J.K.ALLEN Friday prompt

Happy Fiction Friday! Here’s your prompt:
You finally build up the courage to talk to that cute someone you see every day on the bus. Their face turns dark as they respond, “You shouldn’t be able to see me.”
Happy writing!



by John Yeo

 It’s raining hard this morning with a strong wind that keeps trying hard to blow my umbrella inside out. It’s a good job I don’t have far to go to the bus stop. I turn the collar up on my raincoat, this helps a bit to keep my neck warm and dry. Glancing at the time on my iPhone I see I am right on time the usual crowd of commuters is gathered at the bus stop. Most of them crammed into the bus shelter. I smile and nod at some of the more familiar faces.
   A smartly dressed young man pushes back into the shelter to allow me room to squeeze inside, much to the chagrin of old sourpuss who has to suffer the indignity of actual bodily contact with a couple of other commuters. She rewards the young man with a look of pure hatred, even though I have been traveling on this route for a year, old sourpuss would never deign to acknowledge my existence. The young man, who wears a thin gold earring, then acts in a totally unexpected way and pokes his tongue out at the tall grey-haired elderly lady.
    A look of shock covers the face of old sourpuss as she angrily turns her face away.
I have an added incentive to make sure I get the usual bus. I have been admiring a certain pretty young woman for several months now. She usually gets aboard the bus at the next stop after I board the bus and she always gets off at the stop before mine outside the private hospital.
    I have never seen such an attractive person in my life before, she is so adorably beautiful I get shy and unsure of myself whenever I see her. I have noticed she never speaks to anyone and no one else seems to know her. I wonder how I can ever pluck up enough courage to break the ice and to introduce myself to her.
    I choose a seat near the entrance to the bus where I knew I was sure to catch her eye as she entered the bus. I had a vague plan in my mind that may give me the opportunity to break the ice and have a chat with her. The rain was still pouring down when the bus reached the next stop, where the cute young lady usually gets on board. The bus came to a stop and three passengers boarded together. A young couple got on first and there was a few minutes delay as the young man began fishing for some change from his pocket while his wife and the bus driver patiently waited.
    Finally with a grin followed by a laugh the couple took their seats on the bus.
Then came the moment I had been waiting for when my dream lady got on the bus. She shook the raindrops off her red umbrella and placed her ticket on the automatic digital charging icon. Her long blond hair was tied up in a ponytail hanging behind her. As she walked by my seat I got up with a paperback book in my hand, ‘Is this yours?’ I asked, ‘Only I found it on the seat you sat in after you had got off the bus yesterday.’

   I was taken aback as the young woman’s face darkened with a horrified surprise. ‘You shouldn’t be able to see me, I am an alien from a different world than you. I must exist in your imagination. No one ever takes any notice of me or pays any attention to me. That’s why I attend the hospital for treatment every day. Are you a patient there?’

   I shook my head and backed away in stunned surprise, I smiled at her as she got off the bus at the private Psychiatric hospital. I still think she is a dream on legs, a figment of my imagination or not.

Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved



J.K. Allen @hijinkswriter

Here’s today’s Fiction Friday prompt:
In the future, virtual reality has surged. One of the more controversial uses is in prisons. Whatever crime you committed you have to relive from your victim’s point of view. It’s your first day in prison and you’re terrified because of what you did.


virtual perception-3110810_960_720virtual-reality-3039745_960_720ALIEN THOUGHT PATTERN

by John Yeo

I had put up a strong defense and my lawyer had almost worked a miracle and got me off of the charges. I was shocked when I heard the Judge’s sentence. There was a catch to the decision, I would either have to serve 25 years or this could be reduced to 5 years if I agreed to undergo a new virtual reality procedure. This would entail reliving the crime through the eyes and feelings of the victim. I thought this would be quite easy as I have never had a care what that dirty jumped-up idiot thought at all. I agreed instantly.

