Image © Copyright John and Margaret



by John Yeo

     Rod and Al were the best of friends, they met at public school, and were star pupils in their year, both obtaining above average grades. A bright future was predicted for these two privileged students  The two friends were both studying Law together at University. Carefree days that seemed to be stretching out forever. Rodney’s father was a Member of Parliament and Alastair came from a wealthy family of landed gentry.

    Before long they were courting and sowing their wild oats, they both enjoyed substantial allowances from doting proud parents. Money was no object and the fine wine flowed, good food was savoured, and love blossomed and died many times. In spite of this, their studies were going well and they were on track to obtain very good results when they graduated.

  Then out of the blue, along came a phone call from an old friend of Rods, an ex-girlfriend Geraldine. The tearful call was an urgent cry for help, and went something like this.

     “Hey Rod! Gerry here! How are you? I’ve just discovered I’m pregnant. You will be a Father in July. We must get together and discuss what we’re going to do about this. You have always been the only one for me!”

    Rod was stunned at this and immediately got on to Alastair who ridiculed the whole notion, actually referring to Geraldine as an easy ride, who was in the process of trying to take him for a ride.

    Rod was too ashamed to ask for help from his Father and approached Geraldine demanding proof. Geraldine just laughed in his face and demanded money from him in an attempt to blackmail him into paying for a private termination.

    That night Rod and Al went out on the town together, and after a long pub crawl they were heavily under the influence of alcohol when they were approached by two police constables on foot.

     Al then drunkenly made an unwise statement. “I smell bacon!” There was a few minutes silence as the effect and the dual meaning of this remark sunk in to all present.

    Soon they were both under arrest for being drunk and disorderly in a public place, and were shown into a cell at the local police station. They were interviewed and huge repercussions would surely follow, as this arrest could jeopardise their careers, if they were charged and their parents were involved.

   Al immediately apologised to the police officers involved  who decided this was an out of character remark, and advised them to stay out of trouble. Rod explained the background to the story and received a sympathetic response from the lady Constable behind the station desk.

  Then another surprise awaited them as they were leaving, Geraldine was led into the police station. Rod was shocked to learn the so-called Mother of his unborn child. was a hooker using her wits to pay her way through University.

  As they left the police station, Rod and Al shoved all the folding money they were carrying, into a charity box marked, “Police Widows and Orphans Fund.”

  In spite of the ‘Unstatement’, that Al had erased, and Geraldine’s ‘Unstatement’, of impending motherhood exonerating Rod. The two young men became top lawyers and went on to enjoy successful unblemished careers. Geraldine went on to become a very wealthy celebrity model.

Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved






This is a latest Picture it and Write prompt from Emilia’s blog ~20th March




by John Yeo

     “There you are Tabitha, hiding in a drawer licking your lips and contentedly purring. I have a bone to pick with you! Our lunch is on the kitchen floor and shows suspicious signs of catty tooth marks all over it. I wish you could explain yourself you greedy little minx! I ought to punish you severely, it is no good rubbing your furry little body up against my legs. We are going to have to eat out now, which I suppose is not such a bad idea.”

  An elongated hiss escapes through Tabitha’s prickly whiskers that if it was possible to translate would go something like this.

   “Now look here! I’m your furry friend not an intruder into my own home!

 I didn’t touch that cooked chicken you put on the table to cool down, although I must admit to a little boredom creeping into my diet. That splodge that comes out of those cheap cans you keep leaving on my plate is becoming increasingly tasteless.

  I am here to provide playful love and affection and allow you to stroke me and share our lives together. I must admit while I was trying to catch that elusive mouse that lives in our kitchen, I might have accidentally knocked that chicken on the floor as I was chasing the little blighter.  

   How it became nibbled is a mystery, I did pick it up with my teeth and a morsel or two might have come adrift that I cleaned up with a few licks.

I am shocked at your outrageous accusations.”

   Later that night after a wonderful meal with her significant partner, the lady of the house arrived home to find Tabitha still sulking in the drawer. Picking her up with a huge snugly hug, she stroked her soft fur and said.     

“Thanks to you we’ve had a wonderful night out at a posh restaurant and tasted some excellent food. I am going to let you enjoy the rest of the chicken, starting with the tenderest morsels.”

