Tag Archives: Trifextra

Trifextra 87 – What Might Have Been


‘How’s the new book coming along?’ queried the agent.

‘First draft complete. Have a really good feeling about this one – the working title is The Two Musketeers

‘Sounds fabby Alexandre  – keep me posted.’


These 33 words form my ‘famous trio’ themed entry into the Trifextra 87 writing challenge. 

This piece became my fourth effort to get into the Trifecta Writing Challenge winner’s circle – my first in the weekend Trifextra – achieving a third place. As ever I am flattered that those judging (my fellow writers!) saw something in my work. 

Trifecta 96 – Down in the Woods


I loves animals. They’ve always been good to me and mine. Same goes for plenty of folks round here. We live for ‘em and they lives their lives to help us. It ain’t just all about meat and milk neither. My little Debs has her horses. Anywhere I goes on the farm my dogs is there. That’s why it upset so many people round here. What they said, it weren’t right.

Jimmy Crawfoot wasn’t an animal: he was a sick, fucking psycho. Papers didn’t care. They got their headlines. Beast, animal, whatever. What do they know? Go ask the parents of Cassie Green and they’ll tell you. That fucker hadn’t earned the right to be associated with one of God’s creatures. He was just scum. Pure and simple. He didn’t deserve to keep breathin’. He’s getting what he had coming.

I ain’t got any beefs about what we’re doing – none of us have. The other men wanted to string him from the tree down by the sawmill. Me and Mr Green thought that was too good for the bastard. Too easy. That’s why we’re here this morning – even Sheriff Flannigan. There was no way this was ever going out the county. This is our problem and round here we deal with our own.

Gotta say it’s a fine morning for it. This mist in the Deepvale wood has just lifted. The smell of damp leaves; the rabble of bird song – smells and sounds which make me sure glad to be alive. Our friend here doesn’t appear to be so happy. Squealing like one of old Bob Waterman’s prize porkers he is. Isn’t half making a fuss. Some animal! None of my herd ever went down like this feller. Crying for his mother. Tears rolling down his face.

Cry? You ain’t earned the right for tears. Rot in hell you bastard!

Henry Green is going first. Others will need to wait their turn. It’s gonna be messy,  but it’s justice.


These 333 words, based on the third definition of the word ‘animal‘ , form my entry into the Trifecta 96 writing challenge.

Trifextra 86 – 45th September 3419

MDX05~Try-Try-Again-American-Proverb-PostersMy alarm sounded.

We were here – again.

“45/09/3419”  flashed the ship’s chronometer.

Week 73198’s Trifextra was famed throughout the galaxies;

I was determined to win it – eventually.

Could today finally be the day?


These 33 words form my ‘time travel’ themed entry into the Trifextra 86 writing challenge. 

Trifecta 95 – My Inspiration


Looking back, it was probably the most important day of my life. I was only eight, but I remember every moment as if I was there now. Today of all days it seems sharper than ever.

It was winter, early January; the windows on my Dad’s study were frosted over. The fireplace crackled as another log submitted to the flames. My Dad hated the cold. Always did, right up to the end.

We often used to spend hours in his study – just us boys. He would be tapping away at his keyboard; I’d be fixing the wing onto a 747, or just watching Dad. He always had an answer for everything. I knew he would that day too.

‘Dad?’ I asked.

‘What is it Joey?’ he replied, glancing up from his work.

‘Why is it wrong to chase a rainbow?’

‘Who said it was son?’

‘Mr Jones at school. He tells everybody that. I like rainbows. I don’t understand.’

‘Well son, what he means is not to chase impossible dreams. But you take it from your old Dad – you aim for the impossible. The more impossible the better. Even if you don’t find it you’ll likely still achieve plenty. You can tell Mr Jones that I said that.’

With that he smiled his all knowing smile before turning back to the screen. Satisfied and happy I carried on struggling with pesky wing of my 747.

I never did tell Mr Jones what Dad said. However, I took Dad’s advice and aimed high. Heck, there were disappointments along the way. Plenty of doubts. My Dad’s words though never left me and I kept chasing. It wasn’t easy but I’ve done pretty well: small chain of bookstores over three states. I wanted one in every state, and one in each country over the world. Didn’t get it, but trying got me this far.

Today we said goodbye to my Dad. He died a proud man – proud of a son who wasn’t afraid to dream.


These 333 words, based on the third definition of the word rainbow‘ , form my entry into the Trifecta 95 writing challenge.

Trifextra 85 – Pledge of Allegiance


Oh Blessed Trifecta how so you tease,

Another prompt – another chance to esteemed judges please.

To write, to delight is the weekly goal,

Oh Blessed Trifecta (and Trifextra) you have my soul.


This 33 word apostrophe forms my entry into the Trifextra 85 writing challenge.

Trifecta 94 – Looking For Mr Right


I’d been glancing her way for a couple of weeks. Just over there: in the seat underneath the scrolling screen. Her black hair, hazel eyes – mouth and nose covered by the pink surgical mask. Her small, delicate frame made her look like a child. Those eyes told a different story.

