Spy Games

Written for The Scribe’s Cave, a place where fiction dwells. Hike up the mountain and add your piece of flash fiction based on the photo prompt. You only need 50-200 words and the Cave Mistress will warmly welcome you. When you’ve written your story, add it to the link to share with others. Be sure to read the other stories too. You’ll find my post for this week below – yes, I know, I went over the word count by a fraction. It’s another snippet from my current WIP, J’Sharn’s World.

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Motel Room - Spy Games
“We’re too late.”

“No, he’s close by”

Grayson looked around the room in disgust. “Look at the state of this place. No one’s been here for months.”

Major Reteski shook his head in disgust. “Grayson, forget the obvious. Look for the out of place.”

Grayson felt colour creeping up his neck. He hated these I’m smarter than you, games Reteski insisted on playing with him. As much as he hated to admit it, Reteski was usually right. “Okay, you’re the spy master, what’s out of place here?”

“The television and the cabinet it’s sitting on.”

“For crying out loud Reteski, it’s a motel room. They always have televisions in these dumps.”

“Not televisions with built in camera and recording devices in them. And not placed strategically facing the dining table.”

The penny dropped and Grayson realised what Reteski meant. He moved closer to the television and wiped his finger across the top of it. Not only was the layout of the room all wrong, but there was not one speck of dust on the television. “So, we wait here until he returns?”

Reteski headed for the door. “No point. He already knows we’re here.”

Grayson cursed and glared at the television screen. “Next time, Fletcher, you won’t be so lucky.”

Posted in The Scribe's Cave, writing | 8 Comments

We are the Champions of the World…almost

Last weekend, my thirteen-year-old granddaughter’s soccer team won Football NSW, under 14’s state championships. Bella has been playing for five years and at five foot eight, towers above most of her teammates—I know she towers above me :)

Yahoo Images

Let me take you there in your imagination…The game hadn’t even started and the crowds were already baying for blood. They wanted to see murder and mayhem. They wanted to see havoc wrought, pandemonium perpetrated and bedlam bestowed. Okay, so maybe that’s just a little over the top, but there was a definite sense of excitement in the air for this was the day. The day they’d worked hard for all year. The day history would be made and glory would be won…sorry, getting a little carried away again.


That’s my girl!

I can say, however—without any exaggeration—that both teams were excited and nervous. Probably ninety percent excited and ten percent nervous, or maybe it was ten percent excited and ninety percent nervous. Either way, they couldn’t wait for the game to start.

There was a roar from the crowd as referee blew his whistle and AC United flew past the Colo girls to shoot for a goal in the first minute of play, but missed narrowly. This was the close shave the Colo girls needed, and they revved up the play and didn’t slow the pace all game. AC United were unable to match the Colo girls’ determination and ball passing skills.

With the crowd’s cheers echoing in their ears, Colo scored ten minutes into the first half, and followed it with another goal five minutes later bringing the score to 2 – 0. The Colo girls guarded their goal area with a passion and blocked every AC United’s attempt at goal. An indirect penalty awarded in favour of the Colo girls twelve minutes into the second half saw them race to a 3 – 0 lead. Possession seesawed back and forth, but when the final whistle blew, the Colo girls were victorious and had won the Champions Cup.

BellaSome very weary faces in this photo.

 But well worth it.

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Serious Withdrawal Symptoms are About to Set in

Computer...need my computerrrr

Computer…need my computerrrr

Just when I was getting back into my stride posting on my blog, I’ve hit a pothole in the road…no, make that a bloody great chasm.

As of yesterday, I have no computer. It started doing strange things, so I took it to my computer guy and he gave it the last rites. It has suffered the rainbow screen of death—as opposed to the blue screen of death and it will be some time before I’ll be back – i.e. when I get a new computer (possibly 2-3 months).

Not having an i-Pad means I won’t be able to access WordPress, Twitter and Facebook—not really too worried about the last two. It also means I won’t be able to work on my book, or send emails (I hate sending emails from my phone).

I’m writing this post on an ancient computer that has no fan and overheats, so sadly, there is no chance of using it as a replacement.

I know it’s asking a lot, but do try to be good children while I’m away :D

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A Golden Dream

Each week, Alastair offers one of his photos to all Wordsmiths who like a challenge. You can join in the fun and add your story of around 200 words by clicking on the little blue linky thing at Sunday Photo Fiction My story goes over the 200 word mark this week, so I apologise for that, but hope you’ll enjoy it anyway.

Golden HorseDad removed my blindfold and grinned. “Happy sixteenth birthday, honey.”

“Oh Daddy, she’s beautiful.” I reached out my hand and gently caressed the velvety nose. The mare nickered softly and nibbled my knuckles.

“We get a bonus with her too.”

“A horse float?” I asked hopefully, knowing how expensive a good one was.

My father laughed, “Even better. She’s pregnant.”

“Your kidding!” my voice rose to a squeak as I looked over the stable door. It was true; her belly was huge. She had to be very close to producing a foal.

“Dr Mitchell says she may not foal for a week, but we’re to call him if she starts and he’ll come straight over.”

We stared at each other – this beautiful golden creature and I.

“You’ll need to think of a name for her.”

Goldie? Sunshine? Bella? I couldn’t think straight.

After Dad left for work, I stood staring in wonder at my new baby. Well, she wasn’t really a baby, but that’s how I thought of her. When she had her foal, would that make me a grandmother?

And that’s when it happened…

“Honey, could you bring me some Oreo cookies and a bowl of those little round pickles.”

My mouth started doing fish impressions. “W-w-w-what?”

“I tried to ask the one you call Daddy, but he didn’t know what I was saying.”

I think I must have fainted, because the next thing I knew was my horse was blowing gently on my face.

“I’m sorry I startled you. I wasn’t sure if you’d be able to understand me, but I’m so glad you do.”

I stood up and grabbed hold of the stable door, which my horse had somehow managed to open. “But…I…did…did you really talk?”

“All horses can talk honey, but very few humans can understand them. You do, so it means we’re going to be the best of friends.”

I threw my arms around her neck, and laughed and cried all at the same time.

She nudged me and whinnied softly. “Now, about those Oreo cookies and pickles…’

Posted in Alastair's Photo Fiction | 18 Comments

It’s Too Hot to Take a Jacket

There was a soccer game on today. Actually, there were probably several, but I want to concentrate on just one of them. The game was postponed and for a while, it looked as though it might never get underway.

My granddaughter had front row seats for the A League final between Western Sydney Wanderers V Perth Glory. She took some awesome photos – but not of the game. These were all part of the pre-game entertainment.

Don’t worry, it’s just a bit of rain.

ANZAC - soccer (Emma)Are you sure there isn’t an alien craft in those clouds firing on us?

(c) Brendon Thorne/Getty Images

(c) Brendon Thorne/Getty Images

“I’m turning into an Emmcicle. It’s so cold I can see my breath.”

snow plough football styleOh look, they’ve brought out the snow plow.

(c) ABC News.com

(c) ABC News.com

“Are the rest of you coming out to play or not?”

Despite being freezing cold and soaking wet, Emma said she had a great time. Sadly, the Wanderers lost 2-1

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Let the Games Begin

The Cave Mistress has given us another historical medical photo for The Scribes Cave flash fiction. If you want to take part, click on over; the Cave Mistress will make you very welcome. You only require 50-200 words to join in. While you’re there, have a read of the other stories too.


Admiral Masters walked up and down the rows of beds examining each subject without saying a word. He nodded towards the door and Professor McGoinen followed him into the hallway.


“Thank you, Admiral. We aim to please.”

“Why the nurses?”

“We have to make it look good if we’re going to fool any enemy moles. Of course, the uniforms are just a cover. They’re actually naval officers.”

The colonel harrumphed. “So, we just wheel ‘em on board right under the noses of the enemy and simply set sail on a mission of mercy.”

“The Captain had this wild idea and put it to me. Disguising the missiles as highly infectious patients was a stroke of genius on his part. No one is going to inspect them too closely for fear of contracting something. They’re about the same size as an average male, and unlike the old Sea Cat missiles, they don’t have any fins to try to hide.”

“Right then, let’s get the er… patients loaded.”

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It’s the Little Things that Count

It’s time for Monday’s Finish the Story. You have up to 150 words to dazzle readers with your brilliance, your wit, or even both – or just make us laugh. But unless you join in, we won’t be able to enjoy your story. So, hop on over to Barb’s Monday’s Finish the Story  and have a go. Do not forget to click on the blue guy on Barb’s page and add your link so that others can enjoy your story too! My story starts under the photo.

2015-03-16-bw-beacham - Monday Finish the StoryA body suddenly crashed through a plate glass window at the Brigadier’s house. His wife burst into tears, “Really, Alastair, it’s just getting beyond a joke. You must speak to the Andersons and tell them it has to stop.”

“Hmmm?” the Brigadier lowered his pipe and looked up from his Sunday Times. “Did you say something dear?”

“I said, you have to speak to the Andersons.”

“Did you want me to invite them to lunch?” the Brig looked confused, “but I didn’t think you liked the Andersons.”

“I don’t want to invite them to lunch; I want you to tell them it has to stop immediately.” Her voice rose to a piercing shriek.

“What has to stop, dearest?”

That has to!” Penelope pointed to a small man getting groggily to his feet. He poked his tongue out at her before running out the door.

“The Andersons, they’re having a dwarf tossing party again.”

Posted in Flash Fiction, Monday's Finish the Story, writing | Tagged , , , | 33 Comments