My Weekly Writing Challenge

For last week’s challenge, I wanted you to write a humorous piece and all your work made me smile. Thank you! This week, I’m going to give you a single line for a story/poem/article/anecdote. Now, this line can appear anywhere in your work – at the beginning, middle, end or somewhere in between. It’s all up to you. The line is:


I wish I hadn’t done it.


Now, here are last week’s funnies:

Keith Channing opted for a true story:

Shortly after arriving in France, we enjoyed that honeymoon period when everyone wants to visit – you know, before they realise how far it is to drive, just for a visit to a tiny hamlet where one of the dogs howling with frustration because he can’t pick up a hedgehog without hurting himself turns out to be the highlight of the month as far as excitement goes.

During that time, we had a visit from my wife’s parents. Both in their seventies, they had not been man and wife for many years, but always remained good friends. Father-in-law drove. They had an arrangement whereby, if one committed a navigational or other faux-pas, rather than argue, they would calm down over a Ginger Nut (a hard ginger biscuit/cookie for those not familiar with the genre). This was most effective, as it is not easy to gnaw such a challenging foodstuff with teeth that have already seen service for seven decades and probably feel that they should be presented only with less onerous duties.

They arrived at Le Havre, intending to drive the 535 km down to us. It should have taken about six hours. We added a couple of hours for stops, and expected to see them about eight hours after their call to tell us they were on French soil. A call from them about five hours later told us that they were entering Paris for the fourth time, but that they were confident that, this time, they would leave Paris facing south. They confirmed that the Ginger Nut supply situation was still within bounds. A couple of hours after that, they called to tell us they would stop for the night and sleep in the car, in one of the many aires along the autoroute. They chose a full aire (think motorway service area) rather than a simple aire de repos (think off-road picnic area with toilet facilities). This may have been a mistake, as they were awakened at about 5am by a gendarme (gen d’arme, literally man with gun – there’s a thought to carry with you) who told them in the French version of Franglais – Franglais being kind-of-French spoken badly by an English speaker, his was kind-of-English spoken badly by a French speaker – that they couldn’t sleep there, and they had to move on. Being, fundamentally, law-abiding citizens, they had another Ginger Nut each and set off again.

By a totally unplanned and unanticipated concurrence of events that serves only to reinforce that the universe has a devilish sense of humour, we were subjected the previous evening to a thunderstorm of such ferocity as to relegate the millennium celebrations to a mere firework display. It was sufficient to reduce my broadband modem to little more than a box of frazzled electronics. I left home at about 10.30am to drive the 30-odd kilometres to the nearest town, intending to buy a replacement. The possibility of being separated from the web is too painful to contemplate. On the way, as I was driving through a village only 8km from home, a small car with two older people in the front, both apparently chewing on something, came towards me. Just before we passed, I recognised my in-laws (but my, they looked tired) so I tooted and flashed. Knowing they were within fifteen minutes of arrival, I carried on to town. On arrival in town, I called my wife. Although it was a full half hour after I had seen them, they hadn’t arrived. I made my purchase and returned home, entering the house just before 1pm. Still no sign of them.

They eventually arrived at 2.30pm, having been into the nearby village and shouted their anglicised representation of the name of our hamlet (which, trust me, couldn’t have been much further from the way it is normally pronounced, if they had tried) to the great confusion of the local populace, and circling the area four or five times, passing the bottom of our road as many times – in each direction.

When they arrived, they were, if anything, more relieved than we were.

I understand that sufficient Ginger Nuts were consumed to support McVitie’s share price for some months!


Pat Hemstock sent in this delightful poem :

The shoes

It’s so wonderful being a Granny

To hear the words

‘I want to hold Granny’s hand.’

I look down at this beautiful child

And I say to her

‘I’ve got my favourite granddaughter.’

She looks up at me, eyes so big,

She says to me

‘And I’ve got my favourite shoes on.’


You’ll enjoy this look at life from Jasdeep Kaur:

Quirky Imagination

What if the genes
of human beings
were swapped with
some other beings?

Just imagine, If we looked
like elephants instead,
everything would be massive;
the dress, home, or bed.

If we were like small fish,
shark and octopus would
live in water national parks
as every wild animal should.

God forbid, if we looked
like slimy cockroaches,
we’d live in filthy gutters and
love its grimy notches.

Thank God, we are humans
and not any other life form.
Imagination is after all
a quirky little storm.


