Weekend Writing Prompt #23 – Taste

A short story in 35 words:


Amber & Kate

Kate ate many of the same flavour cake. Amber ate a few of different flavours. Amber was called “a slut”. Told she was “having her cake and eating it.” No, I’m just pansexual, she thought.


Written for: https://sammiscribbles.wordpress.com/2017/10/07/weekend-writing-prompt-23-taste/


Flash Fiction Rodeo Contest #1




When I grow up. Cast yourself back to six years of age, knowing what you do of life in the present; what would you want to be when you grow up and how would you go about achieving that goal? Tell us in 100 words, no more no less. It can be real or imaginary, serious or light-hearted. Extra points for comparing it to your childhood choice, if you remember it.


I just entered the competition with the following story. Very therapeutic to write I must say. 🙂


The Nerdy Compassionate Child

I was a compassionate child, a very deep thinker who loved books. I was bullied at school for being introverted. It stayed with me throughout my life so I always had compassion for people who faced discrimination for who they were. At six, I didn’t know words like discrimination but I knew what they felt like. I was taught to care by my family too and that ensured that then and now I would be on the side of right. I read lots, I learned about people, eventually wrote about people. I was happy, content and strong then and now.

Flash Fiction Rodeo Contest #1


#FlashFiction Prompt for Hurricane Relief #Flash4Storms #LemonSharkCharity @SarahBrentyn: Write & Help Those Affected By Hurricanes Harvey, Irma & Maria

Sarah Brentyn blogs at  Lemon Shark and she has set a Flash Fiction Prompt to help everyone affected by the hurricanes Harvey, Irma and Maria. Sarah is set to donate $1 to hurricane relief for every flash fiction story posted with a link to her blog. Writers, come on, let’s come together here and do something good. It won’t take much out of any of your times to help so come on, let’s get together and do it everyone! 🙂


1. Write a piece of flash fiction in 50 words or less with the theme: Help

(This can be any sort of assistance, support, encouragement, or a story of someone or something that needs help. You do not need to use the prompt word. Be creative! It can be 50 words, 15 words…even a six-word story. Anything goes provided it is prose up to 50 words. It doesn’t have to be sunshine and rainbows but keep it PG and friendly.)

2. Add a new post on your blog with your flash fiction and the hashtag #Flash4Storms in the title

3. Link to Sarah’s original post

4. Leave a comment here with a link to your post so I know you’ve participated

5. Help spread the word on social media with the hashtags:







Ok, here’s my flash fiction story:



Till Death Do Us Part

I’d proposed here. Now he was going to die here from cancer. At the seafront. In my arms.

“I love you Paul.”, I said, kissing him.

“I love you too Keith. You helped me through everything. Now you need to help yourself.”

He died. I cried helplessly into his chest.


Fellow writers, please help by writing your own piece if you have time. Thank you.

A Short Story A Day For A Month: Short Story: Ben The Pug

(And so we come to the close of what has been a great journey doing Short Story A Month. I apologise once again for the lateness of it’s ending and thank you all very much for your patience. The last story is about a wonderful little dog called Ben. Hope you all like it. :-))


Every Saturday afternoon little Ben could be seen relaxing outside a coffee house in Bray. He watched the people go by, got to know many of their scents, got to know who would give him treats or not. He liked treats. He found them better than the skip and dustbin food he was used to as a stray dog. He was often disliked by many of the other dogs. If it wasn’t because he was a pug, it was because he was homeless. Dogs didn’t know much about sexuality or gender but they felt these things so they knew these things all the same in their own way. Ben wasn’t fussy about the gender of his partners but he was fussy about his partners. They needed to have a sense of humour, a zest for life, a family with a bit of money wouldn’t go amiss but it wasn’t essential. For Ben, it was a nice added bonus though, he had to admit.

Ben watched the people going by often. And he wasn’t concerned with their gender, their sexuality, their nationality, their race, their religion or their class. All he was concerned about was were they nice people?, did they have interesting stories to tell?, what were the insides of the shops like that they shopped in?, did they value everyone exactly the same, completely?, what was fudge cake like? Did they try it? It looked nice but he couldn’t afford it and he heard chocolate was bad for dogs. He wondered a lot. He was a curious little dog with a heart of gold bigger than many people, a brain brighter than many people and feet smaller than most people.