  It was with a loud ominous clang the doors of the prison closed behind me. When I entered. I was handcuffed to a tall overweight prison officer who manhandled me into a reception area where after going through the usual formalities, I was soon on my way to a special wing of the prison where I would be completing my sentence.
It was here I met my room-mate Sydney.
    ‘Hi! I’m George,’ I said grinning as I introduced myself. This should be easy, a nice cushy billet in the hospital pretending to comply with all this VR nonsense.’
My new friends face changed visibly as a look of horror replaced the welcoming look he had previously displayed.

    ‘Hello George, I’m Sydney, I’ve been here for a whole year now. I’m not kidding you when I say I wish I had taken the alternative option. This is the scariest thing I have ever done. I killed a neighbour who got on my nerves. They make you experience every single tiny emotion your victim went through when you killed him. Every day the VR machine repeats the feelings repetitively until you will be praying to share the death in reality. What are you here for?’

  I stepped back shocked when I heard this. ‘I killed a man who was abusing my daughter. What do you mean about reliving the crime over and over from his point of view? I just gave the dirty pervert what he deserved. I took the shorter sentence as I thought it would be easy.’

   ‘That’s what I thought too George but reversing roles is frightening, every little fear and emotion your victim felt will be experienced by you. This is absolute torture.’  Sydney had visibly aged in seconds while he was describing his treatment and his mental state.

 George began to feel afraid of what was in store for him, he had made sure the pervert suffered before he had killed him. There was no way he wanted to go through any of that.

   ‘Sydney you’ve got to help me is there any way I can change my mind? Can I appeal to the authorities? I’m scared of what those men in white coats will do to me.’

   ‘Sorry George, there’s no way out of this, you will have to suffer the fate of the pervert you killed, over and over again. Believe me, I’ve tried many times in many ways. There’s no escape.’

George put his head in his hands and burst out crying.


Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved




Image courtesy of



by John Yeo

  The stick was thrown as far as the strength of my human arm would allow. A small bundle of fur would race along the grassy parkland to retrieve it and a well gnawed stick would be returned to my feet, dripping with doggy saliva.
Allow me to introduce Skip, a small, unclassifiable mongrel dog who had somehow managed to attach himself to our family. It must be every young persons dream to have a faithful four-legged friend to take care of. Skip arrived in our house after the family next door decided to emigrate to Australia. Obviously we were chosen by Skip who had seen us coming and going and received many occasional strokes and pats when he was walked by his owners on a daily basis.
Skip was a small light brown velvet coated dog of many variations. The nearest classification one could get for Skip would be a German Shepherd mixed with a Labrador, mingled with a Golden Retriever. The resulting entity was a fearless little bundle of fur intensely loyal and brave.
One memorable day, Skip and I were walking each other in the parkland for our daily exercise. Skip had the habit of disappearing into the undergrowth after chasing birds and any other small creatures that moved.
  Suddenly I was confronted by an unaccompanied Pitbull Terrier who stood in my path growling menacingly. I froze as I had heard many stories of people who had been scarred for life after an attack by these vicious dogs. I wasn’t sure what to do next, I knew it would be fatal to run away so I just stood still, staring the Pitbull Terrier straight in the eyes. The ugly growls became louder and more threatening. I could actually see saliva dribbling from the teeth and jaws of this menacing creature.
  Suddenly there was another fearsome sound as a small bundle of fur leapt from the undergrowth barking loudly and with a frightening growl seized the larger Pitbull Terrier by the throat drawing blood. The two animals went for each other in a cloud of dust and swirling pieces of fur. Skip bravely stood his ground and I could see he was actually beginning to wear the larger dog down. Then after a few minutes that seemed to drag on into hours, the Pitbull Terrier was beginning to get the better of the brave little mongrel.

   With a shout a young man appeared, carrying a dogs lead. ‘Sampson’ here. The Pitbull let go of Skip’s foreleg and answered the call.
I rushed to pick up my poor brave companion and not stopping to talk to the owner of the Pitbull, I quickly made my way to the local Vet.
Sadly Skip lost a leg, but the Vet managed to stem the blood and save my faithful friends life.

Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved



A prompt response for Master Class ~ Assignment ~ Blissful blasphemy


Blissful Blasphemy

by John Yeo

   Horace stumbled as he entered the local bar and nodded to the landlord.

        “You OK mate?” enquired the landlord anxiously. “You seem to be a bit unsteady on your feet! Careful there Sir. What can I get you?”

Horace spat on the wooden floor and glared at the man behind the bar.

        “I’m OK, I tripped over your bloody carpet. I’ve half a mind to sue your establishment.” was the aggressive retort.

  Horace opened his grubby raincoat to reveal a mud-splattered pair of trousers tied up with string around the waist. He pulled a paper bag from his pocket and removed a bundle of notes, peeling off a tenner, he placed it on the bar and said, “Get me a beer.”

  It was then the landlord was overcome with the odours emanating from Horace’s clothes. Stale beer mingled with many other questionable smells that put him in mind of a refugee from a pig farm.
Two or three other customers in the bar instinctively moved to one side as this horrible odour arose and wafted around the bar.

      “Phew!” exclaimed Alphonse the local car dealer, to his glamorous wife Estelle.
“Drink up my love, let’s get out of here before we catch something nasty. I really don’t know what this place is coming to.”

The landlord then interrupted and addressed Horace, quite bluntly.

      “Get out of here you stinking freak! I refuse to serve you. You are already pissed out of your head.”

At this, Horace let rip with a tirade of curses and threats, beginning and ending with the questionable birthright of obnoxious barstewards.

Alphonse said to his wife Estelle. “Come on darling. Let’s go, we don’t have to put up with this tirade of blasphemous language.”

Then, a voice from the corner of the bar that seemed to come from behind a cloud of smoke piped up.

      “When cursing or profanity is uttered colloquially, it is a sin that can be forgiven as a common sin against decency. Punishment should be meted out in response to the level of harm done.”

The landlord then turned and addressed the stranger in the corner.

      “Father if I put a boot up this filthy mouthed drunks rear as I eject him from the premises, will this be punishment enough for his insolence?”

   “Allow me to speak to the gentleman, I’d like to get to the bottom of this.” Responded the Priest.

     “Go ahead.” said the landlord, “As long as you get rid of him for me.”

      “Excuse me, Sir, I feel you have many problems to be resolved. I noticed your obvious wealth when you left that money on the bar. I would like to offer you a drink of tea at the rectory and a chat.”

With a snarl and another tirade of the vilest blasphemy that had ever come close to assaulting the ears of the Priest. Horace staggered out the door, followed by the landlord who landed the sharpest boot up the oblivious tramps rear end.

A few days later a letter arrived from a firm of city lawyers, containing a summons for the landlord to answer charges of common assault on one Squire Horace Batchelor.

The Priest wasn’t surprised at this turn of events as he was heard to mutter to himself. “Blasphemy can sometimes lead to a state of blissful serenity brought on by the proceeds of ill-gotten gains .”

Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved.





Prompt response to this image supplied by ~


by John Yeo

    Dust swirled everywhere, intense scorching heat blasted the sparse vegetation, frizzling the foliage, rapidly turning any suggestion of moisture into nothing. There wasn’t a vehicle to be seen for miles. The only sign of life was death, in the form of dead creatures along the roadside; roadkill by vehicles or a harsh death by thirst or starvation. Buzzards attracted by the chance of a free meal, always circling, quickly landing, squabbling over the carcass.   

Death attracting life, as the natural cycle dictated.

    Wild Wolf, accelerated, pushing the Harley to the limit the speedo registered 180 mph and his speed was climbing. Mary his girlfriend clung tighter and tighter to him as they powered along the highway.

