Sorry about this, its late and I’m in Bulgaria on holiday, drinking far too much and neglecting my writing, so here it is, late.

Mysterious Me

There are 4 variants, choose any.

#1. ‘Mysterious 3’.
Open the kitchen shelves in your house. Pick 3 objects you see. Write a mystery-story including those 3 objects.
#2. ‘Mysterious Me’.
You woke up on the street with the lost memory (amnesia). What would you do?
#3. ‘Mystery Recipe’.
Write the recipe/or the preparation of the Mystery Dish.
#4. Solve the mystery (of the universe, of Mona Lisa, of the lost glove, of always disappearing chocolate brownies…). 
Or simply include the word ‘mystery in your text.
Do not forget: LINK/or pingback to this post (if you like)!


I’m sitting there licking the dirt from the balls of my hands, I’m rubbing them on my T-shirt it’s grubby, and my stench is somehow familiar.

I can hear the rushing water of a river from somewhere below and I can see daylight through the aperture of the tube or tunnel I am in. Legs of a jogger rush past. This is all very confusing.

I can not stand up for the tunnel is too small and so I crawl tentatively towards the light, as I near the exit the vista grows and I can see the cobbled street of a quiet settlement, a terrace of multi coloured sun bleached  cottages comes into view. Here I pause hidden, I hope, in the shadowy darkness of my oval haven. I am reluctant to enter the light, terrified of what might find me as I re-emerge into the world, I’m sure I’ve been in this world before.

The street is dappled with groups of people going about their business, far too caught up in their own lives to bother with a shabby character like myself. As I lower my self down onto the cobbles my condition becomes apparent to myself and anyone else who cares to notice. Red Jeans ripped and bloodstained browny purple at both knees, my feet dark with ingrained dirt, the nails cracked and a dusty yellow. My hands are rubbing my thighs gently and I feel a shape inside my pocket, digging my hand in I pull out a white cassette.

In slightly smudged blue marker pen are the words

“Play me”




    • That’s right. I just read a great story today by Haruki Murakami, it’s a reverse of Kafka’s metamorphosis when a giant bug wakes up to find himself changed into a human, really clever stuff from my fave author, upon waking up he has to work out what he has to do, like amnesia I guess


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