Monday Motivations

Here’s a new writing challenge for you, this fine Monday (well, drizzly Monday where I am. I hope it’s sunny where you are):

Write a story or poem on any of the following themes:

  • Secrets
  • Fame
  • Music

Here are last week’s themes:

  • Euphoria
  • Heat
  • Cake

Here are your wonderful creations based on these writing prompts:

Lynn Love has writing an amazing piece of writing. Please visit her site to read it:

Steve Walsky has written a feel-good poem:

Sarah Evans has written a mouthwatering offering:


Cake is what I love to eat,
It is so sticky, it is so sweet.

Homemade cake is best of all,
Fruits or pastries, it’s your call.

Soft sponges are my heart’s delight,
Oozing pleasures with every bite.

Syrup, Ice-cream, custard sauce,
It’s up to you to choose, of course.

Custard and ice-cream go together,
for the most enjoyable of pleasure.

Afterwards, your belly is full,
From savouring every yummy mouthful.

Geoff Le Pard always brings something a little different to the table:

Robert Griffiths has written another super true-life piece:

 Cake and heat         2015

Midsummer at last. Winter had been long, cold and uncomfortable. Spring had been soft, warm and colourful, but now, hot summer, the best time of the year for me. The sun had been up radiating in a clear azure blue sky, cloudless and sparkling. No coat needed today. I was shaved, dressed in shorts, t-shirt and ready to go out for my usual summer walk into town.

I was down the stairs and out by mid-day. I was determined to skirt along the river then up and into the town centre. The thought of a good cup of coffee in the Brioche café speeded me along. The walk along the river was calm and several benches helped me rest along the way. The sun’s irresistible hot rays starting to burn. I went from seat to seat, no shade. I wallowed in the warmness. I continued up the small lanes that lead into town, past a vast fountain and through an arch, towards the centre and that strong black coffee. Around me the people enjoyed the sweltering temperatures as much as me. The glass fronted shops reflected the suns yellow light. Small well-dressed ladies perched inside the windows, dressing their showcases and stands with the same care they dressed themselves and their small children. Further down I passed the chapel that holds the corrida club’s weekly meeting of revellers gulping the local wine. Bull fighting, I don’t mind, but I don’t drink so I never join them. At the corner, I took a sharp left, and there a hundred yards in front of me, my café. Small tables and chairs stood outside. I noticed the one nearest the entrance door had a round parasol that gave the small table and chair under it shade. A very big, fat Buddha shaped man sat at the table with a huge cake and a cup of coffee in front of him and a spare chair facing him. That’s lucky, I thought, a chair in the shade. It was getting much too hot to sit in the sun. I approached him and behind him in the doorway stood the young, small, neat and pretty waitress, always happy with kind greetings and smiles for me. As I got nearer the fat man both his arms encircled his cup and cake. I pointed to the chair opposite him,

‘Can I sit here?’ I asked.

He looked up at me and his bulging watery eyes narrowed.

‘No, you can’t!’  he answered and pulled his cake and cup closer to his rotund belly. The smile disappeared from my little waitress’ face. I would have to sit in the sun which was now fierce. I sat down at a table in front of ‘Buddha’, with no shade over my head, the sun’s sunrays cooking me. My waitress appeared and I ordered coffee and cake. She walked back inside throwing ‘Buddha’ a disdainful glance and slightly shaking her head. Within seconds she reappeared and placed my coffee and cake in front of me and then from her tray she lifted a glass of cold water with ice cubes floating on the top and placed it beside my cup.

As she past ‘Buddha’ she picked up his half-eaten cake and walked into the shop. He lifted his arm in protest, she threw his cake into the bin and walked back and picked up his small round table and carried it inside as well. He was left sitting looking very isolated and forlorn. I thought of the words of Marie Antoinette, when she was told the peasants were starving.

 ‘Let them eat cake!’ she said. They cut off her head. Well, I thought, ‘Buddha’ won’t be eating cake, and as he was sweating in heated perfusion and eyeing my iced water, I lifted my glass, said ‘Cheers’ and drank the glass dry, picked up the last of my cake and put it into my mouth and set off into the heat and home.        

Now here’s Rajiv Chopra with his next instalment in the Mary Jane series:

Matters were coming to a head, as three sets of protagonists, and one pair of Hobbits raced off to a common destination. How it came to pass, that all of them would arrive at the same destination, and at the same time (almost), will never be known. However, I Loki, have been a cynical buff of movies and, let’s just say that I willed them towards this dramatic face-off. I did creep into Batman’s head, and try to warn him to stay away from the standoff. I am, if nothing else, kind. The man would not listen. Why is it that we let ego get in our way? Why must we blind ourselves to the wisdom of warnings, well intended?

Still, the game had to be played out, and it will be played out till the bitter end. But, enough of me. Let’s get on with the story.

Mary Jane and Harley Quinn sat by the pier just outside the Black Pub. They were quaffing some cold beer. The heat of the dying sun warmed their bodies, as they sat contemplating their next actions. Neither had a clear plan of action in their minds, but were sure that they would prevail in the battle that was to follow. Strange things happen in the heat of the moment, and they were more than capable of crazy innovation when needed. That is when they were usually at their most dangerous. A rickety old van bumped up along the road, and came to a screeching, if inelegant halt in front of them.