A Short Story A Day For A Month: Short Story: Listen



It was finale night at The Starlight Amateur Theatre Group’s version of Dreamgirls. Carol stood backstage trying to keep calm. No matter how many times she performed, she always felt nervous. But it was like her Dad always said and she could hear him saying it now in his wonderful Dublin accent, “When you lose the nerves that’s when you’ll know you don’t care anymore.” And he was right. Nerves were passion. Nerves were worrying because you cared about it being right. She was getting rave reviews in the local press:

Carol Murphy is simply superb. She draws the audience in with her breath-taking vocals. Murphy’s Listen is the highlight of the show.

Carol Murphy as Deena is the star of the show. You’ll think you are at a West End show when Murphy soars into a heartfelt, note-perfect version of Listen.

One little lady. Some powerful lungs. Carol Murphy is sensational. And her version of Listen is sublime.

Carol Murphy – one word: Wow.

She had always been a huge Dreamgirls fan and Listen had been the reason she had wanted the part of Deena so much. The words spoke to her. As she sang each night she thought of the path she had went through being pansexual. She had once shied away fearful she wouldn’t be understood, wouldn’t be liked. She pretended to be straight, she pretended to be gay, she pretended to be bisexual. She pretended to be anything that could be understood. She was an introvert. She was passionate. She couldn’t face the awkward and ignorant questions. Or she felt she couldn’t anyway. So she followed scripts that she thought people would get, might be even ok with. She followed the voice they gave to her but then she had to find her own. She was tired of people saying her feelings weren’t real. She never questioned theirs. She believed they had the right to say what they liked but still she thought how dare they? I’m nice about your sexuality. How fucking rude are you mate?



Soon time came for her to sing Listen. She looked to her father in the crowd. She looked to her husband sitting next to him. The two men in her life who made her feel like she wasn’t weird. Who made her feel loved. She held back tears. Ever the professional. To come from been a young woman unsure if she was strong enough to face the world, deciding been a recluse might be better in a world even less kind and understanding than today to a regular theatre performer with the group, in the local spotlight often, a wife, a mother to two daughters and a daughter to a father who was for both her and her sisters Linda and Jo who had texted their support earlier. A sister to two straight sisters who never seen her as “the pansexual sister”. She was strong now in her forties and she didn’t give a damn about anything negative the unenlightened might, and often did, say. She was too mature for immature comments.

She began to sing:

Listen to the song here in my heart
A melody I start but can’t complete

Listen, to the sound from deep within
It’s only beginning
To find release

Oh, the time has come
For my dreams to be heard
They will not be pushed aside and turned
Into your own
All cause you won’t

Listen, I am alone at a crossroads
I’m not at home, in my own home
And I’ve tried and tried
To say what’s on my mind
You should have known

Oh, now I’m done believing you
You don’t know what I’m feeling
I’m more than what you made of me
I followed the voice you gave to me
But now I gotta find my own




A Short Story A Day For A Month: Short Story: Hyped Up Ferrets

(As you all know I have been having some internet problems but they are now sorted and I’m back in business. Though later than expected Short A Month will be finished with 3 more stories which I hope you all like reading. So I’ll stop rambling on now. Enjoy the story. :-))

The idea of standing up there in front of everyone terrified Beth. All those faces staring, all those ears listening to her every word and hearing the nerves in her voice, feeling sorry for her. Missing out on her story because the nerves in her voice made everyone awkward. It just seemed like it was better on paper than how it would be if she read it.

Best to stay behind the computer screen typing away happily, not hyped up to the last.

So instead for over a year she would listen to other writers reading their work been thankful she hadn’t been asked, been thankful she hadn’t put herself forward.

They don’t sound like hyped up ferrets so clearly they are the best people for the job.

After a year and a half of watching others take on the terrifying task of speaking in front of an assembled audience, Beth made the very big leap to read her own short mystery story to the audience present at the arts night.

And she did sound like a hyped up ferret. People did clearly feel sorry for her. But it didn’t matter. Strangely it didn’t matter. What was a big deal in her head suddenly wasn’t in reality. It was an achievement. The start of getting experience which would make her more confident each time she read her work out again. And soon she was an old veteran of reading out her work (inside still a slight hyped up ferret) and more hyped up ferrets took the plunge to read. Beth could identify with each and every one of them. And the circle continued throughout decades upon decades and beyond.