The Iron Writer Challenge #135

The Iron Writer Challenge #135

500 Words, 5 Days, 4 Elements

The Authors:

Mamie Pound, Vance Rowe, Cassie Ray Clark

Genre: Sci-Fi

The Elements:

Stopette (see video above)
Dudley Do Right RCMP
A nagging spouse
A sick pet

The Wish

She cringed as she heard him walk in the door. Walking into the living room, kicking off his loafers with a huff, he says “How was your day? Did you solve the world’s problems? Wait, no, you didn’t, you filed papers all day, right?” And it begins. “Honey, how was work? Did you make contact this time?” I ask, hoping to diffuse this before the nagging becomes too much to bear. “No, Maya, I didn’t, just some random symbols on the computer. Those idiots working with me are a joke. I can’t be expected to perform while surrounded by morons, can I?”. Bending to pick up their sweet little pup, Maxi, Maya begins “Joe, I accomplished something today that will change this little girl’s world. I took Maxi to the vet and they said she wasn’t as sick as we thought. She has allergies, the fix is as simple as changing her food.” “Oh great” Joe said, exasperated, “How much is this fancy food going to cost?” “I’m not made of money, this mutt has been more trouble than she’s worth.” Setting Maxi down and turning, taking Joe’s hand, Maya replied “Joe, it’s fine, really. The food is only a few dollars more than the other brand. She’s so precious, she’s worth it.” “Here” Joe says, pulling away from her and tossing the laptop onto the couch. “Take this, maybe you can decipher the code and win the lottery since you’re so brilliant today!” Hanging her head, Maya realizes there’s no point trying. Picking up the laptop and her fluff ball, Maxi, she heads for the bedroom. At least I can hide here and watch some mindless TV while waiting for him to pass out, she thinks. She turns the TV to the oldies channel, catching the end of an old Dudley Do Right cartoon. That ‘ol Dudley cracked her up when she was a kid. It was going to take more than that to make her smile now. Picking up the laptop, she opens his file, hitting play on the coded file. Next up was an oldie commercial for “Stopette” some sort of deodorant they used back then. But it wasn’t the product that held her attention, it was the men. They were kind, upbeat, polite. Everything Joe wasn’t. Still listening to the codes, she says aloud “I wish Joe were kind and happy like these men, happy men, happy wives.” There was a loud beeping from the laptop, then a cracking sound and a flash of light. The file was gone. Then Joe comes busting in the bedroom. Startled, Maya wonders what’s wrong now. However, he was all smiles “hey baby, come here. How about I take my girl out for dinner, a movie?” Who was this? Why the kindness? Then she remembered the silly commercial and her wish. Could it be? Could he have made contact without realizing it? Did the code just change her life, her man? Maya ran to Joe, said “of course, darling, I’d love to go out.” It appeared that at least someone had made contact today. And she’d found her smile after all.

Filbert’s Calm and Joy

Filbert X9 plopped down on the overstuffed sofa and then heaved a large, stress relieving sigh. He closed his eyes for a moment and a little smile appeared on his wrinkled, dirty face. His blue coverall jumpsuit was almost all black from dirt, dust, ash and sulphur. X9 works in the Adamantium mines. Adamantium is a precious metal that is the strongest metal known to man and cyborg, so far.

A few moments later, he reached for the television hologram remote. Filbert then tuned into one of the retro channels and the cartoon starring that wacky mounted Police officer, Dudley Do Right.

“Do Right, why on earth are you wearing that dress?”

“It’s the only one that fit me right, Inspector Fenwick,” Do Right replied, with a straight face.

Filbert chuckled along with the laugh track. The Dudley Do Right cartoon had finished and the station went to a retro television commercial for Stopette Deodorant Spray.

Filbert laughed at the way the bottle operated.

“That looks like a sinus medicine,” Filbert snorted, while laughing. “Those crazy earthlings. It’s a wonder that they survived as long as they did.”


Filbert’s feelings of calm and joy suddenly ended as his body just jolted to life. The laughter and smiles turned to winces and grimaces as if he was eating a sour lemon. Television and relaxation time was definitely over now.

Filbert’s wife walked in and saw him sitting on the couch in his dirty clothes and began to nag him about it.

