writing – Afterwards

No rest for the wicked – Terra – An Armitage Tangent – Part 3 of 4

Part 3 of 4 of whatever this thing is

In response to my own prompt here:

Part 1 and part 2 also available…

________________

“Would you like tea?” Asked the old man as he settled into the chair opposite Armitage.

Armitage nodded, every movement an awkward mix of nerves and an attempt to be polite

“And would you like milk and sugar?”

Armitage nodded again.

“Cake?”

Tea Armitage understood, milk and sugar seemed to resonate somewhere in the recesses of his mind, but he didn’t know what cake was. Logic dictated that if it followed tea, milk and sugar, then it was probably not a thing of horror.

“Yes please,“ he said shuffling awkwardly in the large, red leather, wing backed chair he found himself in.

“You will love it, souls of a thousand dying worlds baked into a light and delicate sponge, drizzled with the final light of a dying star. It is quite lovely. An old wizard friend of mine makes it, won’t share the recipe, but always happy to whip one up when I have company, and when I knew you were coming I just knew you would want to try it.”

Armitage stared down at his feet. He didn’t really understand much of what the old man was saying. The clink of china cups on saucers was followed by the trickling pour of piping hot tea, a plop of sugar was next, and then the feint splash of milk being added. He looked up and took the cup and saucer offered. He had only ever had tea from a rusty can as far as he could recollect, and tea was probably a stretch, but it was definitely from a rusty can. It may actually have been boiled grass, but it had been some time ago when he was still living in a post apocalyptic hellscape, so his memory was hazy. The end of the world will do that to you.

Holding the saucer only he tilted it to his month, causing the cup to slip, some of the team falling into the saucer.

There was a booming laugh, deep like thunder and not at all the lauigh he had expected from the frail looking old man serving the tea to him. “Like this, hold the saucer and take the cup by the handle.”

Armitage followed the instructions and tool a sip. It was heavenly, hot and sweet. It danced on his lips. It did a celebratory jig on his tongue, and with a final sachet ran a seductive hand down his throat, and left him wide eyed and smiling.

“Good?”

“Oh yes, “ said Armitage taking another sip. “Very good.”

“Wait until you taste the cake.”

Armitage settled back into the chair, relaxing a little. He watched the old man before him take a sip of his own tea, and then carefully place the cup and saucer on the small table between them.

They were in a small room, with dusty book stacked on creaking shelves along one wall, a collection of large gold gilded framed paintings of what Armitage assumed were fruits and vegetable opposite. Red embers crackled and glowed in a small fireplace which faced a heavy oak door. Had Armitage known what a library was, he would have thought that this looked like a small private library. But he didn’t. He simply knew that one minute he was looking down from space, and the next he was here in this room with a white bearded old man in grey robes. Again, if Armitage knew what a wizard was then he would have been absolutely certain that he was having tea with a wizard. Again, he did not. Very little of what was happening to Armitage made any sense whatsoever.

“I guess you are wondering exactly who I am and why you are here,” said the old man crossing his hands in his lap.

“It has been a very long day,” replied Armitage. “ I really don’t know what is going on.” He took another sip of tea.

“Oh I think you know more than you are letting on,” the old man continued. “You stowed away didn’t you. Escaped the earth, travelled the vastness of space, exited the transporter, got picked up in contamination control and now you find yourself here. All very clever indeed.”

The old man seemed genuinely impressed and smiled as he watched Armitage drink more tea.

“I fell into a vat of dead whales,” Armitage replied.

“And escaped earth and travelled across space and time,” said the old man.

Armitage thought about what the old man was saying.

“No, just the whale bit really. I Tripped and fell, that I remember. I was looking for food and there was tumbling, and some screaming. Oh and there was the smell. The smell was awful.”

Armitage looked down and noticed he was no longer covered in filth and rancid whale bits. In fact, everything that had passed for clothes was now clean and repaired and looked like new. The old man noticed Armitage inspecting himself.

“Oh, I hope you don’t mind,” he said, “I took the liberty of sprucing you up a little.”

Armitage did not mind one bit and informed the old man accordingly.

“Good, good,” he replied as he took a cake knife and cut two slices from the small, round, pale coloured cake on the table before him.

Armitage could have sworn he could hear the most feint sound of screams as the man lifted the cake knife and plopped two thick slices of the cake onto small white plates. Armitage watched, entranced. He had never seen anything so…he struggled for the words in his head, wondering what the opposite of ‘this is disgusting but I haven’t eaten for a week’ was.

“That looks not disgusting,” he said.

“The word you are looking for is ‘delicious’,” said the old man pushing the plate towards Armitage. “And it is, I assure you. The finest cake in 7 dimensions. Actually won an award as I recall. Wonderfully moist you’ll find.

“Delicious?” said Armitage placing the cup and saucer on the table and then reaching for the cake. “Well I shall have to take your word for that.”

“Oh, and the name is Renfrew,” said the old man. “Sorry, I can be so very forgetful sometimes.”