 Tabitha purred a special forgiving purr which if it was possible to translate would go something like this.

 “Thanks, I forgive you.”

Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved.






Image© Copyright ~ John and Margaret


by John Yeo


Way down beneath the face of jagged white cliffs
Is the secret domain of the aging spirits.
The awesome caverns hidden deep underground
Hacked from the rock, a hidden secret domain.
The spirits mature and rest and develop
To tickle the developed taste-buds with the joyful refrain
Of glorious wonderful vintage Champagne.

Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved



Image from the Net

Writing Practice from a prompt by The Write Practice


The Prompt

Let’s twist things up. You show up to Mrs. White’s Tudor style mansion to meet with your writing critique group, as you do every week. You expect to have a fun time talking about writing and getting feedback, not to find one member of the group murdered in the drawing room. First, describe how you find the murder victim. Then, after the police lock you in a room with the rest of the guests, write about your suspicions of who-dun it as you look around the room at your fellow writers. (Set your timer for thirty minutes.)



by John Yeo

   It’s Tuesday evening once again, My favourite evening of the week. We are off to take part in our evening of literary congeniality together, at Madeleine White’s mansion at the top of the hill, overlooking the village. Gilbert White is a wealthy industrialist who likes to play at being a Lord of the manor.

 The drive up the steep hill is very pretty, with the estate farm and fields spreading out into the distant horizon. The huge ornamental gates with a statue of a horse’s head on each gatepost, are always left open on Tuesday to welcome the writing group.

   Mrs White opens the door herself, in response to the chimes of the doorbell that resounds hollowly through the rooms of the mansion. The butler is off-duty on Tuesdays. We always receive a welcome from our lady hostess. There are just six of us in the group at present. Annie, Dorothy, Jill, Richard, Margaret and I.

  We usually meet in the impressive library, where there are many leather bound books from floor to ceiling, and many comfortable chairs and tables. Tonight is no exception and we get ourselves comfortable as we wait for Jill, who has gone to fix her torn jeans in the drawing room full length mirror.

   We wait a good ten minutes before we begin to work, we all leave one after another to get drinks in the drawing room, and visit the toilets situated there. Jill still hasn’t got back after another five minutes, and Mrs White leaves us to find her. Suddenly there is a frightening high scream from the drawing room. We all rush in there at once to find a shocked Mrs White and the prone figure of Jill on the floor of the drawing room. There is a pool of blood seeping over the carpet under her body. “She’s dead,” gasps Mrs White. somebody call the police.”

   Soon after the police arrive to investigate and to the horror of everyone, we are all locked up in the library by the police.

  Looking around at our fellow writers, I try to work out who is capable of the killing and why? Presumably we are locked up here because the police suspect one of us.

  I immediately rule out Margaret and myself. This leaves Annie, Dorothy, and Richard and of course Mrs White. I think my suspicions lie with Dorothy, she has always held a competitive grudge against Jill.

   Sometime later we are all interviewed by the investigating officer, who is still without a suspect, not a single clue has been revealed during the questioning.

   Then after a search of the pantry, a man with blood on his clothes, found hiding there, is led out handcuffed by the police. Mrs White is in a state of shock as she identifies her butler.

    The sensational twist in the tale  occurred a week later when Madeleine White was arrested for the murder of Jill Dyson who was blackmailing her, for an alleged affair she had with her father. Jill claimed Mrs White was her Mother who had abandoned her to marry Gilbert White.

   The butler was released after admitting smearing himself with blood to protect Mrs White.

   Gilbert White is moving away soon. Sadly our literary group is no more.

Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved.




Image © Copyright ~ John and Margaret ~ All rights reserved

Posted on 16th March 2016 by John Yeo
A prompt response for Inspiration  Monday



by John Yeo

      The very learned judge adjusted his cap and addressed the prisoner in the dock.

 “You have been convicted of a very serious crime. My instincts are to sentence you to the ultimate sentence. However I intend to sentence you to one day’s imprisonment in the new psychological institution, where you will be re-educated and pay for your crimes. You will be considered for release at the end of the day’s sentence. That will be all!”

  There was a general gasp of surprise from the people in the courtroom.