“Filbert. You are making a mess there. Why can’t you just change your clothes when you come home and then sit down. Do you know how much it is going to cost to get that sofa cleaned now? Money doesn’t grow on trees anymore, Filbert. Filbert, you have to work some overtime this week because the spider from Mars is at the vet hospital. Poor baby, is sick and they are going to try and find out why. You also need to work the overtime to get this sofa cleaned Filbert. Filbert, are you listening to me?”

“Yes…yES…YES, FOR THE LOVE OF VORTEK, I AM LISTENING TO YOU!” An irritated Filbert lashed out with, as he got up off of the couch. He walked past her and said, “I wish they made a spray for you. They could call it…Nagette. I would spray it on you and you would disappear for up to twenty-four hours.”

“Yeah, I bet you do,” Filbert’s wife muttered out.

As Filbert began to walk up the steps to the bedroom, he stopped, turned and said, “Hey.”

His dejected wife turned and said, “What do you want?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” she replied with a smile on her face.

Suddenly, a feeling of calm and joy returned to Filbert and he liked it even better.

Black and White

From the edge of the galaxy, a glowing light headed straight for earth, Atlanta to be exact.

The object caused 911 calls across the nation.

“It’s just light bending around a stretchy universe, an anomaly,” astronomers said.

“Missile tests,” said NASA.

The front page headline for the New York Times said, “Cloud Formations”.

Then the cable went out and fear spread like kudzu.

Humans fled underground, into subway tunnels, storm shelters and basements. They boarded up windows, hoarded food, and shot each other over 9-volt batteries.

Way down in Macon,Georgia, a family was waiting it out in a prepper’s shelter, 20 feet underground. It was already fully stocked with end-of-the-world accouterment. They’d been expecting this since 1998.

“Look, I got something on the t.v.,” the boy called to his mother.

“That thing hasn’t worked in 40 years,” she said, bending over to get a closer look. “Sometimes you can get a clearer picture if you adjust the dial,” she said and turned the knob a little to the right. Like magic, Rocky and Bullwinkle appeared in black and white. Dudley Do Right was helping a poor old lady with her sick cat. Junior sat cross-legged in front of the tiny screen, mesmerized. Commercials about cigarettes, Aqua Velva and Stopette echoed off the walls. Lucille Ball whined and mimed at the camera.

“Mark, do you have to walk around with that holster on all the time?” she asked her husband.

“Never know when you’re gonna need munitions,” he said, kicking back on a stack of bottled water. And soon enough, he too was entranced by 1950’s t.v..

Weeks turned to months, and they remained hidden among cases of canned beans and bottled water.

Dudley Do Right’s Canadian accent replaced their Southern drawl.

Then one day the lights went out.

“Gotta be the generator,” he said, “I’m going to adjust the solar panels.”

“Out there?” she said.

“No choice, Darlin,” he said.

“Dad, I want to help,” said a voice in the dark.

“Junior, you best stay here. No telling what’s up there,” he reached out and tried to find the boys shoulder. But before he could, daylight shot through the opening up top.

“Junior!” his mother screamed. But he was outside.

“Where is everyone?” Junior said.

“Probably still below, like us,” he said.

“Dad, does it seem darker to you out here?”

“Brighter than below,” he said.

His dad shielded his eyes against the noon sun, high overhead.

There’s something blocking the sun, like a net, or a shield or something,” he said. “It’s as far as I can see.” They stood and turned around and around.

“The grass is gone, and the trees are withered,” she said, poking her head up through the opening.

“They’ve built a shield,” he said. “To keep us safe.” His voice was weary.

“It’s almost like black and white out here,” Junior said.

“At least we’re safe, son,” the dad said and the three of them retreated back into the earth.

The sun shone as bright as ever, but no one anywhere could feel its warmth.

#TIWC member, please vote here.



The Iron Writer Challenge #130 – 2015 Autumn Equinox Open Final Round

The Iron Writer Challenge #130

The 2015 Autumn Equinox Open

Final Round

500 Words, 5 Days, 4 Elements

The Authors:

Dani J. Caile, Mamie Pound, Mathew W. Weaver

The Elements:



A post-game media interview with a gladiator
A contract
A spider
A hideous steampunk mask.

There’s Danger in that ArenaDani-J-Caile

Dani J Caile

[Image of a gladiator fight from the main tunnel. The crowd cheers as the men battle it out in the sand. Camera moves to reporter.]

TINTINUS: Hello and welcome to The Arena on this auspicious day! I’m joined by six times champion, Maticus Weavus, also known as Maticus the Word, after his match against Ivanicus the Awful today. Ave!