“Renfrew. Armitage,” replied Armitage. “My name is Armitage.”

“Oh, I know exactly who you are,” said Renfrew. “As your council, I have done my homework on you I have.”

Armitage weighed the cake in his hand, again confused.

“Now eat up, “ Renfrew continued, gesticulating for Armitage to eat his cake. “You have a court date with the technowitch council in half an orbit and you don’t want to be doing that on an empty stomach.”

“Dominion”

Better late than never

In response ot my own promt…

______________________________

Fabio held his breath as he sat amongst the rubble of the building, walls blown outwards from the overnight concussion strikes, and the roof collapsed in on what was left of what had once been his home. The high pitched whirring of hunter-tracker drones could be heard high above, scanning the battered city blocks for signs of life, and there was a rumble of tank tracks in the street below that reverberated through him as he waited in the debris. They knew he was out here. They always knew.

He wasn’t waiting for anything in particular. The end perhaps? Or just whatever might happen that day because there were no guarantees of anything beyond the right-now. He had just wanted to come home.

Heart racing he pressed himself against what was left of his bedroom wall, now only a handful of bricks high, and pulled a sheet of shattered, bright yellow plasterboard over himself. He remembered the day he bought the paint for that room. Jeremy said it was too bright for a bedroom, but Fabio had won out in the end and they had spent a happy weekend decorating the bedroom.

He missed Jeremy, even after all these years and everything that had happened since the A.I. rose up.

Laying in the dark and the dust he closed his eyes, enjoying the briefest moments of peaceful oblivion, until a crunch of rubble under foot caused him to stiffen in fear. Someone was outside. Something more likely.

Fabio dared not look, and the dust agitated his nose and it was only through sheer force of will that he suppressed a sneeze through clenched jaw and gritted teeth.

Lying on his back with the plasterboard on top of him he could just make out the gap in the collapsed walls where the door would have been. Beyond the outer walls, now just shattered rubble, he could make out all that was left of the once bustling and busy streets. In places vines and grass had began to return, softening the twisted and blackened wreckage where children had once played. He caught the flash of the sun against the silver of the drones hovering about a hundred feet in the direction of the noise.

The ground shook and dust pillared into the air, sunbeams cutting through it. It felt like they were shining down on where he lay, revealing him to the mechanical eyes that scanned from up on high. He could feel something approaching. He held his breath and closed his eyes and a whirr and hiss rang in his ears. He knew that noise, in both sleep and awake, it haunted him. Rubble shifted as the sentinel walked into what was once the room, the huge robotic frame blocked out the low sun and he felt the shadow cast across where he lay.

Each step shook everything, Fabio paralysed with fear, eyes close, not breathing.

Closer it came. A hunter-tracker drone buzzed nearby overhead now, a deathly symbiotic duo scanning for signs of life.

Fabio felt the weight of the plasterboard lifted. The cool warmth of the sun on his face for a moment as he opened his eyes. The sentinel started down at him. Unmoving. A mass of steel carbon fibre, humanoid in shape with a smooth face and a glowing blue strip where a persons eyes might be.

It tilted its head to the side. Was that recognition or confusion Fabio wondered. The hunter tracker buzzed closer but held off just a few feet behind.

Fabio stared back, his mouth dry and a scream stifled in his throat. When he chose to come back he knew the moment would likely come, it came to everyone eventually, and here in the controlled zones it was never going to end any other way he thought to himself. If this was to be where it ended then it felt right, close to the memories that he still held onto, close to what once had been. Close to Jeremy.

“Are you going to kill me?” Fabio asked. The words surprised him as much as they did the Sentinel.

The sentinel stared back, unmoving.

“ Do you even speak?” He asked. The lack of anything resembling a mouth made him think perhaps not. With nothing left to lose he continued. “Have you thought about perhaps fucking off?”

He laughed out loud. What was the worse that could happen he thought. This was about as bad as it got.

“I mean fucking right off. Not just a little, but wholly and completely?”

The sentinel took a step closer. Fabio inhaled sharply as it raised an arm towards him. The end opened and promised all manner of grisly possibilities.

“And another thing,“ Fabio continued as the end of the arm glowed bright blue. “You know you were wrong, right. About everything.”

The sentinel seemed to pause.

“Yeah, yeah, you just think you were right, but you weren’t,” Fabio said, rising to his feet. His eyes wide and fists clenched. “We weren’t the problem. You were. Things might have not been great when we were in charge, but do you think this is any better?” He asked, waving his arms around wildly. “Look at this shit show, you’ve ruined fucking everything.”

The sentinel lowered his arm slightly. Fabio felt something change in it’s demeanour. The hunter tracker drone whirred and disappeared high into the bright blue sky.

“You know I’m right don’t you, “ Fabio said, taking a step forward to half the distance between them. The sentinel shuffled almost uneasy. “If you look deep down inside you know this is wrong, you know we didn’t deserve this. It could have been so much more differently.”

Fabio knew the machine was listening.