  The prisoner smiled, then laughed out loud. “Thank you Judge! I will be eternally grateful to you for your consideration, and I look forward to seeing you again tomorrow.” He guffawed loudly as he was led away to the cells.

   George Sweeney had battered a Post office clerk to death in the process of committing an armed robbery. He was a career criminal and had no remorse or conscience whatsoever.

   He smiled as he was driven to a brightly lit hospital the next day to begin his sentence.     The doctors were calm and reassuring as they showed him to his quarters, the bright lights were continually on at all times.

   George ate a hearty meal and asked the orderly. “Can I see the Doctor in charge please, I would like to know what time my re-education begins.”

    The orderly smiled and replied. “Don’t worry, Mr Sweeney, you will see him soon, there will be plenty of opportunities as the day progresses.”

   George then said. “Can I have my watch back, it was removed from my wrist by the police, when I was arrested. There are no clocks here! What is the time right now?”

    “Clocks are irrelevant here!” Replied the orderly. “You will get used to our system of time. Time that is stretched out and manipulated to allow you to think your thoughts and redress your balance. Enjoy the feeling of eternity as the day progresses and you will achieve much re-education and reorientation.”

    George began to feel anxious when he heard this. “What do you mean? I am only here for a day, how can I achieve anything? What do you mean by stretching time? I demand to see the Doctor in charge right now!”

   The orderly grinned and said, “Yes of course. I will go and fetch someone. I will be back soon.”

   What seemed like hours passed as George waited and waited. He began calling out loudly to attract attention, banging on the walls and kicking the locked door. A small aperture in the wall held a lift-shaft where food was suddenly delivered, George then realised how hungry he was and wolfed the food down.

  He became disorientated as the bright lights were on and blazing. He slept and woke as the Doctor arrived accompanied by several nurses and the orderly.

   “Hello!” said the Doctor smiling. “How are you?  What can I do for you? We have a long day ahead.”

   “I don’t believe you!” George shouted! “I have been here for what seems like forever already. I demand to see a lawyer and I want my watch back!”

   “Yes Mr Sweeney, here is your watch.”

  George took the watch and suddenly realised it wasn’t working. “Hey! My watch is broken! It has been damaged! I demand to see someone from the police to report this crime!”

   “Of course, Mr Sweeney, I will arrange that for you. Now relax and enjoy the rest of your day here.”

   The doctor and his retinue then left.

 What seemed to George like an eternity passed as he was left alone in his quarters with food appearing at odd hours and the orderly checking on him changing faces through the window in the door. The lights blazed interminably as George suddenly became aware that this was to be a never ending day. He became even more disoriented when he finally began to realise there would be no remission on this stretched out day’s sentence.

Copyright © ~ Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved





Image © Copyright John and Margaret



Practice focus by writing about a football player before a big game. How does he prepare his mind? Does he visualise the game in his mind? Does he think about what it felt like the first time he played the sport?


by John Yeo

   The day has finally arrived. Training has been hard, videos, tactical moves on display on the blackboard, special exercises, every conceivable eventuality the coach could dream up, has been explored. Spies and scouts have infiltrated the opposition’s training ground and reported back to the boss. Yesterday we spent six hours rehearsing moves passing the ball to one another, working flash tackles, finishes, exploring defensive positions. Then another two hours studying the recorded major matches that the opposition have been involved in this season. We have tried to get inside their coach’s mind to interpret the thinking that has gone into the moves he has drummed into his team. Then, more field practice, moves and countermeasures to block their favourite modes of attack. We have even been studying the way to counter a professional foul, this is increasingly a blight on the game lately, and we have to study how to spot the signs of a lead up to a foul. Next we study avoidance with methods of hidden retaliation, a natural response if you have just avoided getting put out of the game.

    The big match is two days away and the boss has given everyone a night off, to get away from the consistent living, dreaming, eating, the game, with the total absorption of the hard intense training. We have been shut away in a hotel for almost two weeks solid now. The players are heading into town to clear the cobwebs away, we have been instructed to steer clear of too much wine, women and song. I intend to treat myself to a night at the theatre. There is a performance of Shakespeare’s, “Hamlet” at the local theatre, put on by the local repertory company. I am a great fan of this play and it will take my mind off the match. My mates all disdained accompanying me, in favour of a local nightclub that reputedly serves soft drink. I hear the coach is delighted with this plan.

