Of Being a Writer on St. Patrick’s Day

a haiku about writing on St. Patrick's Day
(c) Sonya, 2008

drink Guinness
and witness the madness
of writing the words


Poems don’t have to make sense, right? I like the sound of this – I suppose it’ll have to be enough. I had to get St. Paddy’s Day out of my system early, but it may still make an appearance for TLT tomorrow…


People Make Monsters

100 words about a genetically engineered super-soldier
This week’s FFfAW photo prompt from Pixabay by skeeze 

It won’t stop following her. She throws a rock at it. It wags its tail. She pulls the gun and points at it. Olli puts a hand on her arm.

‘What are you doing, S? He’s a dog.’

‘Could still be bad.’

‘Dogs aren’t bad.’

‘You should see the monsters guarding the facility.’

‘People made them monsters. Sound familiar at all?’

She lowers the gun.

‘We need to work on your problem-solving skills.’

‘Shoot, punch, kill – it’s all I know. You’re right. I’m a monster.’

‘You’re not. They tried and failed. You just need a little love. Like this dog.’

The Most Bizarre Car Park

100 words about a car breaking down in the middle of nowhere
photo prompt for FFftPP week 11 from Public Domain Archive 

This is the middle of nowhere. Murphy’s Law dictates the camper van break down here. We’re lucky we make it to the most bizarre car park: huge, empty but for a solitary bin, with no apparent reason for the provision of parking. If only we didn’t have more important stuff to worry about.

‘Do you have signal? Cos I don’t.’

‘Nope. We’ll have to stop another car and tell them to send a tow truck our way.’

Sounds good in theory.

But this is the middle of nowhere. We’ll have more than enough time to figure out this car park.

The Smell of Real Bread

100 words about the smell of bread
photo by Drew Coffman 

Everybody smells them first – the aroma of bread fresh from the oven never leaves them. It’s weird everybody calls us the triplets. I don’t look anything like them; I don’t smell the way they do.

I’d love to be their sister, bread-scented, bag stuffed with baked goods. Unlike the twins, though, I like spending time in the bakery. I help their mother clean after school, when the last of the day’s rolls have gone into the shop. Not that rolls make me smell like them – rolls aren’t real bread.

But it’s okay, I’m used to making do with second best.

True Professional

100 words about employing a hitman
photo by Louise for week 56 of FFfAW

‘Write everything down: how, where and when. Include the address and photos.’

‘You told me already. It’s all here.’

‘He’ll meet you at the castle, Sunday at three. Up the stairs, through the three arches. He’ll be waiting on the platform.’

‘And then?’

‘You hand over the money and your notes. Then you tell him what you want him to do.’

‘But I’ve written it all down.’

‘You tell him. He needs to be convinced you mean it.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘He’s a professional. He won’t accept the job unless you really want to order a hit on your husband.’

Field Report

100 words about an alien calling off the invasion
photo from Public Domain Archive

I understand what weeks are now and I know I have only been here three. I understand months, too. Do not wait six months.

I miss home.

I have had an answer since day three. Since then, I have verified my findings.

I want to come home.

Few and far between, I have found evidence of the greatness suggested by the pre-infiltration scans. They are capable of it. But they have to set aside their petty squabbles, their mean streaks, their small-mindedness and that, it seems, they will only achieve when they have a common enemy.

I request immediate extraction.


Great photo prompt for week 10 of FFftPP, don’t you think?