[Bone splitting sound from the arena, groans from the crowd.]

TINTINUS: Tough match against Ivanicus?

MATICUS: Well, it was a close call, but I did him in the end.

TINTINUS: It was a bit of a fiasco if you ask me.


TINTINUS: So, Maticus, after many years of being ’the’ gladiator, and once glorious people’s champion, how do you feel the season’s going?


TINTINUS: Do you think you still have a chance of holding onto your title later this month?

MATICUS: What? Of course!

TINTINUS: Well, I wouldn’t say it’s been clear sailing up to this point. Some have said your mediocre performances…

MATICUS: Mediocre? What are you insinuating? I have taken care of all who have stood before me! I have wowed the audiences with my strength and skill…!

TINTINUS: Like you did against Claudicus the Headchopperoffer? Rumours have it you híd his favourite axe. And Slopicus the Flatulent? Apparently that match stank the place out. Personally, I’ve seen papercuts that spilt more blood.

MATICUS: How dare you! I was severly injured!

TINTINUS: Close eye-witnesses say you tripped over your own feet and broke a fingernail. And last week with Breakdownicus the Notsobadcouldbehavingabettertimeofitreally? He commited hara-kiri on his own sword after your cruel taunts about his nose. There was also that split decision match against Paldamir the Ponce, then…

[Cheers from the crowd as their favourite takes the upper hand, killing his opponent.]

MATICUS: Ahh! They all count! I was the outright winner!

TINTINUS: There are also mentions in the tabloids surfacing now that your infamous fighting technique, ‘the whirlwind’, a chaotic, haphazard use of two swords you first performed against thirty-two eunuchs armed with pointy sticks and tweezers, was due to the fact that a rather large spider had crept into your armour moments before the fight. Is this true?

MATICUS: No comment!

TINTINUS: Reports are also coming in that Vladimir the Vainicus, still recovering from your fight together, has filed a lawsuit stating that while in close combat, you used a concealed steam-powered flame attached to your trademark hideous steampunk mask, ’Selene’, burning off his eyebrows and eyelashes, and so losing him his five year lucrative contract with cosmetic giants Avon.

MATICUS: Prove it!

[Maticus nods behind Tintinus, puts on his mask and walks out into the arena to applause and cheers.]

TINTINUS: So there you have it, citizens, decide as you will. Tintinus Walkingonthinice for Wolverine News signing off…

[Tintinus is pushed by slaves into the arena. Gates close and Maticus stands in the centre, sword raised.]

TINTINUS: Hey! No! Not the gates! What? Hey! Open up!

[Camera cuts to studio.]

The ArenaMathew W Weaver

Mathew W. Weaver

Cheers. Yells, catcalls.


The handle was slippery in his grasp, slick with blood and sweat. His limbs were heavy, his will all but spent.

That was what the arena did to you.

They called them gladiators. Warriors. Champions.


They were nothing more. Destined to die for the pleasure of the soulless eyes for nothing but cheers and the sake of money passing from one hand to another. They were nothing but entertainment.

That’s all they would ever be.

The rival’s eyes gleamed from behind the revolting mask. Gears spun on its cheeks, the plates readjusting themselves every moment.

Battered and weary, they both yet stood, neither willing to give up. For hours they had done battle. Neither had given up. The rival fought for glory, for the cheers and the fame.

He, he fought for freedom, to rid himself of this agony. The Contract had been promised. So near after all this time, and yet leagues away. Freedom, for a price.

One should fall for the other to live.

Time was up.

He roared, he leaped. His sword shone as it swung, the light dancing off the edge. The rival strode forward, raising his own to parry. The blades met, shivered.

They danced, twisting and weaving. Sword met sabre, and steel cut flesh.

The rival slashed, all his strength into one lethal swing. He raised his sword to parry.

With a snap, his blade shattered, the shock throwing them both away from each other. The rival took his chance and swung. The hilt useless in his hand, he could do nothing but wait.

The sabre cut deep, cleaving flesh and bone. Pain forced him to his knees. Blood flowing, he looked up into his rival’s eyes. Nothing. No remorse, no fear.

The sword slashed again; he fell.

His head slammed on the ground. Above him, the sky a cold, cloudless blue.

It was over. The pain was over. He was at peace.

He closed his eyes.