Think she might have noticed me. I was so clumsy at this sort of thing. She probably thought I was a stalker. However, my mind was made up. I had to speak to her.

“…Next stop Otemachi…” flashed the sign.

This is where she always got off. It was a stop early for me, but that didn’t matter.

Out of the train, up the escalators. I kept pace. I’d no idea what I was doing. What if she stopped? What was I going to say? Hadn’t really thought it through properly. Typical, but it was too late.

The station concourse was heaving. We somehow ended up at the waiting room near Starbucks. Together. Alone. She stood there. She knew I’d been following her. I approached slowly – still no idea what to say. A single delicate finger against her masked lips said no words were required. She moved in close. She was only a tiny thing. So tiny. So pale. Stroking my arm, reaching up to my face. Touching. Sensing. She gently lifted her mask and began to smell. Everywhere. All over.

‘No,’ she whispered.

The door flew open as a mother and a child crashed in screaming insults at each other. I only looked away for a moment, but she was gone.

As I ride the subway this morning the headlines tell of a man found castrated and garroted at Otemachi station.  Reports were already linking him with the murder of a tiny, hazel eyed girl two weeks ago. They’d found her pathetic, crumpled body in the waiting room near Starbucks

Her name was Mayuko.

As I look up, the seat underneath the sign is empty.

Mayuko had found her man.


These 333 words, based on the third definition of the wordmask , form my entry into the Trifecta 94 writing challenge.

This piece became my third effort to get into the Trifecta winner’s circle, achieving a second place. As ever I am flattered that the judges saw something in my work. 

Trifextra 84 – Natural Born Leader


Doggie whines from his garden tether.

On the sofa he reposes,


The impudent loft of his crown

Emanating domination,



King Cat is in residence –

Ruler of all he surveys.


These 33 words forms my entry into the Trifextra 84 writing challenge. 

Trifecta 93 – Coming Home


The harr rolls slowly off the sea. The join between water and land confused by the damp, salty blanket. In the distance white tailed eagles swoop down from the ridges of Ben Vorlich – their grace eternal; their majesty unchallenged. Terrified rabbits sprint for cover; the Laird’s sheep chase each other in their never ending game of follow the leader. The heather sways in the fields. I stand and watch as breathless as the first time I’d set eyes on this scene.

At the end of the track it lies – the whitewashed house. As the sun fights bravely for the right to brighten my day, the memories flow – memories of mild Scottish summers spent by the sea. Nothing ever changed. The rusty gate. The windows which shook when the waves crashed into the headland. The salt bite on the tongue when taking a breath. Mother’s washing fluttering in the breeze – forever damp, but somehow satisfyingly clean and fresh. Its sins blown away.

Every day I used to wait for the fisherman from round the point. He’d go puttering past and wave. I’d wave back. I always hoped one day he’d stop and take me with him. He never did, but I’d still be there each day. Hoping. Down by the rocks I’d find everything. The upturned hull of a yellow rowing boat, ropes, nets, odd boots – even found a bible once. I’d tell my mother about it all; she’d smile and I’d rush back out refreshed by her love. This happened every summer. This was summer.

Standing here today I remember it all. A tear forms. I somehow manage a smile.

My mother passed in the spring. She hadn’t been back to the house in years. She always wanted to, but I was always too busy. Now we are back. Up above she soars with the eagles. Watching over me. Protecting.

Ahead the ‘For Sale’ sign lies ripped from the sandy soil.

We are home again mother.

Home by the sea.


These 333 words, based on the word ‘grace‘ , form my entry into the Trifecta 93 writing challenge. I’ve written a lot of stories based in the US – today I stayed at home. I am a proud Scot and this week’s entry is unapologetically sentimental and Scottish.

Trifextra 83 – Home By The Sea


Our dreams were of gold

Chasing clouds across the sky

Seeking rainbow’s end


This first ever attempt at a Haiku forms my entry into the Trifextra 83 writing challenge. Apologies to all lovers of Haiku for this intrusion into your world. I hope you can forgive me one day. 

Trifecta 92 – Banged to Rights


I hated almost every minute of working in that place, especially having to deal with that power crazed shit: him with the blackboard and his ‘strikes’. Every day he’d creep around the centre putting the fear of God into the snot nosed kids who staffed the place. I can see him now: one hand scratching his balls, the other tossing his chalk into the air. So many times I felt like reaching out for that damned chalk and ramming it down his throat. However, I was on two strikes; that would have probably made it three.

I remember one morning he sloped past my desk – he rarely looked me in the eye. He was just itching to give me another strike but didn’t have the guts. He knew how much money I was pulling in. More importantly the real bosses knew. A few feet further up the office he paused and out it came – his catchphrase:

‘Let me say it in language you might understand. This ain’t damn bowling friend: a turkey round here and you disappear – one strike left. Am I making myself clear?’

The spotty sixteen year old he’d just chewed out was shaking. The poor bastard looked almost on the verge of tears.  I gave the kid a quick thumbs up and a wink – it brought a smile back to his face. However, I’m not going to shit you: as bad as it was I was actually making some good money.