Jason Moody warned that endurance was necessary for this one!:

Worst Date

After trying on three different dresses, four pairs of shoes and two shades of lipstick, Caroline was ready.

It wasn’t that she normally took this long to get ready, she just wanted to look right.

She’d tried the little black dress but, that was a little too sexy for a first date she thought.
She tried on several light, floral dresses, but decided that they were best for a barbecue. In the end, after much deliberation, she opted to play it safe.

She stood in front of her bedroom mirror. The red dress was figure hugging enough for her to appeal, but not too much. A little black cardigan and she was done.

She ruffled her hands through her long, dark brown hair, still a little wet from showering.

She was nervous, but in a good way. Her stomach was full of butterflies. She hadn’t felt this way in a long time. Even though Pete and her had been together for six years, he still managed to make her stomach flutter.

This was her first time back in the dating game. The first time she had truly tried to move on.

She had met David online, despite vehemently denying she would ever do so. What if she got kidnapped? What if he turned out to be a serial killer? These were all justifiable concerns in her mind.

After three months of ‘getting to know you’ online chats – one of which was a discussion about the moon landings, but she was heavily under the influence of wine – they had decided it was time to meet.

It was David that asked, and it made Caroline giddy. A boy, well man, had asked her out. What was a girl to do?

Her immediate response, because no one would ever see, was to dance in her chair and act like a seven year old on Christmas Eve.

This, however, caused her to accidentally hit the keyboard and put an abrupt end to their two hour chat. Before she could figure out what to do, David was offline.

So, here she was. Dress on. Make up acceptable and favourite perfume on. She called for a taxi and waited.

The taxi dropped her off outside the bar. It was modern, popular and was easy for them both to get too. A pretty good first date venue.

She stepped inside, the bar was half full. She immediately spotted the comfy red sofas in the corner and made a bee live for the table.

She ordered a glass of Pino and told herself to relax.

She checked her phone. It was five past seven. She tried not to over think things. It was only five minutes after all. Better to be fashionably late than desperately early.

Ten minutes had passed. She had now started to chew the inside of her cheeks; a habit she detested but on occasion was powerless to prevent.

What had happened? Was David ok? Did he not like her after all and decided against tonight? Surely not she thought.

Twenty minutes. She was now feeling rather self conscious. She had garnered a few looks from other drinkers. A suited, and rather handsome man was now sat at the bar. He had already looked Caroline’s way and smiled.

For a second she had forgotten about her date and found herself worrying about him coming over.

Her fears were unfounded, as a beautiful young woman, young enough to be his daughter entered and planted a big kiss on the man’s lips. She looked Caroline up and down and then they left.

Thirty minutes had passed. The barman was walking over. She prayed he wasn’t thinking what she feared. He was young, probably at university she thought.

“Are you ok Madame?” he asked.

Madame? How old did he think she was?

“Yes. I’m fine. Thank you,” she replied, embarrassed.

She checked her phone. Nothing.

She was starting to feel a little stupid. She finished her glass of Pino and put on her jacket.

Outside the air was warm. As it was pleasant, she decided to walk home.

Stood up. How embarrassing.

Without warning, she felt a warm trickle down her cheek. The last thing she expected to do tonight was cry over a man she’d never met. She perhaps expected to tell the girls at work tomorrow what a bore he was and blah blah blah. But this?

She was by no mains a stone-hearted iron maiden; but Caroline wasn’t given much to crying. At least not over men. Kittens in distress and Greys Anatomy perhaps, but this?

By now she found herself blabbing uncontrollably, like a small child who can’t have ‘that toy’. She quickened her pace.

She got home. Threw off her jacket and reached for the takeaway menu in the kitchen draw.

Embarrassed. A little bit annoyed. This called for one thing in her mind; the largest pizza with all the trimmings. Sod him. Sod all men. Sod the calories. She could work it off with Harriet at the gym after work anyway.

She wondered. She looked to the small table in the living room. Her laptop stood idle.

She thought for no more than a second before firing it up. She checked her friends list and sure enough, he was online. What a bastard, she thought.

She opened up a chat window and began to think of a good opening gambit. Something witty? Something snidely? Something cruel? How about all three?

“Hiya” she typed.

She waited. A little message at the bottom of the screen indicated he was typing. This had better be good she thought.

“Hey you. How are you doing? How was your day?” was his reply.

