Monster Eyes

Here’s a 100- word story for the Halloween season:


Witches can see ghosts, and ghosts can tell whether someone is a witch. But zombies don’t see anyone: they only smell the flesh of the living.  Vampires scent blood from a long way away like sharks, so they too don’t actually need to see . The yeti, being an abominable snowman, is snow-blind, and skeletons have dry and empty eye-sockets.

I suppose all these speculations are rather a waste of time. Whichever creature I decide to dress up as at the fancy-dress party, there’s no need for me to go invisible. I might as well let everyone see me.



Here’s another 100-word story:


As I did up the button on my cardigan I kept my finger on it and followed it, and threaded my whole body through the buttonhole.

The fabric pinched my head as it jerked through to the cardigan’s lining, where the long row of buttons formed a control panel leading straight into cyberspace. By pushing the first button I could go to Google, the second led to YouTube, and so on with all the others which took me to different sites.

I’ve seen enough now, so I’m coming out through the speaker on your computer.



Maintenance Work At The Beach      

Just as summer is starting the beach has been fenced off.  I’ll have to find another place to go.

I step into a time machine and visit Rome, trying to keep my eye on the exquisitely designed temples instead of on gladiators being made to fight to the death. Then I jump into a space ship and soar to another galaxy where I inspect blobby people with arms like tweezers. Next I dive to the bottom of the sea and follow a squid riding a plankton raft towards cherry-pink coral reefs.

I still like the beach across the road best.

The Wild Hunt And The Bell

The Wild Hunt raced down the hill on their powerful horses, to the place where the bell that was in the wrong story lay in the long grass.

Without a word they smashed the bell, and a dull DONG rang out across the wild wood, followed by a splintering thud.

But smashing it hadn’t mended the tear that leaked greenery down into the story underneath, and let a little jagged void space seep in and lick around the tree roots. A ribbon of vacuum threaded across the riverbank like black stitches.

The broken bell fell through the tear, and then from its own story it could be heard ringing once again.

My 100-word stories also appear on ‘The Drabble’ blog.


Ref. 100 Word Challenge For Grown Ups on the Julia’s Place blog.


Thinking positively made me a positivist like my father. As a leading Logical Positivist he was an inspiration for Mr Spock and many professors, although hated by philosophy students as they struggle to understand his beliefs, and mine too because I have added my own innovations to his.

They long to associate positive with cheerfulness and optimism, rather than a dry and dusty set of pronouncements that are so difficult to get their heads around that by the end of it they are dreading the exams- which is pretty negative.



Festival Day



It was a festival day and I longed to see what was going on. A stage with music playing, blocked by the crowd standing at the front; stalls covered in bright colours and shapes labelled ‘hand-made crafts’ and crowds thronging around them; carousel, bouncy spider-web.

But whenever I try to move closer, the wire mesh bars my way. There are no special days for me – every day is the same, sitting on the same  perches in the aviary at the centre of the park.



My 100-word stories also appear on ‘The Drabble’ blog.