They heard a banging noise coming from inside the car, and sarcastic smiles crossed their faces. Finally, a door of the van fell off, and out fell The Joker. Spiderman emerged from the other door, evil in his eyes.

Dusting himself off, The Joker started prancing around like a madman, screaming, “Euphoria, Euphoria!”

“Eureka, you idiot,” replied Harley Quinn. “Have you never heard of Archimedes?”

“Euphoria, you scheming little bitch,” replied The Joker, giggling. “We meet again, and ‘euphoria’ describes me best now, as we send you wenches to your painful demise.” He cackled like a madman having a fit.

“Well, we shall see about hat, won’t we?” smirked Mary Jane. “We shall see.”

As the four stood there facing each other, another van, a black one, screeched to a halt, and out came Batman and Poison Ivy. Batman reached back inside, and yanked the two Hobbits out. They fell in an ungainly heap on the road, and were left to contemplate their fate in misery.

“So, this is the bitch you are with, eh Batty?” snarled Harley Quinn. She did love Mary Jane, but a slight twinge of jealousy went through her, nevertheless. She stood there, gazing at Poison’s taut figure, and auburn hair. Despite herself, she felt the heat rising though her loins.

“Leave her,” screamed Mary Jane, anger and confusion writ all over her face. She did not expect this from Harley, and it unsettled her.

Spiderman and Batman stood facing each other, neither speaking a word. Mary Jane and Harley Quinn were screaming at each other; and Poison Ivy stood there, malice written all over her face.

The Sun crashed like a fiery ball into the horizon, and the heat from its dying flames seemed to set the water on fire.

That is when it happened. No – that is when I made it happen! There was a crash and a boom, and fog of thick, acrid smoke filled the air.

When it faded away, all that was left, were the two Hobbits and Poison Ivy lying on the street. A bearded old man in a black, shimmering coat sat by the pier, with a woman in a gown next to him. Her hair flowed down to her shoulders, and her red lips stood out starkly from her white face. They were an incongruous couple indeed.

The old man sat there, munching a moldy old cake, and muttering “Delicious” under his breath.

Picking out a raisin from the cake, he contemplated it and, then looked across at the three lying on the floor.

“Poof,” was all he said. Then, he stood up and pirouetted.



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11 Responses to Monday Motivations

  1. Rajiv says:

    Hmmm…. Let’s see which way I go

  2. DrEMiller says:

    Reblogged this on Write of Passage and commented:
    Monday Motivations from Esther Newton. Sorry this is so late in the day–my email went on the fritz!
    Esther, thank you!!

  3. Pingback: The Musician: A Monday Motivations Flash Fiction – Clockwork Clouds

  4. Rajiv says:

    Yoo Hoo!! Here I am… and, read till the end!

    “Poof……. Poof …….. Poof!” The word had such a marvelous and magical ring to it. “Poof!”, and suddenly, Batman, Mary Jane and Harley Quinn had disappeared! The Old Man thought that he had made them disappear, but no – it was I, Loki, who mad them disappear and vanish into thin air.
    Where have they gone? Are they dead? Maybe. Wait. Death would be too kind, too easy for them. No, no, no.
    Death, my old friend, and I have had many long walks and talks together, yet it is not time for me to give them over to him. Oh no. I am too selfish for that. They are mine, and where they are, is my secret. It is mine, and it is for me alone to devise the little tortures and chastisements that I have in mind for them. They must suffer until I decide to bring them back.
    So, little reader, let me keep my secret in the dark and hidden recesses of my soul. Don’t attempt to pry open my secrets, and I won’t attempt to pry open yours. You see, I am Loki, I am the Game Player, the Trickster, the Puppet Master. It is I who pull the strings, write the stories, and everyone dances to my tune.
    So, let them be. Let them burn, and let their souls burn in the little tortures and punishments that I have dreamed up and, I shall dance to the music of the raging fires that shall roast them alive.
    Hee! Hee! Hee! Yes, me – Loki. I am indeed the Master of the Game!
    Now, let me turn your attention to the figures we have left, frozen, on the street below us. The Hobbits. Yes, they too were destined to disappear, but someone old and ancient pleased their cause. In the mercy of my heart – the mercy that defines me – I I have spared them. You see, I, Loki, am The Merciful One.
    Poison Ivy. Hmmm, she is a delectable little angel, and I am sure that The Old Man will like her and teach her a few things that she will adore.
    Who is The Old Man, and who is The Wench next to him? He is old indeed, almost as old as ancient history. His fame had spread far and wide in the land where he lived, and dangerous foes had been sent to stop him.
    Hee! Hee! Hee!! Now, it is time for me to withdraw. It is indeed time for him to rise again, and for you to learn a little about his alternate history.
    Wait, my friends, wait. Wait, with bated breath for his history. Let us see which direction she, who is known as Esther, would like me to take you.
    Wait, my friends, wait…

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