She had been stood up and he was asking about her day. A few choice descriptions entered her head. At one of them she even grinned.

She had the perfect line.

“It was lovely to meet you” she typed.

The reply was lightning quick.


The line of question marks annoyed her. She growled to herself.

“It would have been nice if you had told me that you weren’t coming tonight. Half an hour I waited. I feel like such an idiot. Thanks ”

That should do it, she thought.

She took a deep breath and waited. He was typing.


A second time. This really annoyed her. He was typing again.

“I have no idea what you mean? Tonight? We’re were meeting tomorrow night…oh no. You didn’t did you?”

She quickly checked her phone messages. She scanned through all the messages from David.

Sure enough, In bold type, was a text with tomorrow’s date. Her stomach, if it could, would have shot out of her mouth. She felt so stupid, but now for different reasons. She wanted the ground to open up, swallow her, spit her out and swallow her again. She laughed to herself.

She couldn’t think of anything to say, so instead just used an emoticon to express her embarrassment. She just hoped that this little episode hadn’t put him off.

Just then, her mobile phone buzzed in her handbag, accompanied by Lady Gaga’s ‘Poker Face’.

It was David.

“Hi,” she said, still feeling a tad ridiculous.

She could hear him laughing on the other end. She pretended to be annoyed. “It’s not funny.”

“Was you wearing something nice?” he asked.

“Was? Still am,” she said giggling.

With this, they both started laughing. A relief washed over Caroline.

“You’re ok, yeah?” he asked.

“Uh huh,” Caroline said through a yawn.

“Keeping you up, are we?” he laughed.

Caroline was all flustered. Speaking to him made her feel this way. He had a way if making her feel…great.

“Fancy going online for a bit?” she asked. “Give me ten minutes to get out if my date clothes…”

David was laughing down the other end.

“Ok. Catch you in a bit.”

“Bye,” she said and hung up.

She ruffled her hair. Wandered into the bathroom and removed her make up. She undressed and put on her pyjamas and loaded up the laptop.

They chatted for over an hour. Most of which was David taking the Mickey, the rest of it was Caroline being shamelessly flirty. She loved it.

The next morning, her phone buzzed on the bedside table. It was a text from David.

‘Don’t forget our date tonight. Look forward to seeing you x’

Caroline smiled. Cheeky sod she thought.

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29 Responses to My Weekly Writing Challenge

  1. eddy says:

    I Wish I Hadn’t Done It

    I woke up late that morning,
    got out of the wrong side of the bed.
    It wasn’t a good day for me,
    especially considering that now I’m dead.

    In my hurry I got in the shower
    along with my brand new electric razor,
    but luckily it ran out of power
    before the cold water hit my head.

    For breakfast I ate an old muffin
    and washed it down with some sour milk.
    Almost got hit by some chuffing
    taxi driver, oh how I hate their ilk.

    The boss yelled at me for an hour
    only to tell me that they had to let me go.
    I got diarrhea to rival a pig’s scour
    but was cured by my doctor, Mr. Wilk.

    The thing that killed me at last,
    the thing you’re wondering I wish I hadn’t done,
    was to be late to a planned repast
    with my girl, instead of walking I should have run.

    She shot me a look so cold
    that it froze my blue black heart.
    “His heart just stopped” she was told.
    And now Mr. Wilk will have all the fun.

    • Wow! You have certainly returned to take up the challenge with a bang! I love this, Eddy. I have missed reading your poems and stories but this was certainly worth the wait. Thank you 🙂 I hope everything is well with you.

      • eddy says:

        Thanks a lot Esther. I was busy with moving house and a lot of freelance work. So all’s good. I surprised myself with this poem. It just came about on its own somehow.

  2. JasonMoody77 says:

    Oh no!
    The introduction makes it sound like its a tough read! Curse my not so clever, self-deprecating use of the term endure. 🙂

    • Don’t worry, Jason, people are reading it and enjoying it 🙂

      • JasonMoody77 says:

        Can I pick your brain Esther? How do you implement thoughts in 3rd person, and do you use italics or quotations?
        The net is awash with conflicting ideas. 🙂

      • I know, Jason and I’ve seen all sorts implemented in stories. I generally use italics. It’s generally accepted that quotations marks aren’t needed. You can also use a first person viewpoint for a character’s thoughts and put them in the present tense. I haven’t got a facility for italics here but the text inside the hash tags stand for the part in italics i.e. Sarah’s thoughts e.g.:

        Sarah looked at the man. #I don’t like the look of you# she thought. She turned away, hoping he didn’t stop.