There were other benefits to working there: we thought we’d kept it quiet – the prick was meant to be out of town at a conference. Him coming back and catching his daughter and me going at it like Easter bunnies kinda signaled the end of my career in the centre.

He almost died when I turned up for work the next day.

‘Don’t worry I won’t be staying’

Heading straight for his blackboard I marked up my third strike – had to admit I’d probably earned it.


These 333 words, based on the Tenpin bowling ‘turkey’, form my entry into the Trifecta 92 writing challenge.

Trifextra 82 – Teletales


Hello <Insert Name>, thank you for ordering AMCO International Bedtime Services.

Please select from one of the following story themes:

1 Handsome Princes

2 Ponies & Puppies

3  Pageant Queens

4 Repeat Options


These 33 words from my entry into the Trifextra 82 writing challenge.

Trifecta 91- The Code Breaker


Billy-Jo smelled of raspberries. Her eyes were green as frogs; her hair the colour of coke. Billy-Jo’s father ran the sawmill and he hated his ‘princess’ mixing with the likes of me. But we got round the old buzzard easy enough, thanks to Mitchells Cattle supplies! On their front wall was every darned brand mark in the county. Each one was a different farm – I knew ‘em all.

I wrote up a sheet for Billy-Jo. It had all the marks on it; said what each one meant. When her school bus drove by Mitchells she’d see one of the marks circled in chalk. Worked a treat. Allowed us to arrange meets and nobody was none the wiser. I never went anywhere near their house, not once.

We’d been dating for a good while and I was having them urges. All the other boys had ‘em and their girls sorted them good. She seemed wary; a bit nervous likes. However, she eventually agreed it was time. That morning I chalked the ‘Barons’ brand mark. Across from their place was Verndale Lake. Lots of long grass – a perfect spot.

I got there early. Heck, I was nervous too. The rustling of the leaves signalled company.  ‘Hi Mikey,’ said Jemima.

I couldn’t think of much to say. It weren’t who I was expecting but boy she did look good. Jemima didn’t smell of raspberries. She smelled more like my mother. Her hair was blond but the black bits said it weren’t natural. That day was the last  I chalked on Mitchell’s wall.

Never did figure out where Billy-Jo got to that night or how Jem turned up instead: ‘just fate,’ Jem would say with a smile. I ended up doing thirty years in the sawmill while Jem brung up our kids. She left me young when the sickness hit the town. God took her early said the preacher. I can still smell her on my shirt now. The smell of love I always told her.


These 333 words, based on the word ‘brand’, form my entry into the Trifecta 91 writing challenge. 

Trifextra 81 – Life At First Sight


From the very first moments the senses form.

Shapes and movement; blacks and whites.

A loving mother’s face.

In time focus and control; spectral appreciation and wonder.

The full kaleidoscope of life revealed.


These 33 words from my entry into the Trifextra 81 writing challenge.

Trifecta 90 – A Man’s Best Friend


It was a small town; everybody knew Peter Wingdale. He had a reputation for being a cold, heartless soul. Any grasp of right and wrong had been lost somewhere along the way for Peter. He wouldn’t think twice about picking on helpless old folks or kids;  animals too – more than one neighbourhood cat had been found hanging, gutted in his tool shed. He was crazy if truth be told. However, that summer he seemed to change. He looked so proud. Her blond curls twinkled in the spring sunshine. Long walks in the woods, afternoons in the park, paddling in the lake – they became inseparable.

She was clearly wary of him. Never a sound when he was close. People began to think it was strange – she almost look scared of him. One time old Mrs Haggerty says she saw Peter giving her a fearful smack outside the off licence. As she began to cry Peter grabbed her by the throat; screamed for her to be quiet. He threw her in the car. They weren’t seen again for a week. She now limped but still stayed firmly by his side. Loyal as ever.

For a while things appeared back to normal. Peter and his girl walking about town. He never did say what her name was. Then one day they disappeared again. No more sightings. No more public admonishments from Peter. Late Monday last week the police were called out to the Wingdale place: gun shots had been heard. Peter was in his mother’s room – well most of him was. His brains were sprayed all over the landing wall. He must have been facing his mother’s bed when he pulled the trigger.

Down in the basement they heard whimpering. They found her curled up on a blanket at the back of a cage, trembling but alive – just. Turned out Jennifer was her name. Peter may have treated her like a dog but she had somehow survived  both him and his cruelty.


These 333 words, based on the word ‘grasp’, form my entry into the Trifecta 90 writing challenge. If you would like to vote for me in the community voting then you can do so on Thursday night or Friday morning. 

Trifextra 80 – Like Father, Like Son


Every night it was the same for Vera’s boys.

Dribbling, drooling, tears and tantrums.

Jimmy Jnr’s swollen gums and impending first milk tooth was his excuse.

Jimmy Snr was just a rotten drunk.


These 33 words from my entry into the Trifextra 80 writing challenge.