“And Bobby wins the round.” Max declared, tossing the Snickers bar into the makeshift ring.

Toby stood up gingerly, ten year old spirit crushed, handmade wooden sword snapped in two. Bobby pranced away, waving his long, wooden ladle in one hand and the reward in the other, cheers muffled under the painted hockey mask he’d swiped from his brother’s room.

“Alright, and that’s a wrap,” Max said, holding out the TV remote, “Bobby, get over here for the post-game media interview.”

“I win-ded!” Bobby declared, slapping himself on the chest, “I squashed tiny Toby like spider!”

Max, only a year or two older than the other five but determined to display his superiority, darted another hopeful look at the corner of the room where the girls played. As always, they ignored him.

The grownups outside had their party and cooking; inside was his domain.

“Alright, next round, move it,” Max ordered.

The other two boys didn’t need to be told twice.

Toby picked up the pieces of his sword. He saw the steel glint in his mind’s eye. He saw the crowd.

He had lost. But he could see. And that was all that mattered.

The Spider and the Fly

Mamie Pound

Mamie Pound

Woven between the Holly Bush and the Abelia, its threads are dew-laden and glorious. She waits, betting on the careless flight of the bumble bee. A couple of neat, gray bundles are stashed at her side.

With this fantastical net, she almost always gets her prey.

Sometimes, though, even a half-caught dragon fly will escape.

I blow on it. Eight spiky legs unfold and fold right back up again.

She’s no fool.


 Downtown, the meter man’s tiny electric car parks in the last precious parking space. He draws chalk lines on the backs of tires, scribbles in his ticket book. His pants are creased to perfection.

I circle the block twice. There are no empty spaces.

Except the NO PARKING zone.

It takes me about three minutes to get a black coffee if there’s no line.

It’ll take him at least five minutes to get back around to my car.

I stumble in my haste, drop my keys on the sidewalk.

The little bell on the door chimes. A girl with a steampunk mask sees me and turns back toward the espresso machine.

“I’ll get the lids,” she calls to her manager and saunters to the back room, a teapot bouncing on a spring over her head.

A post-game interview blares from another customer’s I-phone.

Two commentators debate the Georgia-Alabama game.

   “…like in ancient Rome,” one says. “Gladiators…met their match.”

   “You wish..see about that when contract renewal season comes around…”

The woman beside him is scrolling through texts. Her crossed leg swings back and forth in time with the Spanish guitar music.

The Spooky Vanilla Latte is $4.95.

I can see the little electric car at the stop light. His blinker says he’s making a u-turn. I’ve got maybe, two and a half minutes before he gets back to my car.

She comes back to the counter. Doesn’t say a word, just looks at me.

I say, “Black coffee please,” careful not to sound too unhip. I say it like I don’t even want it.

She hands me a cup and change.

“Thanks,” I say, smiling my uncool smile.

The Steampunk Teapot waves over her head, giving its silent reproach:

You’re uncool. You are un coool. Go away.

A big black tattoo on her right arm says, “Metal sucks”.

Her eyes meet mine, just back from looking at her tattoo.

My smile pleads non-judgement.

I drop all the coins in the tip jar, sprint out the door.

He’s parked already.

Six cars from mine.

Ticket book in hand, he heaves himself from his vehicle.

But here comes a Jeep. He has to wait to cross…

I crank and reverse.

My fate is undone.

He’s right there in my rear view mirror.

But I fly away.

Standing with his hand on his hip, he pushes his green-glass sunshades further up on his nose.

One day, he thinks.


Back home, the spider has wrapped another body.

She’s twirling it without remorse.

Every flower in my garden is dead except those that refuse to die.








Chile Volcano flames (2)

The Iron Writer Challenge #123

The Iron Writer Challenge #123

500 Words, 5 Days, 4 Elements

The Authors:

Tony Jaeger, Mathew W. Weaver, E. Chris Garrison, Geoff Gore

The Elements:

Chilean Fear Volcano

A fiery path to Ark of the Covenant

The path to salvation

One of the seven deadly sins.

River Horses’ WrathEric Garrison

E. Chris Garrison

The ground shook under Carlos’ boots as he pounded down the rocky obsidian path.

His teenage daughter raced him past the first house-sized monster, her eyes wild with fear as she fled its shiny pink bulk.

He peered over his shoulder, back at the terrible golden light dawning from the ancient chest they’d found. The treasure of a lifetime. No, the treasure of legend, hidden in a secret cave, under a mountain at the bottom of the world.

Then the mountain had exploded, a shockwave of terror spreading outward at the speed of sound.

“Ashley, what did you do?” he gasped, the heat and ash in the air robbing his throat of all moisture. “What was in your mind when you gazed into the light?”

She turned to answer. Her eyes grew wide. “Look out!” Ashley pushed her father to the ground as an enormous orange mouth slammed to earth nearby. Mad, unseeing eyes glared above the minivan-sized muzzle.

“I should have known, the Ark’s power is in our vices,” he said, hauling himself to his feet, dragging Ashley after him.

“What are you talking about, Dad? Oh no! Yellow incoming! Run!”

The scent of brimstone filled the air, along with the chemical tang of fried plastic. As quick as it chomped the path ahead, the yellow maw rose again and shot toward them.

Carlos tackled his daughter this time, and rolled with her under the open mouth. Teeth surrounded them, falling, but the momentum of their roll carried them out from underneath the monster with no room to spare.

Ashley screamed, her souvenir chamanto poncho caught in its teeth.

Carlos dragged at her feet until she pulled free of the garment. Together, they hurtled down the path, surrounded on both sides by streams of oozing lava.

“That was close!” cried Ashley.

“When you opened the box, what were you thinking of?”

She shook her head. “What? I dunno! Can’t we talk after we get out of here?”

Despite the mortal danger, Carlos persisted. “It had to be the Ark’s doing, but it needed a catalyst.”

“Well,” she said, dodging a small alabaster boulder, “we skipped lunch today, and–“

“That’s it! It all makes sense now. Gluttony!”

Ashley screamed as a new horror burst from the ground in the path ahead, its shiny green bulk blocked their way to salvation. The staring headlight eyes fixed upon the two of them. The creature’s mouth rose into the air, its neck extending, overtaking them even as they backpedaled.

Yellow reared up behind them, trapping them. The air filled with the unearthly roar of the behemoths, now in all four directions.

Carlos could no longer shield his daughter, so he picked up the pearly rock and held it over his head with both hands and hurled it to one side. A ghastly crash followed as massive plastic mouths warred over the stone morsel.

“You did it, Dad! The hippos went for it! But why?”

“They’re hungry. Too hungry. It was their doom.”

SieteGeoff Gore

Geoff Gore

I walk following the American up the path toward the summit.

He stops, and reaching into his pocket pulls out another candy bar, ripping open the end of the packet with his teeth and spitting it onto the warm lava rock at the side of the path.

“This is the way she came?” He asks between huge mouthfuls. Fine flecks of spittle fly from between his teeth as he talks. “The night she…you know.”

I nod. For a moment I stand there remembering Sarah.   The way the light of the fire danced across her pale skin in the night. Her intoxicating laugh. The flirtatious way she looked across the camp fire at me after she’d had one too many drinks. I couldn’t think what she saw in him.

“I have done this six times before,” I reply, “It is the way she came.”

The American finishes his candy bar, the sixth one he’s had so far. The journey had been quicker with her. He drops the wrapper at the side of the path, desecrating the Earth beneath his feet. Gluttonous fool.

“Why do they come here?” He asks.

“Mostly they are thrill seekers,” I reply. “Some believe they are walking a fiery path to the Ark of the Covenant. They walk to the crater’s very edge and stare into the abyss.”

“Is it safe?”

I yaw my hand side to side at the American. “There have been six tourists go missing in recent months, including your girlfriend Senor. Some say its bandits, stealing their foreign money. Some in my village say we shouldn’t be encouraging the tourists, it disrespects our gods and makes the mountain angry. They fear the volcano, but for me, it is what I must do. This is my path to salvation.”

“Is that what Sarah was seeking?”

My memory returns to Sarah. Placing the necklace of wild flowers over her shoulders. The lust that shone in her eyes underneath the stars, her soft naked breasts smelling of the wild Inca Lilies.

“No”, I reply. “She sought something else.”

After several hours we each the crater’s edge. The American removes his pack and sits down. I reminisce over Sarah. The way her eyes burned as she stared into the wrath of the fire below. The memory is as intense as the smell of wildflowers against her soft skin. Those same eyes widening into dark craters themselves, burning with fear and betrayal back at me. I look down at the fading scratches on my forearm where she had tried to cling on, but hadn’t realized what was happening until too late.

The American mops his fat sweaty brow with a handkerchief. For a long time he is silent. I wonder if he is going to cry, but even now he soils her memory by reaching into his pack and pulling out another candy bar.

His seventh.

In a way mine too.

Finally he stands again, in front of me, and takes step forward to peer over the edge.

Creeds and Oaths

Mathew W Weaver

Mathew W. Weaver

We were five, now.

The flames danced, molten lava on either side of the narrow chasm. Ahead was the stairway, salvation. Behind us the floor crumbed, walls collapsed, ceilings crashing over the bodies of our fallen.

Brothers, we had been. Thirty knights in arms, ready to offer our lives for duty. Honor. Sacrifice.

Those words once had meaning.

Markus and Ahab still stood, bleeding but not broken. Alastar kept them from joining me, holding them at bay with his halberd as the precious minutes waned.

Rhyon’s broad-axe whined, chipping my shield with each shuddering impact, knocking me backwards with every swing. His eyes were no longer his; his teeth bared in a feral snarl.

“They were our BROTHERS!” I roared.

“They WERE my brothers!” he bellowed. My shield shattered, throwing me to the ground. My sword was drawn, but I would not stain it with the blood of my Order. Not even now.

“You would see God’s wrath rain down on us?” I cried, “You would have the earth erupt in fire, mankind punished for YOUR sins?”

Sparks flew as the axe blade met stone inches from my head.

“The Ark is MINE! Its riches are MY right!”

“You KILLED for it!”


I ducked as the axe passed over my head. Markus cried out, and I saw crimson run down his side. He staggered, losing his grip on the mace as Alastar swung again.

Ahab screamed, and his voice joined with the one in my head as I watched his sister’s son fall into the abyss. A gout of flame rose to greet him, and Alastar had already begun to finish what he started.

“Hubris, Rhyon!” I cried, “You’ve fallen prey to your Greed!”

His axe met my sword, nearly wrenching it out of my grasp. I saw his mailed fist come, and I dodged, spun, and drove the hilt of my sword into the side of his head. The blow hit true, and he stumbled away.

“You will not kill me,” he snarled, “Even now, when all Creeds and Oaths have no meaning. At the cusp of immortality, at the dawn of the Final Age, you, Elethor Farstrider, dare not do what has to be done. That is why I will win.”

Ahab missed his parry, and Alastar drove the halberd into him. I watched the light leave his eyes, and Alastar released the handle, letting him fall.

Beneath the mountains of Gel Duror, thirty Knights had become three. And as I let my sword fall, as the axe took me across the chest and threw me down, I watched the sky lighten through the crater far, far above us.

“You shall not have the Ark, brother,” I whispered as he stood over me, axe dripping my blood, “You forgot how little time there was till sunrise.”

Understanding dawned, and he left me, running to the bridge even as it began to crumble, the sunlight beaming down into the cavern.

It was too late. The ground collapsed, and we fell, their screams in my ears.

I smiled, my eyes closed, my pain fading.

Duty. Honor.



The Iron Writer Challenge #118 – 2015 Summer Solstice Preliminary Round

The Iron Writer Challenge #118

500 Words, 5 Days, 4 Elements 

Challenge #117

Bello Oluwadamilare

The Brackets:


P. D. Eastman

The Authors:

Alis Van Doorn, Tina Biscuit, E. Chris GarrisonMathew W. Weaver

Eric Carle

Eric Carle

The Authors:

Jaclyn Wilson, Richard Russell, Danielle Lee ZwisslerDaniel J. Sanz


H. A. Rey

The Authors:

Matthew BarronTony Jaeger,  Kara Kahnke, Dwight Wade

The Elements:


A time clock
Ice cream
A Parachute
Told from POV of an alien on the planet Nibiru, as the Nibiru enters our solar system.

Nibiru technology is no greater or worse than Earth’s.

Stories are posted

on the bracket author’s image and name.

Just click the link and remember to vote!

The Iron Writer Challenge – Weekend Quickie #143

The Iron Writer Challenge – Weekend Quickie #143

Write a 200 word story using these elements …images (11)

This image

a sentiment from any song by Pink Floyd


The Iron Writer Challenge – Weekend Quickie #142

The Iron Writer Challenge – Weekend Quickie #142

Write a 200 word story using these elements …20-Bookstore-in-London-ruined-by-an-air-raid-1940

This image


A facade