Multiple Word Prompt Story – A Paragon of Vocal Virtue.

This story was written in response to a challenge set by Esther Chilton on her blog:

The challenge was to write a story, poem or limerick about my favourite songs or artists.

The story was also inspired by the following word prompts:

A Paragon of Vocal Virtue

The auditions were not going well. They had already listened to a number of wannabees who, frankly, should have stayed at home. They weren’t even up to Karaoke standard, they couldn’t hold a tune let alone perform the classics that they mangled with impunity.

He’d had to listen to a performance of “Baby, Love”, that would have made Diana Ross turn in her grave if she occupied it; he’d have to google that later and check.

Then a young man tried his best to sing Nat King Cole’s “Unforgettable”, one of his favourite songs and in Ironic fashion, he’d forgotten the performance already.

And those were the half decent ones, the rest were complete dross.

In a rather petulant manner, he crossed his legs and wriggled his right foot in the air and shouted “NEXT!”

A large, voluptuous woman walked up on stage. She was dressed in a classic 50’s or 60’s style with her hair in a beehive and her eyeliner thickly applied and with a stylish flick at the end. Her dress was a fitted gown in emerald green which showed off her ample curves. Waiflike she was not, but she had a touch of glamour that he admired, in a non-sexual way. If she’d appeared on stage naked and riding a unicycle he wouldn’t have been physically attracted, but he could appreciate her energy and style.

She stopped mid-stage and looked out blindly at the lights.

“I’m going to sing a song made famous by Ella Fitzgerald. Now, brace yourself” She said. Her voice was warm and rich, it carried effortlessly to him at the back of the hall, without sounding forced.

He sat back in the chair and waited for her to start, smiling at her comment to ‘brace yourself’.

Then she slowly moved her arms up either side of her and breathed in, when her hands were level with her head, she let rip. The force of her voice as she sang “Halleluiah” nearly knocked him off his perch.

She gave a wonderful rendition of the song “Get Happy” and while she belted out the song she moved gently across the stage and clicked her fingers in time to the music. It was the most professional performance he had witnessed in some time. It was clearly abundant that he had, at long last, found someone he could put forward.

He wasn’t the type of man to vacillate. He knew what he wanted and rarely changed his mind.

When she finished her performance, he applauded and she blushed.

“Thank you. I’ve prepared some more if you’d like to hear it” She said, slightly out of breath.

“Yes, please, I’d be delighted to hear more” He responded with enthusiasm.

She then gave a rendition of Doris Day’s song “Secret Love” that sent shivers up and down his spine.

This was followed by a version of Karen Carpenter’s “We’ve only just begun.”

Her voice, though always her own, seemed to adapt perfectly to the song and style that she’d chosen to sing. It developed the soft velvety tones that Doris Day was famous for, then the warm clarity that Karen Carpenter’s voice possessed.

He sat enraptured by the paragon of vocal virtue. He was the harshest of critics but this voice had won over even his stone hard heart.

When she finished, he stood up and gave her a full standing ovation.

This was going to be the best talent competition the village of Lower Wallop had seen for many a year.

The End


Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 04/October/2018

50 Word Thursday #21 – A Dainty Hand

Debbie Whittam has set a challenge to write a poem or story in 50 words, or multiples of 50 up to a maximum of 250 words, inspired by a picture and include some particular lines.

Here is the story I wrote last week:

Here is this weeks picture.


Here are the words:

Which presumably made his hostess the lady of the manor.

Stephanie Laurens’ The Brazen Bride

Here is my story:


He saw the rocks and the sea and couldn’t resist jumping in. A sign said “Private Property” and he saw in the distance a large manor house, but this gave him no pause. He didn’t believe in the privileged classes and if he wanted to swim, he would.

Removing his outer garments, he ignored the fact that there was a rescue ring nailed to a post.

The moment he entered the waters he realised why. The hidden currents pulled him this way, then that and a strong wave bashed his head against a rock. He lost consciousness.

The next moment he was lying on a very comfortable bed, with a golden canopy above him. He was naked under the covers and the cotton sheets were softer than anything he’d ever had next to his skin.

A delicate, dainty hand held his.

He turned his head and saw the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. Her blond hair was piled elaborately on top of her perfectly formed head. Her satin robe glistened in the light of the fire and the candles in their silver candelabra. Money was clearly abundant in this house.

The door opened and a servant dressed in livery of red and gold with a powdered wig on his head came and whispered to the lady holding his hand, which presumably made his hostess the lady of the manor. He couldn’t hear what passed between them.

She got up and left and He closed his eyes and slept.


Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 04/October/2018


Wednesday evening reading – My Fantasy Story Part 16

This is the next instalment of the fantasy story I wrote many years ago.

I still haven’t got a title for it, so if you can think of a good one, let me know in the comments. 🙂

If you would like to read it from the start, this is the first part:

Part Sixteen

A High-Mage stood up from one of the side benches and indicated he wished to speak. 

The High Sorcerer gestured to him giving him permission to address the gathering. 

“My Name is High-Mage Deverazza and I am the representative for the land of Torza in the far north-west. Many of us from the far off reaches of the Empire are not aware of what this War in the Land of Re’aldorin was all about and why they no longer have a High-Mage representative on this assembly.”

“Very well” The High sorcerer pointed at Sorceror Kaprical “Please enlighten our members of the event that took place two decades ago in the Land of Re’aldorin, but For goodness sake, Keep it brief!”