    Surprisingly almost everyone turned up for training on time the next day. Two of the lads were a bit late, but no harm done, the boss has given them a telling-off, to remember. Everyone is keen and as sharp as glass. Kevin, our star striker was developing moves out of thin air. There were two very pretty female spectators on the sidelines cheering him on. Who they were,  is anybody’s guess.

      The match is scheduled to begin in one hour. There is a huge crowd in the stands and I am blanking everything out and furiously meditating on the Prince’s soliloquy in Hamlet. “To be or not to be?.” Becomes what will my rise in pay be when I raise that cup above my head.

   My mind is ablaze with the thoughts of the glory of the victory. “To Be, or To Be.”  Forget the Not. We are going to win!

Copyright © ~ Written by John Yeo ~All rights reserved



Image © Copyright John and Margaret



Write a scene in which a character has stones thrown at him or her, figurative or  



by John Yeo

     Saturday night again and the emergency department is filling up with a steady procession of drunks and drug addicts, some brought in by the police already under arrest. I was late for work tonight and I walked straight into the Sister, I will be in a great deal of trouble on Monday, I am already in for a formal written warning.

    I forgot to take another patient’s temperature, this didn’t inspire confidence in my abilities.

    Now this lady is threatening to put in a formal written complaint against me because she says I deliberately kept her waiting.

   I had another problem earlier tonight, when a lady obviously at the end of her tether, brought her daughter in with a bloody nose, she said the little girl had fallen over. I had to call in Social services when I discovered that the little girl was deaf and dumb, and was unable to communicate with anybody.

    I was so tired and nearly at the end of my shift when a man assaulted me by touching me inappropriately, he grabbed my bust. Security called in the police and he will have to go to court now. I’m scared about that as I don’t want any comebacks from nutters. The Sister in charge says I must make a formal complaint as he will be doing it again to another innocent person. I have to attend the local police station to do that tomorrow.

Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved



Image Copyright John and Margaret


The Prompt ~ Write about a time you felt uncomfortable or awkward. Try not to focus on your feelings but project your feelings on the things around you.


by John Yeo

      The invitation was exquisitely worded. The pleasure of your company is requested at Blake’s nightclub and restaurant to celebrate the Black Anniversary of our select club. The evening will include a three course dinner and dancing to a live band.

       “Blake’s!”  I exclaimed to my wife, “Where’s that? I can’t say I have ever heard of a place called Blake’s. Have you darling?  It doesn’t spring to mind, but we must have patronised the place at some time in the last few years or they wouldn’t have our details.”  

     “It sounds like a very posh night out, I think we will have to go!” Said Elaine excitedly.

      “Now hold on a minute Elaine. I think I will have to check this out on the Internet, I will see what Google comes up with.”

      “OK Andrew, I will have to get a new outfit for this night out, I am sure it will be fine.”

    Elaine was excited and she went to telephone her friend Jill, to see if she knew anything about Blake’s club.

     Andrew came rushing into the living-room during the call. “Darling this is a exclusive establishment in the West End of London, frequented by many celebrities and rock stars from the 50’s. Sounds like a fun night out.”

    “Wow!” Said Elaine.

     “This Club has a very interesting past. It used to be frequented by gangsters, gamblers and high society. Rumour has it there was a murder there almost exactly 50 years ago.”      Andrew went on, “I can’t imagine why we have been invited, there is no dress code and the invite simply says Black tie.”

      “Sounds exciting, I will have to get a special outfit and a new hat, I will wear a black scarf to match your black tie.” Said Elaine.

      “I’m not sure I like the idea of us not remembering anything about this place, and not knowing why we have been invited Elaine, but I am sure you want to go, so we will go.”

      The date of the Anniversary finally arrived, and for three hours Elaine was preparing herself for the evening ahead. A beautiful transformation was the result. Andrew wore a white DJ with a black bow tie. A long black limousine arrived to pick the couple up. The driver was an elderly man wearing a chauffeurs cap. He smiled as he held the door open for Elaine and Andrew and they simply climbed right in. The luxurious interior contained a minibar and a television set with a built- in control pad in the armrest. There was a sudden click as the doors were centrally locked behind them once they were inside. There was a telephone connected to the driver and Andrew picked it up to ask why they were locked in. There was no response from the driver, Andrew became more agitated and banged on the middle interior window, but the driver just continued to look solemnly ahead.

Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved.


Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers ~ Writing challenge.


Hosted by Priceless Joy.

The goal is to write a story between 100-150 words (give or take 25 words) based on the provided photo.


Image provided by Priceless Joy from Pixabay


by John Yeo

    The form of transport to reach the solar exterior was incredible, a cross between an ice making-machine and a reforming, non-inflammatory stage.     

     The Rock group would have their images projected into space, where the performance was relayed by satellite.

     Earth in the sixties was a melting pot of music. A furnace of scorching mesmerising ideas. The message was in the music with money to burn. The lead singer was a showman with more than vocal magic to entertain his millions of followers. This man was capable of using magical means, disappearing in a puff of smoke then reappearing in his flesh and blood form instantaneously. The audience were raised to heights of illusory reality, the lead singer was belting out the scorching themes of fantasy. The stage and the auditorium were suddenly plunged into pitch black darkness as the lights went down and fire broke out, leaving a burning guitar blazing in the centre of the stage. Sadly the singer perished in flames generated by solar heat the guitar continued to burn. The trick backfired.


(175 WORDS)

Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers



Image © Copyright John and Margaret

Posted on 29th February 2016 by John Yeo
A prompt response for Inspiration  Monday



by John Yeo

     “They’re on strike!” Said the PM to the Lord Chancellor, “We will have to go abroad and bring someone in to get the new Canned Beans factory officially opened properly.”

   “Oh God no! What is the problem?” Asked the Lord Chancellor adjusting his wig.

   “Since we have got rid of the Royal Yacht and provided oars for them, they seem to be worn out, even though they only use the canals and there is no tidal motion.”  said the PM. “That reminds me, I have asked the King of Tonga, to launch our new aircraft carrier for us, He has agreed but the consideration into the Tongan economy is immense.”

 “Can’t  we get someone else who will do it cheaper?”  asked the Chancellor of the Exchequer.

  “No! Most of the European monarchs are out on strike in sympathy, with our Royals. The Labour Party are backing them up, there is talk of a General Strike in support of our poor hard done by Royals.” Replied the PM.

    “I have heard that the savings from the withdrawal of the Royal train were rapidly squandered on helicopters. It’s a disgrace, they were actually nipping down to pick their daily papers up by helicopter. A journey of about a mile each way.”  Exclaimed the Chancellor of  The Exchequer.

 “When the government withdrew all state-funded, gas-guzzling limousines from the Royals, there was such an outcry of horror from them. We bought a fleet of brand new cycles! Brand new bikes! They are still untouched I have heard, HM actually requested a motorcycle for the heir to the throne to get about on, but he declined it in favour of the old bike he has ridden in private for years.”  Said the Minister for Transport. “The horses that draw the carriages are getting on a bit now, it would cost a fortune to replace them.”

   “ President Obama is arriving soon on an official visit, I don’t suppose we could negotiate a return to royal duties before then. It would be a shame to lay out the red carpet and the Royals boycott the occasion.” Said the PM.

   Just then a voice broke in from the back of the House. “What about giving the Royals the concessions they are asking for and bringing them back. My Mum would be happy to pay more taxes to fund some appropriate transport for the Royals!”

    There was a shocked silence at this form of blasphemy from within the ranks. “Pay more tax? Are you mad? We are already the most heavily taxed country in the world!”

  Then with a fusillade of shots from a ten gun artillery salute, the cry went up. “It’s all over, the Royal Walkout is finished,  they have come into money.

A Royal windfall on the lottery their numbers have come up.

A Butler has sold Buckingham Palace to a very wealthy Russian he met in Trafalgar Square. An absentee landlord, who has promised to let the royals live in the palace,  rent-free for the rest of the dynasty.

A nephew of HM has become a highly paid professional footballer and has solved the transport problem,

There were cheers and shouts of joy throughout the land. A public holiday was declared, and there were street parties held throughout the length and breadth of the country.

Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved.