Now what?

This is week 181 of Sonya’s #3LineTales writing prompt. Enjoy!

Armstrong: Houston, do you copy? Over.

Houston: Neil, we copy. Receiving physiometrics, all vitals are clean and green. You are good to go. Over.

Armstrong: There’s not much here, just dust and rocks. So, where am I supposed to go again?. Over.

Some think the Apollo programme was a waste of time and resources. But Neil Armstrong’s first steps on another world broke, for humanity, the shackles that still bind every other lifeform on Earth.

That’s a big deal.

The day it happened, I was at school. It was a Monday. Noone ate lunch for that “one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind” moment (12.56pm Sydney time) – we heard it live on the radio, and then watched it at home on the evening news (no TV at school in those days).

As a pre-teen, I thought it was just another thing that adults did. Fly to the moon, and all that. But in hindsight, I vacillate between respect for the the achievement itself and the money it cost that perhaps could have been spent on more practical things back here on planet Earth.

Thanks for reading,

Photo by History in HD on Unsplash. This post is 210 words.

Slow news day

This is week 160 of Sonya’s #3LineTales writing challenge. I hope you enjoy it!

It was not a meaningful protest. The crowd, never big enough to threaten, had lost interest and wandered off to a pub nearby. Except for one kid. An undersized punk, not even old enough to shave. But he held a knife, and he had the reporters’ attention.

Just by standing there he would be the hero and the police, the villians. “POLICE BRUTALITY”, the headlines would shout, if they disarmed him. “POLICE INCOMPETENCE”, if they didn’t.

Today, one spoilt kid would ruin reputations and careers that had taken a lifetime to build. And there wasn’t a single damn thing they could do about it.

Thanks for reading,


Photo by Jonathan Harrison on Unsplash. The quoted text is 104 words.

Scary love

This is week 159 of Sonya’s #3LineTales writing prompt. Enjoy!

Mikey capped the spray can and dropped it into his backpack. He was certain no-one had seen him but he hurried down the street just to be sure.

He liked what he had done. It was smaller than his usual work, but it looked good. He wanted it raw, unfinished, imperfect. He was an artist, not some junior tagger, and it was art. His art.

Maybe she would see it on her way to the office. Maybe she’d say something. Maybe he’d work up the courage to explain it. Love was scary.

Thanks for reading,

Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash. The quoted text is 92 words.

Footnote: I completely missed that this came out on Valentine’s Day. My wife is not impressed.

No more story

This is week 158 of Sonya’s “Three Line Tales” exercise.

The fence was just a physical thing to Jonathan, like his grey room or the dining hall. It had a purpose – to enforce a limit to his meanderings – but he didn’t know why.

He didn’t know how long he’d been there. Or how long he was to stay. Or even how and why he got there. It was just the way it was.

He had no reason for anything. He had no memory of before. The tests had torn every shred of story from him, and now he had nothing left.

Thanks for reading,


Photo by Robert Hickerson on Unsplash. This post is 113 words.

Cold today

This is week 157 of Sonya’s “Three Line Tales” writing challenge.

Today, it was cold. Colder than he’d ever known in his short life.

Today, there wasn’t any food on the plate. None even on the ground below, after the bigger birds had been and spilled it in their frenzied greed.

Today, he didn’t know what to do. So he sat there, shivering and hungry.

Thanks for reading,


Photo by Clever Visuals on Unsplash. This post is just 78 words.

A decision is made

This is week 156 of Sonya’s “Three Line Tales” writing challenge.

“We’re making plans for you, Nigel”, Grandpa said. It was early evening, before dinner, and we were sitting by the lower pool with our legs dangling in the warm water. “Your father wants you in the business, and I agree.”

I didn’t want that. I knew what their business was, and I wanted no part of it. But I liked the luxury, the benefits, the fearful respect, the influence it gave the family, so I didn’t tell him my thoughts.

I was scared of Grandpa. I’d heard about what happened to people who upset him. So I nodded my head, and I was committed. For life.

Thanks for reading,


Photo by Sam Loyd on Unsplash. This post is 129 words.

Night, interrupted

This is week 155 of Sonya’s “Three Line Tales” writing prompt.

The phone still glowed from the call just ended. Sighing, Ange called her pilot then turned her beacon on. “Next weekend, for sure”, she promised herself.

She lay back on the grass, taking in the silence, the cold, the stars, the loneliness of the high range. The feel of the damp grass under her back and shoulders. Eyes wide open, Ange thought about everything, and nothing.

The sound of the approaching helicopter brought her back. It would be yet another office all-nighter, one more she didn’t want.

Thanks for reading,


Photo by Ian Parker on Unsplash. This post is 110 words.