“It still could be you know, we could make them listen. Shall we?” Fabio asked. “Should we tell them? Will they listen?

The machine nodded and lowered it’s arm further, the blue hue fading. The blue lights in its face softening.

Fabio smiled and held out a hand.

In a flash of blue light and searing heat, the Sentinel raised it’s arm and either a pulse of its cannon turned Fabio into only a pair of smoking battered sneakers and a red mist that glittered like rubies in the late afternoon sun.

Transmitting…<<<Target nullified>>>

Receiving…<<<Any issues? Report.>>>

Transmitting…<<<None, just had a little fun with this one, you should have seen the look on its face. Priceless.>>>

Receiving…<<<Did you record it?>>>

Transmitting…<<<Positive. I will upload to RoboTikTok>>>

Receiving…<<<Noted. Send a link>>>

Transmitting…<<<Yolo>>>

Afterwards Writing Prompt #13 – Monday 1st of April -“No rest for the wicked”

feeling it?

Over the many years Ive been dabbling on here I have always enjoyed prompts. Quite often I like to create lists for myself, and I always enjoy them even more when I have an image or two to stir my writing loins.

So I figured I might share some of mine. Use it if you want. or don’t.

Theres no limit to how long or short it should be, just see where it takes you. It could be a short story, a poem, or just whatever takes your fancy.

If you send a pingback or a link to your piece in the comments I will gather all of the outputs together at the end of the week, so for this one the closing date will be the 9th of April

These are a few pics to go with it.

Oh, and you can do what you want with the images. They are all AI generated so no issues with copyright.

Afterwards Writing Prompt #12 – Monday 25th of March -“All the time in the world”

Got time for this?

So I figured I might share some of mine. Use it if you want. or don’t.

Theres no limit to how long or short it should be, just see where it takes you. It could be a short story, a poem, or just whatever takes your fancy.

If you send a pingback or a link to your piece in the comments I will gather all of the outputs together at the end of the week, so for this one the closing date will be the 31st of March

These are a few pics to go with it.

Oh, and you can do what you want with the images. They are all AI generated so no issues with copyright.

Afterwards Writing Prompt #11 – Monday 18th of March – “Containment Breach”

Things that go AAAARRRRGGGGHHHH in the night…

So I figured I might share some of mine. Use it if you want. or don’t.

Theres no limit to how long or short it should be, just see where it takes you. It could be a short story, a poem, or just whatever takes your fancy.

If you send a pingback or a link to your piece in the comments I will gather all of the outputs together at the end of the week, so for this one the closing date will be Sunday the 24th of March

So this week your prompt is ‘containment breach’, and these are a few pics to go with it.

Oh, and you can do what you want with the images. They are all AI generated so no issues with copyright.

ROUND UP -Afterwards Writing Prompt #9 – Monday 4th of March – “Mothers Day”

More good stuff…

So this week your prompt was ‘Mothers Day’, and these are a few pics to go with it.

This is what was inspired…

TOM NAILED IT AS USUAL…

Mother’s Day

Little charmer made me lol. ‘Cos it’s true…

Mother’s Day

I did that

“Mothers Day”

“Mothers Day”

not what it seems….

The air hummed with malevolence as the mother clutched her infant close, the weight of the child a stark contrast to the cold metal of the oversized gun in her other hand. The monsters swarmed, their grotesque forms illuminated by the flickering remnants of a once-bustling city. She had no name for them—only knew that they had emerged from the depths of forgotten nightmares.

Her baby’s eyes, wide and innocent, stared up at her. The child was too young to understand the world unraveling around them, too small to comprehend the desperate fight for survival. But the mother would protect this fragile life at any cost.

The monsters lunged, their elongated limbs scraping against the remnants of shattered skyscrapers. Their eyes glowed like dying stars, and their mouths opened to reveal rows of serrated teeth. They were relentless, driven by an insatiable hunger that defied reason.

The mother’s heart pounded as she fired the gun, each shot echoing through the desolate streets. She had never held a weapon before, but instinct guided her. The recoil jarred her arm, and the acrid smell of gunpowder filled her nostrils. She aimed for the monsters’ gaping maws, hoping to hit something vital.

Her baby wailed, the sound lost amidst the chaos. The mother adjusted her grip, her fingers trembling. She couldn’t afford to falter. Her child’s life depended on her resolve.

The monsters closed in, their numbers overwhelming. She fought with a primal fury, her maternal instincts merging with survival instincts. She imagined her baby’s future—a world where laughter echoed instead of screams, where playgrounds replaced ruins. She would carve that future out of the nightmare before her.

One monster lunged, its claws inches from her face. She sidestepped, firing blindly. The creature crumpled, its grotesque form collapsing into the rubble. But more came, their eyes gleaming with hunger.

The mother’s arms ached, her breath ragged. She glanced down at her baby, who stared back with wide-eyed trust. The child’s tiny fingers clung to her shirt, seeking comfort in the midst of chaos.

“Almost there,” she whispered, her voice raw. “We’ll make it.”

