It wasn’t an oddly comfortable sight, but it still showed hope. No carcass, just bone. Bone and not bones. Where was the body, Why the head alone.Wasn’t that strange. But who cared? No one.

They rushed towards it. Both of them, a bone meant some living thing crawled on this land. That means this land bear life. I know it’s strange, but a death showed signs of life, which oddly enough gave them hope.

As they looked around the bone they realised that something was wrong, deeply wrong. But before they could react one of them stabbed the other one. You see hunger is a powerful tool with which if used wisely any species can be tamed or hunted. So we decided why not observe our own species, and in each and every scenerio we threw at these ‘subjects’ we found out, that in nine out of ten of these fictional hunger situations that we created one person ate the another. Pure cannibalism.

You must be wondering what happened in the tenth situation, well in the tenth situation the subjects killed each other simultaneously, more like a suicide pact. What’s it that made them react differently than the other 9 pairs? Strangely it was their genetic traits, you see they were what we would call related. Which means that unknown to us, they knew each other beforehand, as being members of some tight knit group.

So it seems that the individualism and the state family separation policy which we practice, is still has holes, as in Economically Deprived Units (EPUs), residing on the outskirts of our civilisation the ‘family’ concept still lingers.

So what’s the solution you ask?  Well if the food source is terminated, the EPUs will become lawless, and we would have a shorter problem to deal with. After all as you may have noticed from their clothes, these subjects were taken from the EPUs only. The name of the mission will of course be Donner. After all, you get no prizes for guessing why we chose that. 

Written for Sue Vincent’s Thursday Photo Prompt.



Johnny raised his eyes to catch a glimpse of the clock, the clock which like him has been a participant as well as a witness of numerous changes. 

A deep sadness emerged in the heart of Johnny, there it was all broken and old, out of place like him. The life like the clock, winding down. 

Now like the irreparable clock, an irreparable life reflects a bygone age for Johnny. The only thing he now wants is peace of mind. An embrace from Dark Angel awaits… 

Written for Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ Friday Fictioneers prompt. Photo credit: J Hardy Carroll


A strange and familiar feeling had gripped Lyon heart. He encountered it before, on his solus escapades, but never in a clique.

He glanced at Jane. She was trembling. Mark was holding her hand, yet she was shaking. He took her hand, and squeezed it tightly. When Jane glanced back, he nodded.

All three were walking abreast towards the harbour, when Lyon abruptly stopped and asked, “Why are we hear again”? Jane and Mark looked equally bewildered.

Alas, the softening of their brains, which prompted them, became an impediment in finishing their journey. Their suicide pact, now jilted, before the finishing line. 

Written for Rachel Wisoff-Fields’ Friday Fictioneers prompt. Picture credit: Ted Strutz.


The dried eyes, the dark circles, another night, another day, yet the restlessness remains. The day reminding him of the night, the night which like the earlier ones, was marked with her absence.

The absence which was clearly felt. Oh! How much has he lost, since the day she disappeared? How he sulked, how he occasionally became tense, how he cried, how he became delusional.

But she isn’t returning. And although he finds what he terms as ‘alternatives’, using money, none satisfied him, like she did.

Now the sun has risen, the pills have failed, his sleep like before, in absentia.

Written for this week’s Friday Fictioneers prompt from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Photo credit:Dale Rogerson


It’s no wonder, a birdbrain you’re, you’re after all a bird. The unknown may attract you; as you’re still to explore the humble abode in which I reside. 

So you come and peck on the window. And yet you don’t know of how I too; strike the same window to escape. If only I had wings like you, for when I once did breached and escaped, I was just caught and brought back. 

So you stupid bird you’ll see, one day I will, successfully I might add, scarper. And on that day I will welcome the unknown and will leave this ‘known world’ behind. 

Written for this week’s Friday Fictioneers prompt from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Photo credit: Jean L. Hays.


It’s a sight that he ignored,  ignored as he, like his wealth, took it for granted too. But now as he struggled, and met his forgotten friends; called fear and hunger, he remembered the comfort and warmth that he felt bathing in it. 

In the bitter coldness of that first dark night, when he shivered violently, he immediately understood the helplessness of the situation he was under. He wanted to cry, let out a howl of anguish developing within him. But he stopped, fearing it might attract some animals, who too like him, would be hungry. 

“Better be alive than waiting for the death to arrive”, he whispered, the words bearing a nervous smile. 

His eyelids got heavier, he feared that soon; because of the fatigue, he might pass out. Suddenly his exposed back felt a warmth which he desperately needed. As he turned he was welcomed by the sight, that as mentioned before, he ignored and took for granted, the sight of dawn. Those lights of hope, and not to mention their warmth, embraced him. 

At that moment he could hear someone calling out his name. He knew that the rescue team was nearby, but before calling out to them,  he strangely for a minute or two gazed at the sight, which earlier in his life was a nugatory phenomenon, the sight of that earlier, hope-filling dawn. 

Written for Sue Vincent’s Thursday photo prompt


It’s too crowded for my taste. If only Evelyn was here, time flies when I’m with her. Unlike this place where time stand, or appears to be standing still.

Why bother, I ask. Didn’t Buddha said, “In the end we, and all our creations perish”. Why we need to remember. Is it because we the humans have a tendency to keep records? I mean record keeping is the signature activity of our species.

But all these people; don’t they realise that like the records they create, they soon themselves become records, actually some of them already are in them. It’s true what they say, numbers don’t lie. Who knew that the basis of the individualism of the modern capitalistic society; is in reality collectively based on numbers? 

The world after all, was, is and will always remain, a prison.

Written for this week’s Friday Fictioneers prompt from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Photo credit: Roger Bultot.