one of them. Here in the Middle Lands, in a small seaside town in the furthest regions of the oldest French settlement in NewWorld Settlement Alpha-dash-oh-niner-three, Cecilia and Norman have found peace.                    Continue reading →

Citronella (Parts 1-3)

/ Liz H-H / 11 Comments
Apartment building with a gated terrace, and no obvious entry.

© Ayr/Gray

Citronella (Part 1)  

Citronella leaned over the balcony and sighed, staring down at the village parti-gras. Before, she’d been content to lean on the iron parapet, separate from the mad goings-on below. Before, she’d been satisfied with her mother’s witchy warnings of the dangers of joining the sweaty rabble. Before, she’d felt empowered by her choice of who she’d let climb her long, golden braid to the top floor. She’d lived there for as long as she could remember. 
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