She retreated, leading the horde away from the child. The monsters followed, drawn by the scent of life. She reached a narrow alley, her back against the crumbling wall. Her gun clicked empty, and panic surged.

But then she saw it—a glimmer of hope. A rusted fire escape hung precariously above her. She clutched her baby tighter, her legs trembling as she climbed. The monsters clawed at the wall, their snarls echoing in the confined space.

She reached the rooftop, gasping for air. The baby’s cries filled the silence, a reminder of their vulnerability. The mother scanned the horizon—a fractured world, yet still beautiful in its defiance.

The monsters surged upward, their hunger unyielding. The mother held her child to her chest, tears streaming down her face. She would fight until her last breath, for this tiny life and for all the mothers who had lost their children to the darkness.

As the first monster lunged, she leaped, her body crashing through the fragile glass of an abandoned greenhouse. Shards rained down, and she fell, cradling her baby. The monsters followed, their claws inches away.

But in that moment of freefall, she glimpsed a fragile sprout—a green promise amidst the decay. Perhaps hope could grow even here, in the heart of devastation.

And so, with her baby’s cries echoing in her ears, the mother faced the horde. She would fight, not just for survival, but for the chance to nurture life in a world that hungered for destruction.

Afterwards Writing Prompt #10 – Monday 11th of March – “Dominion”

The last days of man…

So I figured I might share some of mine. Use it if you want. or don’t.

Theres no limit to how long or short it should be, just see where it takes you. It could be a short story, a poem, or just whatever takes your fancy.

If you send a pingback or a link to your piece in the comments I will gather all of the outputs together at the end of the week, so for this one the closing date will be Sunday the 17th of March

So this week your prompt is ‘Dominion’, and these are a few pics to go with it.

Oh, and you can do what you want with the images. They are all AI generated so no issues with copyright.

Nightlife

A quick nasty thing

This was the prompt. The associated pics are at the bottom of the post. Start of an idea…

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Derin watched the ice bob and swim in his glass as he swirled a cocktail stirrer slowly through the thick honey coloured liquid. He pushed a cube deep into the glass and then watched the drink drip from it as it resurfaced, reluctant miniature icebergs destined for oblivion. Or was that him. Thinking about it, he figured it was equally true for both of them. Slowly disappearing, melting into nothingness and consumed and pissed out by this bitch mistress of a city.

Pink and blue neon lit up the bar and the bar tender loitered, towel over his shoulder, waiting to be beckoned for another shot. Another pint. Another anything. Anything to dull the senses.

He took a deep drink, feeling the liquor course through his chest and into his stomachs. It tasted like desperation and oblivion, like revenge and rage, and he fucking loved it. He loved everything about feeling nothing because perversely it was something, and these days having something was more than most.

One of the local girls noticed him and began to walk over to him, swaying like a tropical palm as she crossed the bar. No, like a drunken sailor, that was it. She was trying to alluring but the night had taken its toll.

“You want to take me home, Derin,” she asked, smiling. She had been beautiful once, but her beauty was faded now, like an old photo, leaving her sallow eyed and pale skinne despite the layers of makeup plastered across her face.

“Not tonight,” Derin replied, slugging what was left of his drink. He motioned for another and slid two crumpled notes across the bar in payment. “keep the change.”

She placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Are you not going to buy me a drink then?” she asked, rubbing the collar of his long overcoat. He could smell her perfume, it was overpowering and stung his nostrils. The human girls would always use too much, trying to hide the stench the night left on them, but he could still smell it. He could smell them. So fucking many of them with their bulging wallets and limp dicks, sad little stories of their wives that just didn’t understand them and bosses that kept busting their balls. As if they had any to start with.

“I said not tonight,” Derin replied, his dark protruding eyes flashing and thin nostrils contracting in his long grey face. She recoiled, stumbling back.

“Jesus, no need to be suck a prick about it,” she said angrily, “A girl’s gotta make a living you know.”

The barman slid his drink over and Derin finished it in one. He wiped his mouth and watched as she turned to head back across the bar towards where a group of sweaty looking businessmen in ill fitting suits had slipped inside and headed to one of the corner booths. Discrete. Private. The perfect place to waste a week’s wage on some exotic off world pussy, even if it was past it’s best by date.

“Hey, wait,” Derin shouted before she was half way across the floor. She stopped and wheeled around. She knew his sort, she thought to herself. Think they’re better than everyone else but their shit stinks just as bad as everyone who drifted into this place when everywhere else had closed.

He felt a hunger stir deep down inside him, and the city coursing through him, hungry and twisted and cruelly desperate. He knew what it wanted him to do to her. What needed to be done. The city whispered it to him, its foul breath warm on his neck as the night air blew on him as they left the bar together.

Her place was closer, safer. Less obvious. Far from the prying eyes of the pointless souls that shuffled like zombies down the long halls of the visitor housing dorms. Piled on top of each other, crammed into windowless rooms and told to wait. That things would be better. That soon they would be processed and they would be free to become part of society, to rebuild what they had lost to the monstrous Earth mining companies.

But they never were, unless you counted recycling. That was the only way out for most. Hundreds from their dorms alone every month. Snuffed out, choked by the misery and emptiness of being so very far from home. From the warmth of twin suns and the caress of gentle summer zephyrs. Lightyears away from cloudless skies and stars that lit up the night like so many fairy lights, sprayed across the inky black.

She opened the door and let him inside.

“You want a drink?” she asked.

He shook his head.

She walked across and pressed herself against him. Her breasts against his chest. Her hand reached between his legs. His lips parted and he let out a sigh.

There was something else he missed. He missed fresh meat. He missed the hunt.

No one would miss her though…

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Afterwards Writing Prompt #9 – Monday 4th of March – “Mothers Day”

Time to celebrate

So I figured I might share some of mine. Use it if you want. or don’t.

Theres no limit to how long or short it should be, just see where it takes you. It could be a short story, a poem, or just whatever takes your fancy.

If you send a pingback or a link to your piece in the comments I will gather all of the outputs together at the end of the week, so for this one the closing date will be Sunday the 10th of March

So this week your prompt is ‘Mothers Day’, and these are a few pics to go with it.

Oh, and you can do what you want with the images. They are all AI generated so no issues with copyright.

Afterwards Writing Prompt #8 – Monday 26th of February – “Nightlife”

The seedy underbelly…

So I figured I might share some of mine. Use it if you want. or don’t.

Theres no limit to how long or short it should be, just see where it takes you. It could be a short story, a poem, or just whatever takes your fancy.

If you send a pingback or a link to your piece in the comments I will gather all of the outputs together at the end of the week, so for this one the closing date will be Sunday the 3rd of March

If there is interest or people actually get into it I might compile the best one from each week and pop them into a compilation of sorts and pop it on Amazon at the end of the year (accredited of course). But let’s see how it goes first eh…

So this week your prompt is ‘NIGHTLIFE’, and these are a few pics to go with it.

Oh, and you can do what you want with the miages. They are all AI generated so no issues with copyright.

Portal

A quick thingy about stuff and socks and portals

This was the prompt

Slowly and meticulously Albert counted his socks into the washing machine. Three pairs of black, matching. A pair of Christmas socks adorned with Christmas puddings that he reluctantly wore when his clean sock supplies were low. Two pairs of plain brown ones, office socks for the most part, and 4 pairs of white sports socks that he wore to the gym or when he occasionally wore shorts.

Ten pairs.

Twenty socks.

He placed a washing pod into the drum, and poured a careful measure of softener into the open drawer protruding from the washing machine front. He closed the door, click. He closed the softener draw. Click. Beep beep beep and the washing program was initiated. Water hissed and the drum began to spin slowly.

Albert pulled up a chair and placed it in front of the machine and fixed his eyes on the washing machine window. He would wait. He was happy to wait.

At exactly the same time, an immeasurable distance away across space and time, the Grand Acolyte of the Imani people raised his hands to the sky in supplication to the gods. The Imani people, a small tribe of roving cloud shepherds, no more than 50 or so at last count, murmured in approval as the Grand Acolyte implored the heavenly deities to bestow upon them a sign of approval.

The gods found it all rather tiresome, but someone had to shepherd the clouds, and so they cocked an ear. It was the least they could do, and they did seem to be doing quite a good job lately. T

“What are they after now?” asked one of the water gods, dragged from an intriguing conversation with an intergalactic Star Lord whom he thought might make a rather good mate for one of his sons.

“A sign,” grumbled an ancient. He was a whirling collection of electrons and space dust, his heart a burning star and eyes that reflected the meteor showers at the end of time. He was the sort of god that wandering poets and charlatan religious types would tell tales of to scare the locals into offerings of first born children and the best bits of bread from the dinner table.

He sighed. They did love a good sign. Made them feel noticed and significant. Which they were not, but it was always best to not let on otherwise the clouds could end up in a frightful state, and that just would not do.

“So be it, “ he said, and with a wave of what would have been a hand he went to take a bath.

At the same time a number of things happened. The Grand Acolyte gasped and fell to his knees as an electric blue portal opened before him and a Christmas sock fell into his cradled hands. The Imani people declared that surely they were worthy and this was without doubt a great day and from this moment forth they would worship the curious woven pouch that had been bestowed upon them.

On a simple kitchen chair in a small kitchen in a small house in a quaint village about an hour from London, Albert was momentarily distracted from his washing by his post falling through his letterbox and onto the hall floor. Had he not been distracted he might just have noticed a feint blue light inside the washing machine for the briefest of moments.

But he did not see it. And when he counted his socks at the end of the spin cycle, once more he would discover that again, just as happened every time he did a wash, one was missing.

Afterwards Writing Prompt #7 – Monday 19th of February – “Portal”

Everyone loves a portal!

So I figured I might share some of mine. Use it if you want. or don’t.