   Wolf was a long term member of the Hell’s Angels. Mary, his lady went everywhere with him, she was besotted with this tall biker, Wolf had shoulder length matted black hair with a beard and mustache that covered his face. Not much was known about Wolf, he was a drifter who moved from place to place as the whim took him.

   Another motorcycle was roaring along in Wolf’s slipstream, his good friend Fearless Fox together with Molly his long-suffering lady, were having little difficulty in keeping up.

 Wolf felt a nudge and shouted, “Yeah, whaddya want?”  The noise of the Harley roaring along the road made any form of conversation difficult, niceties were impossible.

  “I’m bloody hungry and I need the loo! ” Mary yelled in reply.

“What? I can’t hear you! What’s the matter?”

“STOP at the next building or I’ll be wetting myself and you!”

 No reply came from Wolf that Mary could hear, she suspected it would have been a stream of curses and unintelligible diatribe.

  A building loomed up in the distance and Wolf signaled right to alert Fox who was close behind of his intention to pull in. The bike began to slow as he reduced speed and pulled into the forecourt of a rundown looking business, followed by Fox.

  “Hey, man!” Fox called to Wolf,

Mary and Molly rushed straight into the building obviously looking for the relief of the bathroom.

   “Hey you Foxy! We’re making a good time, shall we step inside and ask if there is food here for sale. I imagine the lady of the house will soon rustle something up, Mary is starving and I could do with a bite to eat myself,”

    “Sure man, but the place looks deserted. There’s no sign of any vehicles around and that seems strange to me, in an out of the way place like this,” said Foxy,

  Then with a sudden realization the two men rushed into the establishment following after Molly and Mary.

Three men were seated at a table playing poker as the two bikers rushed in. They looked up startled as the door burst open and Fox and Wolf barged in.

  An overweight man with his shirt hanging out got up from the table in surprise. “What the hell? Who do you think you two are? storming in here without knocking.”

The other two younger men got up looking menacing and stood by the older man. It was at that moment that Wolf realized they were both holding guns that were pointed straight at them.

  “Now hold on, there is no need for guns. We are looking for the two ladies that ran in here just a few minutes ago. Where are they?” Asked Wolf angrily.  “We are part of a large chapter of the Hells Angels and twenty more bikers will be here within the next few minutes. If they get here before we leave;  your establishment will be ransacked and destroyed.”

  The older man scratched his head and motioned the two young men, who were obviously his sons to put their guns down.

 “They’re in the kitchen out back, rustling up some grub. They asked if we would like to eat, as Ma and the girls have taken the trucks and gone shopping. We offered to give them the food free if they cooked some for us as well. It will be hours before the women get back.”

  Fox and Wolf both breathed a joint sigh of relief, they burst out laughing, soon all five men were seated around the table.

   “Can we deal you in?” asked one of the younger men, grinning broadly.


After a few hands of cards, Mary and Molly appeared with steaming hot plates of food. The whole group were soon laughing and eating together and swapping yarns.

  There followed a screeching of brakes as a dozen farm vehicles appeared and disgorged twenty men and boys looking for trouble.  

  “Sorry!” said Clem, the older man, “I radioed for some help from the back room after you told me about your Chapter of bikers arriving.

 Moments later there was a roaring of motorcycles and a screeching of brakes as the Hells Angels rode in and sat menacingly waiting.

There was a facedown that just needed a spark to ignite a war.

 To everyone’s surprise, three pickup trucks loaded with food signaled the arrival of the women.

 A portly woman carrying a rolled up umbrella dashed out of the leading vehicle, yelling; “Clem! What’s going on? Stop this at once or I will beat every man jack of you myself.”

 There was a shocked silence at first, then a muffled giggle, smiles became laughs quickly becoming guffaws and soon the whole gathering were in fits of laughter.

 Well, they say laughter is a cure for everything and soon there was a hoedown, with the Bikers and the Country boys having one hell of a party.

  Peace reigned when later that day the bikers roared off and normality returned to the Service station.  

Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved