Superpower by Chris Hall lunasonline

Sandra’s superpowers had come as a surprise. Caused by a faulty connection in her washing machine, the freak accident had dumped her on the floor. She’d felt rather odd after that, sending out electric shocks at the most inopportune moments. It was only when she’d touched the interactive display at the mall and the whole panel had exploded that she’d realised their potential.

So many wrongs which need righting, it was hard to know where to start; but the people who had rejected her writing were at the top of her list.

Hell hath no fury like an author scorned.

Written in response to The Haunted Wordsmith’s Prompt May 13, 2019

Sign Here


– Okay, that’s what I signed, but I didn’t sign up for this.

– What do you mean?

– I signed up to write one post a day, every day, for a month.

– To start with.

– Yes, but…

– Didn’t you read the small print?

– No, well, I just assumed…

– Never assume.

– But…

– It increases in intensity. Exponentially each day. One post a day, two posts a day, four, then eight…

– So today’s Day Seven and it’s 64 posts, then tomorrow it’ll be 128 and the next day 256 and so on.

– Exactly.

– Well, sorry, I can’t. I quit.

– You quit. Okay.

– Thanks.

– You didn’t read the penalty clause then?

– No… What? Oh no!

– So what’s it going to be?

– Okay. I’ll do it.

– Sign here.

From Teresa, The Haunted Wordsmith‘s Story Starter Challenge #6 – 1 day late, blame the time zone.

With best wishes to Camp-NaNoWriMo’s and NoPoWriMo’s everywhere!

No More Stories

say what you see 08.04.19 lunasonline chris hall

In the sodium lit, neon flicking city, electricity hums.
In homes where data downloads and Netflix streams,
everything’s on tap, content feeds.

No more mysteries, no more myths,
fables are unnecessary. All is explained
by an expert, a pundit or an app.

A glorious storm floods the dark skies,
unnoticed a lightning bolt flies.
A switch is tripped. Darkness.

Emergency lights click on, generators kick in,
faces are blue-screen illuminated.
No-one tells stories any more.

From  a prompt by Hélène Vaillant of Willow Poetry

Henry Goes On Safari

Henry's safari lunasonline

Henry cashed in his dividends and purchased an exclusive package to an upmarket campsite deep in the African bush. He got all the gear, the khaki shirt and pants, the wide-brimmed hat and he was on his way. He knew exactly what was what. He’d read a guide book. Or at least, he’d looked at some of the pictures.

He arrived and was greeted warmly by his hosts. After the briefing, to which he paid limited attention, he decided to go for a walk, all by himself.

Caught short, he squatted by a Khaya tree. As he perched precariously, a long, sinuous tree snake with bright yellow eyes wound its way down the trunk. Clearly offended by what it saw, it opened its jaws and fastened onto Henry’s tender regions.

Henry howled. He jumped up. He ran for the camp, clutching his pants.

But the venom circulated rapidly. It spread throughout his bloodstream into the tissues and the nerves. Henry collapsed in front of his luxury tent.

Later he was flown home in a polished box made from Kanya wood. The irony would, no doubt, have been lost on the hapless Henry.

Written in response to Paula Light’s Three Things Challenge PL45  with a little nod to my own recent close encounter with a boomslang!

And for those of you old enough to remember: enjoy!

Closer to heaven

what do you see 26.03.19

Dawn approaches. You begin your lonely walk. The one for which you’ve prepared.

Snow crunches as you advance step-after-step towards the Cathedral.

Other figures approach; they have no single purpose like yours.

You have accepted that you are one of the Chosen.

You clear your mind. Your fate is not your own.

You bow your head. You shut out fear.

Step-by-step you advance. Steady.

Your will is not your own.

Over the threshold.

You Commit.


From  a prompt by Hélène Vaillant of Willow Poetry


Going up country!

big elephant3
‘Big Elephant’ ©Cliff Davies 2008

This afternoon we’re packing our bags and heading off up country for a few days. This is the kind of thing we’re hoping to see, so maybe there will be animal adventure stories next week. After all, this is Africa!

In the meantime, be warned. A deluge of chapters from my work-in-progress novel for younger readers is scheduled. I hope you have the opportunity to dip in.

The Beginning is Near

The beginning is near

Is it the end of the beginning or the beginning of the end? The Nameless Civil Servant asks himself as he lifts his head above the parapet and surveys the monumental mess before him.

He, the Great Man of Words, the Top Negotiator, the One who Won.

He had been. Once.

Years of precepts and precedents, chalked up challenges and crumbled contrary arguments. But now none will do. Now there is no way forward and there will be no winner.

The only way is back, he thinks. He glances back over his shoulder at the long-travelled road, its twists and turns. Maybe, he thinks, maybe.

Could he create a bridge, a bridge from the lobbies of enlightenment which would cross over the wall and into the abyss? To eliminate the wrongdoers and the naysayers.

He shakes his head.

This is a new beginning. Over which he has no control.

And it frightens him.

From  a prompt by Hélène Vaillant of Willow Poetry


which I first saw on  Sadje‘s Keep it Alive: What do you see March 19, 2019

There’s nothing under the bed

Sarah Youthed @xsjgy on Unsplash
Sarah Youthed @xsjgy on Unsplash

Jerry:     Repeat after me. There’s nothing under the bed.

Jules:     There’s nothing under the bed.


Jules:     But there is, I tell you.

Jerry:     We looked. We looked again. There’s nothing under the bed.

Jules:     Just because you can see them, it doesn’t mean they’re not there.


Jules:     I see them all the time. I know they’re there. All over the house. Don’t you ever                     see, you know, something flash past, out of the corner of your eye?


Jules:     Like ghosts maybe?

Jerry:     I don’t believe in ghosts.

Jules:     Okay. Maybe they’re from another dimension.

                [Jerry sighs]

Jules:     String theory. There was that article. Or something to do with Dark Matter.

Jerry:     You watch too much science fiction.

Jules:     That’s science fact.


Jules:     Are you asleep, Jerry?


Jules:     Jerry?


Jules:     Jerry?


Voice:   You’re next.


My prompt was The Haunted Wordsmith’s Story Starter Challenge #19


Where Writers Get Stuck: Marketing

This article gave me a little prod of encouragement when it comes to marketing. I’m clearly not putting enough energy into my efforts and I need to re-double this for my forthcoming novel ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone’.

A Writer's Path

by Allison Maruska

Now it’s time for the super secret post you’ve all been waiting for. Remember this Twitter poll?

View original post 893 more words

Cepha’s Revenge

Cepha's revenge

Cepha observed the two galleons turn broadside. As greed and hatred erupted into sea-churning canon fire, she flung a tentacle into the pool beside her, summoning the sisterhood.

They came, they writhed, and the sea boiled. They pulled timbers apart with zealous suckers. Masts crashed onto splintering decks. Water gushed in.

For the humans must pay: creatures, so new to old Mother Earth, now plundered her riches and fought over them.

Cepha stirred the pool again.

Coins and trinkets emptied from chests were gathered up by eager tentacles, while sailors sank into the murky depths.

Calm returned.

Written in response to The Aether Prompt: March 13th, 2019