“Yes High Sorcerer. The Land of Re’aldorin was itself once an empire ruled by the Emperor Cadrusill. He ruled in name only because his ancestor, Emperor Aldorian the first wanted to unite all the individual kingdoms between the two rivers or Galveria and Armeria under his control and enlisted the Red Magehood to help him. At the time when the problem started the man in charge of running Re’aldorin was the High-Mage Beckerman. He was a fighter-Mage rather than the usual Diplomat. This was because Re’aldorin had been experiencing a few minor uprisings, nothing major but it was felt that a stronger, heavier hand was required. Beckerman’s heavy-handed methods and his failure to introduce much-needed social reforms turned the minor uprisings into a full rebellion that ultimately lead to the downfall and death of the ruling dynasty and much of the upper aristocracy. The old powers, including the Red Magehood, was overthrown and a new military regime took over, known as the Red Army. They now regard Mages as highly dangerous and in most of that land Magic is Illegal. The loss of that land, on the Southern boundary of our territory was devastating. Going back to the prophecy that I mentioned earlier. We know that a great Catastrophe will soon be upon us and resulting from this the Purple Magehood and the other Dark Orders will flourish. This catastrophic event is likely to be linked to the prophecy. This coming of a new powerful Mage. For this reason we sent out envoys to all corners of the world to try to trace this gifted Child of Prophecy. The new mage must either be held captive and controlled or guided so that they become a weapon that we can use in our favour, or else exterminated for the good of the Red Magehood.”

Tiberius Dinantius, The High sorcerer rolled his eyes in dramatic fashion and spoke.

“You have a remarkable ability for explaining in painful detail. Now do you have anything new to report on this issue?”

Carnelius Kaprical looked embarrassed. “Well, no, not as such.”

Suddenly the Sorceress Magda Rubicunda, the head of the Foreign and diplomatic service stood up. Her aura seemed to dominate the room. She was a large and imposing woman.

“Actually I have High Sorcerer.” After receiving a nod from the man in the Dragon Throne, she continued. “One of my most faithful envoys has sent me a report that he has encountered a young recruit with the most tremendous potential.”

She was interrupted by another Man in Sorcerer’s robes. Rhodan Cardax was in charge of the Mage Army. His deep and sinister voice struck fear into the hearts of his enemies and had a reputation to match. 

“Which of your envoys reported this information Magda? We, in this assembly, have a right to know.”

“It was High-Mage Gregory Angstrom, from Argor, in the land of Re’aldorin, if you must know Rhodan. Although you never provide me with the names of your trusted agents.”

“Ah, Angstrom, yes, I remember him. Wasn’t he on the ruling council of Re’aldorin when the uprising we were just talking about occurred?” Rhodan’s tone insinuated what he thought of information from that source.

Magda Rubicunda responded undaunted “Yes Rhodan, Angstrom was on the ruling council, but he was under High-Mage Beckerman who wasn’t under my jurisdiction, being a Battle-Mage, he was under yours wasn’t he? It was Angstrom’s reports at that time which kept us fully informed and his actions and efforts that kept the war from spilling out into the neighbouring countries. The fact that we still have even a slight presence in that land is more of less entirely due to Angstrom. He is now head of the Mage College in Argor, the only one left in Re’aldorin. He has reported that one of the apprentices, a boy named David, had abundant potential although as yet his talent remains latent. Angstrom has arranged that a constant watch be kept on him.”

The High Sorcerer leaned forward in his throne, his eyes suddenly like augurs.

“His name is David? Is that all you can tell me? Do you know when he was born, his surname, or where his talents lie?”

“According to Angstrom, he has no surname, he was the illegitimate son of a kitchen servant. He was roughly born at the same time as the new star so he may well be this child of prophecy. As his magic ability hasn’t manifested itself it is impossible to say where his talents will lie, but as I say, the sheer potential of his powers is immense.”

Magda Rubicunda sat back down in her chair with a queenly air. 

“Thank you Magda, that sounds very promising. Please provide Sorcerer Kaprical with as much information as possible so he can draw up an astral chart for the boy, we will keep an eye on him too.”

Then Rhodan Cardax stood once more to address the assembly.

“I too have some relevant information, Great One. Far to the East of our dominion, in the independent city-state of Cartherys, there is a young soldier, a Battle-Mage who is also roughly the same age as the prophecy and has shown great potential in his training. He has risen remarkably quickly through the ranks. His superiors report that they expect him to reach the rank of Field Marshall one day. His talents for destructive magic are quite brilliant, apparently.”

The assembly began discussing all the potential candidates for this Child of Prophecy. All information was to be given to Sorcerer Kaprical who would create his special kinds of astral charts. 

After this the great assembly of the Red Magehood turned its attention to more mundane matters of wealth and taxes. 


End of Part Sixteen.

Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 11/July/2018


The Start of It – A short story, with familiar characters.



Today’s things are: admire, loyal, fireplace

The Start of It.

Audrey Patterson hated wearing black. It was such an unbecoming colour, especially on the old. When she was younger, then it had looked fine on her tall frame, with diamonds sparkling around her neck. That had been during the Roaring Twenties and she had been young enough to get away with it. Now black made her old pale skin look even older. She’d had to wear these dreary clothes though. It didn’t do to wear any other colour at a funeral, especially one of an old friend like Claudia Halifax. People would think she was being callous if she’d worn a brighter colour.

She was very sad to lose her friend. Although Claudia was younger than her and had lived a more carefree existence with her entourage of young men she liked to keep about her, she had admired her a lot.

Continue reading The Start of It – A short story, with familiar characters.