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About This Author
Well, hello. I’m still testing this.
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Angel Feathers
November 3, 2025 at 5:32am November 3, 2025 at 5:32am
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He watches ghastly headlines unfold from sheltered nursing home
Silently thanking God for preserving him from death on foreign soil.
Fears gnaw inside: America, land he would have died for,
Is nearly unrecognizable under tyranny's hobnailed boot.
Where is freedom to exist,
to live and work in peace?
Why is tear gas unleashed recklessly
on humans young and old?
Did Big Tech fund East Wing wreckage
for sinister reasons? (Duh…)
What becomes of a country's conscience,
overridden by a crooked constable?
Nurse steps in, saying he watches too much news.
None of that concerns you, she reminds him.
You've done your part, your best. The Lord will handle the rest.
Pray and give thanks. You're safe with us.
Satisfied, he reaches for his Bible, nodding off in faith.
17 lines, 129 words
Free verse
Written for "Honoring Our Veterans - Challenge" 
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November 11, 2025 at 1:04am November 11, 2025 at 1:04am
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Winnie the Pooh was awakened one morning by an urgent knocking at his door. He sat up, rubbing sand out of his eyes. His clock was stuck at half-past smackerel time, but it was too early for visitors. Stumbling to the door, he found Owl, still wearing a nightcap, his feathers tousled.
“There’s an emergency on our hands!”
Pooh checked his paws to see if they were sticky.
“I don't see any Merjensee on mine,” he said, puzzled. “Is that like Marmalade?”
“No indeed! A hurricane's coming. We must convene a consortium – formulate a plan of action.”
“I'm sorry, Owl…” Pooh scratched his head. “I'm a Bear of little Brain. Big words confuse me. What is a hurry-cane?”
“It’s a big whirling storm. We have to check on everyone.” Owl flapped his wings. “Come help!”
“Certainly. But…” Pooh looked past Owl's shoulder at the bright sunshine filtering through autumn leaves. “The weather looks lovely. How do you know there's a storm coming?’
“It’s in my almanac.”
Owl waved a thick, yellowed paperback in the air, taking off in search of Piglet. Pooh followed, pausing to snatch a honeypot from his pantry.
One by one, they gathered their friends to Owl's treehouse for a meeting.
“What's happening?” Piglet asked, ears quivering.
“I knew it was hurricane weather.” Eeyore shook his head. “We're doomed.”
“We'll be alright, dear,” Kanga soothed.
“Hoo-hoo-hoo!” Tigger bounced on his springy tail. “Are hurricanes good bouncing weather?”
“How absurd,” Rabbit grumbled. “I must prepare my home for the storm. No time to lollygag!”
Pooh sat beside Piglet, not saying anything because his mouth was full of honey. Owl cleared his throat, perching on his front porch railing in the tree. He adjusted his glasses, flipped through the almanac and announced his findings.
“According to expert calculations, a hurricane is scheduled to arrive tomorrow afternoon. Gale-force winds, torrential rains – an increased probability of rising floodwaters and downed trees. All precautions must be taken accordingly.”
Pooh raised a sticky paw.
“Where should we take the precautions to?”
“Do they stay with us during the hurry-cane?” Piglet asked.
“There is no need to fret,” Owl declared, authoritatively gruff. “Allow me to explain the accepted protocols…”
Just when Pooh was dozing off while Owl lectured, Christopher Robin appeared. He raised an eyebrow at the group's anxious expressions.
“What's wrong? Did Eeyore lose his tail again?”
“There's a hurricane coming!” Rabbit harrumphed. “Tell Owl I need to go batten down my hatches!”
“Really? I haven't heard.”
Owl showed him the almanac. Christopher Robin studied it carefully. He laughed and ran a hand through Owl's head feathers.
“Silly bird, this almanac is three years old! There isn't any hurricane at all. If there was, I would know.”
Owl looked around, coughing awkwardly.
“Oh dear me… Well, at least now we know how to prepare for one.”
“We do?” Pooh sat up straight again, feeling important.
“Let’s go play Poohsticks.” Christopher Robin waved everyone along the wooded path. “Remember, if there's a storm, I'll keep you all safe.”