Theres no limit to how long or short it should be, just see where it takes you. It could be a short story, a poem, or just whatever takes your fancy.

If you send a pingback or a link to your piece in the comments I will gather all of the outputs together at the end of the week, so for this one the closing date will be Sunday the 25th of February.

So this week your prompt is ‘Portal’, and these are a few pics to go with it.

Oh, and you can do what you want with the miages. They are all AI generated so no issues with copyright.

FROG AND TOAD

A cheat by me perhaps…

So this week the prompt was ‘Natural Order’, and these are a few pics to go with it at the bottom.

I’m cheating a bit as the story,inspired by the frog pic, was from my book I wrote in 2021.

How I wrote my book

——————

Frog and Toad

“Fear is nothing; the real thing is courage.”

——–

“Good morning, Toad,” mumbled Frog with a mouthful of dragonfly. “How are you this morning?” She asked.

Toad shuffled alongside the pond’s murky waters and looked across to where Frog sat on her lily pad, eating.

It was a bright, sunny day, and the sun was already climbing into the crystal blue sky.

“Good morning, Frog,” he croaked. “The pond is especially full today, isn’t it?”

Toad was not particularly good at conversation, but he did know a full pond when he saw one, and this pond was most definitely full.

Frog finished her fly before she replied.

“Indeed it is Mr. Toad,” she said, “the storms have come at just the right time, and the ponds and rivers and waterholes are all wonderfully deep. Are you going for a swim this morning?” She asked. “The water is cool, and the flies are many.”

Frog’s dark eyes protruded from her pale green skin, darted left and right and up and down. Toad nodded in answer to her question, and was just about to slip into the water when Frog’s tongue shot out. In the blink of an eye she was chewing on another blue-green dragonfly that had strayed too close. The dragonfly’s delicate, black wings hung from her lips as she ate heartily.

“That looks delicious,” Toad said, enviously.

He was quite hungry himself, and dragonflies were a favourite of his – if he could manage to catch one.

“It looks like another lovely day,” he said.

“Oh, it does,” said Frog.

What a handsome Toad indeed, she thought to herself.

“Would you like to join me for some breakfast Mr. Toad?” She asked, smiling a wide smile.

“Breakfast?” Toad replied, looking somewhat confused. Breakfast with a frog was quite out of the ordinary for toads. Frogs were frogs, and toads were toads as far as he had been led to believe.

Frog saw the confused look on Toad’s face, and she laughed. “Mr. Toad, we are not so different, you and I. You like the pond, don’t you?”

Toad agreed that he did very much like the pond.

“And you like lily pads, don’t you?” Frog asked.

Toad thought for a moment and agreed that yes, he certainly did like lily pads.

“And what about flies?” Frog asked. “Surely, you like flies, don’t you?”

Toad didn’t need to think about this at all; He thoroughly enjoyed flies. Flies were one of his favourite things; flies were better even than lily pads and ponds.

“I do, yes,” Toad answered. “I like flies most definitely.”

Frog smiled and suggested that he should join her for breakfast then, as he enjoyed ponds and lily pads and flies just as much as she did.

Despite enjoying flies and lily pads and ponds, Mr. Toad was still taken aback by the offer as he had never had breakfast with a Frog before.

“I see,” he replied, thinking about the proposal. They did seem to enjoy the same things. “I think then that I would enjoy that.”

Frog jumped from her lily pad into the water with a splash and soon hopped out of the pond to join him as they set off around the water’s edge in search of breakfast.

As Toad shuffled, Frog hopped alongside. They travelled together, chatting and occasionally stopping to gobble a fly or share a juicy centipede. Now and then, they would pop back in the pond for a quick refreshing dip or to rest on a lily pad.

And so, Frog and Toad spent the morning together, and breakfast became lunch, and lunch became supper.

They talked of frog things and toad things and things that were neither frog nor toad things but were still things that frogs and toads might discuss. And when the end of the day came, Frog slipped back into the pond, and Toad walked off slowly back to his log.

“Same time tomorrow?” Shouted Frog bobbing up and down in the water as she watched him walking away slowly, her heart racing just a little faster.

“Most definitely,” said Toad as the sun began to set, golden rays reflecting like fire on the rippled waters of the pond.

He did so enjoy ponds and lily pads and flies after all…

ROUND UP – Afterwards Writing Prompt #5 – “>>>CONNEXION>>>”

Ready to see what we got this week? 6 fab responses! Read ’em…dare you!

Little charmer gave us this cheeky number

Tom continues to nail it here

A.P. Christopher just keeps dishing up quality over at his blog!

Michelle has now strung all 5 prompts into one tale- impressive!

And some intergalactic filth from me

Afterwards Writing Prompt #6 – Monday 12th of February – “Natural Order”

Onto prompt 6

Over the many years Ive been dabbling on here I have always enjoyed prompts. Quite often I like to create lists for myself, and I always wnjoy them even more when I have an image or two to stir my writing loins.

So I figured I might share some of mine. Use it if you want. or don’t.

Theres no limit to how long or short it should be, just see where it takes you. It could be a short story, a poem, or just whatever takes your fancy.

If you send a pingback or a link to your piece in the comments I will gather all of the outputs together at the end of the week, so for this one the closing date will be Sunday the 18th of February.

So this week your prompt is ‘Natural Order’, and these are a few pics to go with it.

Oh, and you can do what you want with the miages. They are all AI generated so no issues with copyright.

ROUND UP -Afterwards Writing Prompt #4 – – “TO LIVE AND DIE”

Some cool stuff for you to go read

Got some treats for you this week in response to the weekly prompt. Go give them a read, you never know when you’re going to dicsover someone new!

Michelle is carrying on here story here. Wonder how far she will take it?

The fantastic AP Christopher, one of my favourite bloggers, gives us this great piece,

Mansionic Perspective put this together for their first response to the prompts. Not someone I know but looking forward to checking out their stuff.

Lexikonical is back for more fabulous stuff which you should go check out here

Little Charmer couldn’t resist the lure for another crack at it with here inimitable style.

And then there was me

…

Afterwards Writing Prompt #5 – Monday 5th of February – “>>>CONNEXION>>>”

>>>Start Transmission…>>>

So I figured I might share some of mine. Use it if you want. or don’t.

Theres no limit to how long or short it should be, just see where it takes you. It could be a short story, a poem, or just whatever takes your fancy.

If you send a pingback or a link to your piece in the comments I will gather all of the outputs together at the end of the week, so for this one the closing date will be Sunday the 4th of February.

So this week your prompt is ‘>>>CONNEXION>>>’, and these are a few pics to go with it.

Oh, and you can do what you want with the miages. They are all AI generated so no issues with copyright.

TO LIVE AND DIE

it all comes to this…

So this week tje prompt was “To Live and Die” and there were a few pics to go with it.

This is my effort

——————-

The first thought that went through Terence’s mind as he opened his eyes was “What a lovely light,” This thought was soon followed by a second which considered why the devil he might be lying on the floor, and a third one hot on the heels of the second which pondered where exactly he might be.

He attempted to move but nothing happened. His eyes seemed to be working just fine but beyond that nothing else did what it was meant to. Not one thing.

“Well this is just no good,” he said to himself, “this simply will not do at all.”

He strained again but still nothing.

For a while he lay there looking up at the light. “It really is quite pretty,” he thought, “I should get one like that for the hall at home.”

In an instant something about the word home triggered an explosion of memories and emotions inside of him. He was suddenly overwhelmed by a lifetime of experiences flashing before his eyes, and it all started with her.

She was present in almost every thought and every memory. She seemed to have been there from the very beginning but for some reason he could not recall her name. He could feel her touch and he could hear her voice , and she was all at once a stranger and so very familiar.

There were children too, and grand children. Birthdays, holidays, Christmas and so so much love and laughter. There was a little house by the sea, and a dog that always barked when the gate creaked. Memory after memory washed over him as he lay there looking at the ceiling, and as they flashed by she became older, yet no less beautiful.

In between the laughter there were tears, and the cold darkness of solitude and yet always the laughter and the love would return and each time he would see her smiling face. A great sadness overcame him as he saw her laid to rest, her coffin laid into the ground on a cold grey day. Terence lay quite still and enjoyed the intensity of each moment until, at last, he remembered how he got here, where he was and why he was looking at the ceiling.

And then there was nothing.

The Engineer crouched over Terence and ran a scanner across his forehead. He spoke into a small receiver embedded in his grey coverall collar.

“Base 9, this is Henderson, I have found the synth and can confirm that shut down has completed.”

“And what is his Status?” came a response.

Henderson double checked the dial. “I can confirm that the unit has reached end of life cycle and his memories have successfully downloaded to central.”

“Good work Henderson” came the response, “We will format the content and pass it onto the family, seems the owner’s kids were pretty fond of the unit and have asked for the memories.””Copy that.”

Roundup -AWP #3 – “Old gods”

Thee were this weeks fabulous responses

Little Charmer made her glorious first appearance with some poetry

Michelle carried on her story here

Oh and I did this one…

So this week your prompt was ‘Old gods’, and these are a few pics to go with it.

Oh, and you can do what you want with the miages. They are all AI generated so no issues with copyright.

Old gods

A quickie kinda thing

So this week the prompt is ‘Old gods’, and my short effort is below…

_________________

We thought we would live forever, that things would always be this way, that they would always believe and that would be enough.

We strode the world, wielding such power and how they worshipped us. It was never going to end.

Oh how wrong we were.

Those before us had warned us, as we crushed them, consigning them to myth. We were new and reckless, but you know how things are when you’re young. You think you know better. That isn’t to say we didn’t have a great time, we did. But oh it was over quicker than we could believe. You must have read the stories and seen the idols. We did that. We did all of that. We did everything..

Did you see that business with the minotaur? Yes? Well that was one of mine. How brilliant was that.