        I hope that helps.

      • JasonMoody77 says:

        That’s brilliant. One last thing to pester you with. Is he thought/she thought compulsory, or does it just add clarity?

        That’s it, no more 🙂 Thanks!

      • JasonMoody77 says:

        Thanks for that. May I pester you with one more question?
        Is the insertion of he thought/she thought compulsory?
        Thanks again!

      • No, it isn’t but I tend to use it for the first thought so it’s clear and then it should be obvious each time you then use italics.

        Have a good weekend 🙂

      • To use italics in these comments, use open angle-bracket em close angle-bracket followed immediately by the text you want to italicise, followed by open angle-bracket /em close angle-bracket. Thus, if it works, Good heavens! What was that? (remove space inside the angle brackets to use) becomes Good heavens! What was that?

      • The comment about italics didn’t work, did it? That what comes of trying to combine advice with Sangria (or what is Rioja?) Either way, to produce Hello, type <em>Hello</>. For bold, replace ’em’ with ‘strong’

      • Thanks, Keith. It’s all good fun, isn’t it?!

      • Still not having a good day:
        The comment about italics didn’t work, did it? That what comes of trying to combine advice with Sangria (or what is Rioja?) Either way, to produce Hello, type <em>Hello</em>. For bold, replace ‘em’ with ‘strong’

  3. Talk about last minute inspiration. I was two-thirds through this, in a camp site on the Costa Brava, when a man with a Birmingham accent came and spoke to the dogs, then with us. He has a Catalan wife, has lived here for twelve years, is fluent in Spanish, German and English and acts as an interpreter in addition to his janitorial duties. Whoa thunk it?

    The camping trip

    “Hurry up, Jane, we’re all ready to go.” I know, I know, Mister Impatient, that’s me. But when I’m ready to go, I don’t like to hang about. I want to go.

    “Nearly ready. I’m just making sure we have everything we need for the week. Have you loaded your laptop and the wifi extender?”

    “Yes, Jane.”

    “And the dogs’ bowls, and food and treats and leads?”

    “Yes, Jane.”

    “And your medications?”

    “Yes, Jane.”

    “OK. I’m done. Dogs on board?”


    We climbed into the camper, started up, and set off. Five kilometres down the road, we turned back to collect the satnav. And the dogs. Minutes later, we were under way again.

    Our destination was a lakeside campsite, some six hours south of us, that we had visited once before. It was raining when we left, but the forecast for the lake area was clear skies and high temperatures. There was just the matter of the mountains we had to cross to get there.

    Of course, we could have avoided the mountains altogether. We could have taken the toll roads; that would have added cost both for the tolls and for the considerable extra distance involved, but it would have taken almost an hour off the journey. We decided, okay, I decided that we had more spare time than we had spare money, so we took the mountain route. The old camper doesn’t like steep hills too much, and spent a lot of that part of the journey threatening to overheat at any suggestion of use of the accelerator. We climbed the hills like a 1930s coach; slowly. But climb them we did. Four times we had to stop for the old girl to cool off – the camper, that is, not Jane.
    The six hours planned for the journey extended to seven, then to eight.

    We eventually reached our destination. The final few minutes were spent on a new road not in the satnav’s map, and the constant bickering from it was driving us nuts.

    “If that bloody machine tells us once more to turn back, I shall throw the damned thing through the window,” Jane said.

    I turned it off. “Best not,” I suggested, “we might need it to get home again.”

    That was met with a stern look and nothing else.

    As we entered the camp site, it was apparent that we had unwittingly chosen a busy period. Jane seemed annoyed.

    “Did you book our pitch?” she asked.

    “I meant to, but didn’t get around to it. Sorry.”

    “Sorry? Sorry? Will sorry find us a pitch when the place is packed? Will sorry give us somewhere to sleep for the night?”

    “Don’t worry, Jane. I’ll talk to the girl in reception and see if they can fit us in.”
    “Do that! And woe betide you if she can’t”

    The girl at the reception desk was French and, of course, spoke no English. She spoke with a strongly pronounced regional accent, the like of which I had heard before, but could never fathom. My French is okay when I’m talking to our neighbour about the weather, or buying groceries, but not here. Do I ask for an ‘emplacement’? Or is that just for tents? Should it be a ‘stationnement’, perhaps? I looked back at Jane, still sat outside in the camper. Her look said, “I don’t care. Just do it.”

    “Having trouble, mate?” a voice asked from behind me. I wasn’t sure how to respond. It took a couple of moments for it to sink in that the man was speaking in English, a language I could understand, even with a midlands twang.

    I told him briefly what had happened. He said something to the girl, which obviously fit the bill, as she passed me some papers with our pitch marked on a map of the site.

    On the way back to the camper the Englishman, who told me his name was Mike, said that he had lived in this area for more than ten years, and had been employed by the site as a kind of liaison for English- and German-speaking visitors, in addition to some janitorial duties.

    “Nice man,” I said to Jane as Mike walked off, presumably to help some other linguistically challenged camper.

    “Good job he was there,” she replied, ‘You would never have managed.”

    I wanted this to be a nice break for us, and the last thing I needed was an argument. However, we all have our breaking point, and mine had just been reached.

    “Will you ever give it a rest, Jane? Don’t you think I’ve been through enough today? I’ve driven this machine for eight hours, nursing it up hills it was never going to climb easily; we’ve had the satnav going stupid on us, then this damned place was full. OK, I should have booked in advance. OK, I should be better at French. But I didn’t and I’m not. That’s the reality and that’s what I have dealt with. We are here. We have our pitch. We are going to have a week here.

    “I love you, Jane. Really I do. Sometimes, though, when you are being this negative, and missing no opportunity to put me down, I find it difficult to like you.”

    As soon as I had uttered those words, I knew I shouldn’t have. Now, four years after that fateful holiday, sitting here on my own, out of work and penniless in a pokey little bedsit, I wish I hadn’t done it.

    • Great, Keith. I love the way your character wishes he hadn’t opened his mouth! A highly apt way to interpret ‘I wish I hadn’t done it’. Thank you, as always, for rising to the challenge 🙂

  4. JasonMoody77 says:

    Keith. Loved your story. It makes you wonder what happened in the years to follow.

  5. JasonMoody77 says:

    Here we go again…

    Curiosity killed Christmas

    Jamie was restless. He was sat up in bed with his lamp on. Sleep wasn’t an option for an over excited twelve year old. Not on Christmas Eve.

    He was also bored. This was a very bad thing. When Jamie was bored, this often led to mischief. And mischief was not a good thing. Not where Jamie was concerned.

    He would normally be sat infront of his console at this point, but he had already packed it away in anticipation of getting the new console for Christmas. He couldn’t wait.

    “Why on Earth have you packed away your video game, darling?” his Mother had asked.

    Playing coy, he thought. He never did understand adults.

    Mischief had taken hold. He was fidgety and just about ready to cause trouble. He gently opened his bedroom door, crept along the landing and made his way downstairs. He was very careful to avoid the third step from the top. This troublesome step had seen him caught three times in a month.

    He peered around ever corner, as if he was on a secret mission. In a way, he was. So secret, his parents must never find out.

    He reached the lounge and gently pushed the door open.

    The tree lit up the room. But he wasn’t interested in the tree. His eyes focused on the pile of presents underneath the tree. He counted; there were eight for him. This, he thought, was a good year.

    He got down on his knees. He immediately picked up the biggest box that was his. This had to be it. He picked it up; the weight was good. The shape of the box was correct. This had to be it.

    A naughty thought entered his head. It wouldn’t hurt to have a little peek, would it?

    With that, he carefully started to remove the wrapping from one end.
    With one end open, he turned the parcel to face him and looked in.

    His face dropped and the excitement from moments previous evaporated. His insides felt like they would melt. Right then, the most un-boy like thing happened; he started to cry. The tears tickled as they ran down his face. He felt instantly ashamed.

    This wasn’t what he had expected. All the hints, lots of nagging and all he got was this?

    A pair of roller blades. He didn’t even like rollerblading. He’d never once expressed a desire to own rollerblades. What would he do, with rollerblades?

    He tried very hard not to feel ungrateful. It wasn’t working. Rollerblades?

    He jumped to his feet, sniffing back a few tears. leaving the parcel open, he turned and left the room.

    He carefully made his way back up the stairs. This time he wore an expression of utter detestation. He reached his room and entered.

    He turned off his lamp and tried to sleep.

    He woke suddenly. A mans voice carried from downstairs.

    “Jamie Roberts, you get down here this instant ”

    He knew exactly what had happened. He was moments away from a rather good telling off.

    He sat up and buried his head in his hands. He pulled his hands down over his face and sighed.
    I wish I hadn’t done it, he thought

  6. JasonMoody77 says:

    Cheers 🙂 I had fun writing this. It’s pretty much me, minus the opening the present bit!

  7. Ayo says:

    Mariam touched her stomach looking bemused, “How can these happen? What is this? At this time? I can’t afford any speed bumps now.”

    She got up from the bed and started pacing,shaking her head as if that would make things clearer.

    “I have school to finish and my new business to start off, I can’t even afford to feed myself properly,my take home hasn’t been taking me home for some time.”
    She looked up to the ceiling, “Why are you doing this to me?”, but she didn’t get any response,not that she expected to.

    In a bid to control her agitation she started folding the laundry she had left on the chair two days ago.
    She considered having the test done again, this time in a clinic but because it would involve some money and in her present financial position the thought wasn’t appealing. She had taken a home pregnancy test and the result was positive. Just the week before she had broken up with Andrew,had practically thrown him out of her room,the cheating so and so.

    As the full understanding of her predicament dawned on her she threw herself on the bed and wept. She couldn’t give full vent to her tears because she didn’t want Madam Eavesdropper across the hall to hear her crying. The jobless old woman whose sole purpose in life seemed to be prowling the corridors and listening at keyholes. She was never embarrassed to ask questions even those that clearly showed she had been listening where she shouldn’t have been.

    Mariam realized that her tears wouldn’t change the problem and she would be late for work if she didn’t hurry. Her boss had already warned her once this week about tardiness and she couldn’t afford to lose any part of her pay, not with this.

    She started dressing up and then realized she had folded the dress she had put out to wear to work. She shook it out,it was now a bit wrinkled but she didn’t care. Her world had stopped,it had come to a crashing stop and she couldn’t care less what anyone thought of her wrinkled clothes.

    She couldn’t remember if Andrew had used any protection,they were both tipsy and in a hurry but she had had confidence in her own prevention thing and now it had failed. The last glass of wine was the culprit, she still had a semblance of sanity before that glass and if she had listened to Irene she wouldn’t have taken the glass Andrew offered.

    “I wish I hadn’t done it, I shouldn’t have taken that glass.” She lamented.

  8. Jasdeep Kaur says:

    The Apple Orchard

    Not very far from my cousin’s village, there was an apple orchard full of juicy red apples. But the strange part was that no child tried to steal an apple from there. Yes it was strange. Who can resist mouth watering fruits and the fun to take them off a protected, fenced land? Not a mischievous kid like me.

    That evening, I had decided to explore. But my cousin warned, “Don’t go there. It’s guarded by some magic.”

    “Magic..ha,” I said, “I don’t believe. Say that you are coward and afraid of being caught.”

    My cousin got enraged. He said, “Go, put your hand in tiger’s mouth. I don’t care and I won’t stop you.”

    I went to the orchard and looked around, but couldn’t find anyone; no guard, no magician. I opened the gate cautiously and sneaked inside.

    I got horrified with the shrill voice, “Hey you, what are you doing there. I turned around to see. He was my cousin’s neighbour. I knew he would take me back, so I scuttled in. He was still calling me, “Come back, it’s not safe. Come…”

    I stopped when I couldn’t hear him anymore. I was in the heart of the orchard now. It was far more beautiful than I imagined. The apples gleamed among the leaves and the branches swayed as if making them sleep. I approached a branch that was wilted, may be, because it was heavy with so many apples on it. I could not hold the temptation to taste, and yanked an apple.

    With a flash, it turned into a boy. “Thank you for freeing me,” he said.

    Before I could react, I got converted into an apple and got stuck to the branch, at the same place. I cried, “Help, help, help….”

    A voice resounded in the orchard, “No one will. You are enslaved till a brat like you comes to steal an apple and pulls you.” I kept on crying and screaming, but no one came.

    Even after a decade, I call for help, and with every passing moment, I wish I hadn’t done it.

    • I thoroughly enjoyed this, Jasdeep. I didn’t know what was going to happen so your story kept me reading on right to the strong ending. You have a way of thinking outside the box and creating original, captivating stories. 🙂

  9. Jasdeep Kaur says:

    Thanks a lot! I am so pleased you liked it!

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