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November 15, 2025 at 1:29am November 15, 2025 at 1:29am
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How come he was always chosen for everything? Just because he's better-looking than me doesn't mean he knows how to catch jewel thieves. I've been a detective longer than he has.
But no, they pass over me, Dave, the guy with the scar and the brains, and opt for Wayne, the guy with neither scar nor brains. He's the kind everyone will say when he dies, “oh, his smile lit up the room! He'd give you the shirt off his back!” Like having a golden retriever as a guard dog.
“Hey Dave, what's the matter?” Wayne interrupted my grumpy reverie, leaning over my desk with a coffee cup. “You look especially sour today. Why, even your frown is wearing a frown!”
I couldn't help laughing. He means well, I suppose.
“I'm afraid you aren't smart enough to outsmart the guys behind these heists,” I said bluntly.
No one ever told me I suffered from indirectness. He raised an eyebrow.
“What, you thought I'd be going it alone? Your assistance is an indispensable part of the plan!”
“Really? Now you're talking.”
And that's how we ended up prowling the Louvre at about a quarter to one in the morning, dodging security lasers and sleepy guards. Our mission: test the system to ensure it was working optimally. A thrill of excitement slipped through my veins as I imagined this must be how thieves feel when they're about to make off with the biggest heist of the century.
We stood at last in front of the national treasures, glittering under eerie red Exit signs. The AC hummed, maintaining perfect climate control. Wayne pulled a wrench out of his sack. The fact we'd gotten this far was alarming, really. I glanced around furtively, expecting a guard to come running with floodlights at any moment.
Just as Wayne was about to shatter the glass and grab the goods, heavy footsteps sounded in the outer hallway. We ducked behind the display case. A flashlight's narrow, concentrated beam sliced through the shadows with dangerous precision. It was a guard in uniform… But holding a crowbar and a sack. The Exit signs winked out. I guessed by the sudden silence of the air conditioning, that someone must've shut off the electricity.
This guard smashed his way into the crown jewels, swept them into his sack and prepared to leave. Wayne jumped to his feet,
“Hey, boss,” he gruffed, “you forgot the most important thing!”
Startled, the guy turned to see who it was. Wayne tackled him to the floor while I radioed for backup. Who knew an inside job was brewing under our noses?
Back at the office, we shared a good laugh over things. I guess Wayne makes a good partner after all. Sometimes, it takes two.
Words: 460.
Written for: "Starting Stories"
Prompt sentence highlighted in yellow.
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November 17, 2025 at 5:06am November 17, 2025 at 5:06am
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Dear Mom and Dad,
I'm writing from a Gardai station in Dublin. Abdullah is being detained, and as his younger sister I'm obligated to stay with him here. Our host parents, Professor and Mrs. Naik, are here with us, trying to get it straightened out, as, inshallah, it will be. They're wonderful, devout Muslims like us; alhamdullilah, you chose well.
I've greatly enjoyed seeing Ireland's beautiful cathedrals and castles and emerald green countryside. It's so different from Minnesota, especially this time of year.
Unfortunately, we've discovered some of the native Irish people are angry with us. It wasn't anything we did, dear parents; I can assure you we are entirely innocent of any wrongdoing.
It all started when Mrs. Naik suggested we visit the Halal meat market in downtown Dublin, combining a shopping trip with some sightseeing. Of course I thought it was a lovely idea, and Abdullah agreed. We walked along, past booths of Moroccan foods and Persian rugs, and everything was going smoothly until we ran into a group of protestors clogging the streets. They waved signs and shouted in English and Gaelic,
“Ireland for the Irish setters!”
“Send the exotic animals back to Arabia!”
“Save our heritage!”
I clung to Abdullah as we tried to sidestep the throngs of people.
“Why are they so upset?”
“Someone set two hundred hungry camels loose in the Cathedral,” Mrs. Naik explained, shaking her head. “Emotions are running high.”
“Oh heavens, that's terrible!” I gasped. “But they can't blame Muslims and immigrants for such a crime.”
“It's easy to scapegoat those who are different.”
A cluster of young men blocked our path on the sidewalk, yelling and jeering.
“You're smuggling invasive species!”
“Are we riding camels?” Abdullah demanded.
“We're being taken over by Arabian dune mice with a penchant for Guinness. They're putting our pubs out of business!”
“We have nothing to do with that. My sister and I are American exchange students.”
“Oh yeah?” One guy jabbed his sign at me and Mrs. Naik. “You're hiding more of them inside your scarves! I can tell.”
I shrank back, trying to pull my hijab tighter to show him there couldn't be any hidden creatures under it. Abdullah stepped squarely in front of him.
“You stop harassing us. We aren't carrying any live contraband!”
The men weren't convinced. Things escalated from there, until we got caught in a tangle of Garda officers trying to quell the rioters, who were throwing shamrocks and green glitter bombs.
One officer skidded to a halt and grabbed Abdullah by the glitter-stained shirt.
“Hey, I recognize you! You're the guy who's been scattering millions of petitions to outlaw pork all over the streets. We need to take you in for littering!”
The Gardai hauled all three of us to the station, despite our protestations. When we arrived, I was so relieved to see a lady in a hijab sitting at the desk! I didn't expect Muslim ladies to be working as Gardai.
Even with Fatima's kindness and understanding, each of us had to be interviewed in a separate room to get our statements and verify our identities. I waited a long while, alone in the lobby, for Mrs. Naik and Abdullah to finish. While I waited, there was this young red-headed Irish lad who tried to cheer me up, or at least I assume his intentions were positive.
“Why so sad, lassie?”
I told him what happened, and he shook his head.
“Now who would suspect a pretty lass like you of being illegal?”
He had such a charming brogue, and his eyes sparkled with the cheerful mischief of a leprechaun. He extended a hand.
“Would you care to visit my favorite pub with me while the Gardai get your affairs in order?”
I pulled back, dismayed at the idea of going to a bar with a strange man – how much would that offend Allah! I bowed my head and tried to think of something to say…
“Sean O'Donoghue!” Fatima spoke sharply. “Remember what we discussed in the diversity workshop? You don't ask Muslim exchange students out to the pub!”
“When in Ireland, do as the Irish do,” he mumbled.
She rolled her eyes, shooed him away, and apologized for his offensiveness. While we talked, Mrs. Naik appeared from her interview, shaken and teary eyed.
“I'm afraid Abdullah has been detained for further investigation. They say his name matched with a suspect who spray-painted inshallah five thousand times in the crosswalks. I tried to explain, but they won't listen. There must be some mistake.”
“Oh, heavens! What will we do? We can't leave without him!”
When you get this message, dear parents, please call the Gardai station ASAP (ask for Fatima) and assure them of our legitimacy. Professor Naik is here helping, but his absent-mindedness prevents him from providing an alibi for Abdullah, which the Commissioner thinks is as suspicious as corned beef and cabbage with a side of hummus.
Indeed, he is now threatening to exile us all to a cloistered life on the Isle of Man – males to the monastery, females to the convent. Make haste, or it may be too late. My manuscript illuminating skills have never been especially good.
Sincerely,
Your beloved daughter, Layla
PS. Just kidding, Mom and Dad! Abdullah and I will be home for the holidays… Inshallah!
Words: 880.
Written for "The Bard's Hall Contest"
Prompt and AI Advice ▼
A Dear Mom/Dad letter arrives home from a college exchange student visiting another country. (Your choice of country.)
What went wrong there?
Must parents send bail money? Money to extend stay? Money for a ticket back home?
( Set it up good for a humorous ending.)
RULES:
 Must be a New story up to 1000 words. (Place Word Count top or bottom of story)
Make it humorous from an unbelievable OR shocking setup in the body of the letter. Place in: (Comedy genre /subgenre)
The GOTCHA!
At the end of the letter put in a P.S. and say ...Just kidding, Mom/Dad! I'll be home for the Holidays!
Full disclosure: my first draft was painfully serious. I showed it to ChatGPT, asking for advice on humor and cultural sensitivity, and made suggested improvements which were in no way written by AI. You can read the complete conversation here, along with its evaluation of my second draft: " Humor Advice from ChatGPT"
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© Copyright 2025 Amethyst Snow Angel (UN: greenwillow at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Amethyst Snow Angel has granted InkSpot.Com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
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My review is based on professional editing points. It is meant to be honest, encouraging, and respectful in accordance with WDC guidelines.
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