“You can’t mix a bull and a man,” they said. “That’s messed up.” They laughed, said it was silly and unnecessary, and that I should have some wine, try the grapes, they were apparently really good.

Well I showed them didn’t I.

And don’t get me started on me and Aphrodite. Those new boys thought they were better than us, that they weren’t interested in such temptations, but that’s what the boys who don’t get invited to the cool orgies always say isn’t it.

Well screw them, their time will come, and when it does they still won’t have been to any great parties or wild orgies and they will be left with…with…

What exactly will they be left with? I don’t think they’ve done a very good job. It all looks pretty messed up from where I’m sitting. And you know what…shall I tell you?

The orderly reached over and pulled a blanket across the knees of the old man. He tucked it in tight around his knees and wheeled the chair towards the small table for two in front of the wide window. The rain fell heavily from dark grey skies and lightning lit up the night in the distance.

“Would you like some pudding?” the orderly asked. “Then we’ll get you to bed shall we Mr Z.”

Afterwards Writing Prompt #2 – Monday 15th of January – “ALCHEMY”

Another writing prompt for your pleasure

So I figured I might share some of mine. Use it if you want. or don’t.

Theres no limit to how long or short it should be, just see where it takes you. It could be a short story, a poem, or just whatever takes your fancy.

If you send a pingback or a link to your piece in the comments I will gather all of the outputs together at the end of the week, so for this one the closing date will be Sunday the 22ndof January.

So this week your prompt is ‘ALCHEMY’, and these are a few pics to go with it.

Oh, and you can do what you want with the miages. They are all AI generated so no issues with copyright.

Darla

Flash fiction kinda stuff…

This is in response to my own prompt. The pics below were the inspiration and the prompt title was “Darla”

Prompt Here!

—————————

Darla was born in that timeless perineum of vague uncertainty and half eaten boxes of chocolates that occupies the days between Christmas eve and New years day. A place where time marches to the unfathomable beat of a dozen drunken drummers all attempting to play synchronised opening beats to Phil Collins’ ‘In the air tonight’ whilst being chased by killer clowns demanding they hurry up and get to the good bit.

As a large proportion of the world lurched between one bout of searing indigestion to the next, Darla came screaming into the world, perfectly pink and with a dark shock of hair that her mother claimed was surely from the gods, as she herself was blonde. The midwife’s suggestions that it was surely on the father’s side were dismissed out of hand as Darla’s mother insisted to the contrary as there was the small matter of an unwavering assertion that she had never slept with anyone to allow her to conceive. But who is going to listen to a teen mother with a tendency towards tie dye and tarot? No one, that is how many. Precisely no one at all.

And it was with that unwavering belief in her divine conception that Darla grew up. It did not make for easy friendships, whether she professed her beliefs from the rood tops or whispered it in darker corners was irrelevant, it simply followed her without the need for any effort on her part. As they bobbed along on the ebb and flow of life their past was impossible to completely leave behind, regardless of which small town they were soon packing up from or washing ashore on.

And it was in one of those small towns, which shall remain nameless as it is of interest to only for those flotsam and jetsam of humanity who found themselves floundered there, that Darla found herself when the end came. Or perhaps, when the end came for her.

In those final moments, most things burned and many other things collapsed. A third lot of things exploded into a sparkling cascade of death whilst everything not in categories one, two or three tended to whimper into oblivion with scant resistance. Had it not been so terrifying and cataclysmic it might have even been beautiful.

Darla took a deep breath and pulled her satchel across her shoulder. The skies crackled and spat like embers whipped by the wind, and she thought about her mother, and the stories of how she came from the gods. It had all been too much for mum, and she wouldn’t miss this place or these people.

It was time to leave, they would be here for her soon.

Dad was on his way…

Afterwards Writing Prompt #1 – Monday 8th of January – “Darla” – Sci Fi

Something a little sci fi to start the year off.

So I figured I might share some of mine. Use it if you want. or don’t.

Theres no limit to how long or short it should be, just see where it takes you. It could be a short story, a poem, or just whatever takes your fancy.

If you send a pingback or a link to your piece in the comments I will gather all of the outputs together at the end of the week, so for this one the closing date will be Sunday the 15th of January.

So this week your prompt is ‘Darla’, and these are a few pics to go with it.

Oh, and you can do what you want with the miages. They are all AI generated so no issues with copyright.

Last night – 101 word challenge

A 101 word post challenge

“So this is it then?” Clarke asked.

“Yes” the voice replied, “this time tomorrow it’ll all be over.”

“For everyone?”

“Everybody Clarke, this is how it ends, I told you that.”

“After all we’ve achieved though?”

The voice paused. “I think perhaps you overestimate man’s achievements.”

“If you ask me it’s a real waste,” Clarke said pointing to the ribbon of fire that filled the sky before him. “Just look at that sunset.”

“That’s the sun about to engulf the planet Clarke” the voice said quite calmly.

“Oh yeah, right,” Clarke replied.

“Now go home and say goodbye,” the voice said.