No Peaceful Rest – An Espionage Poem.

This poem was written for the Haunted Wordsmith’s Genre Challenge:

Today’s genre: Espionage (the classic international spy novel)



It had been a top-secret exercise,

To assassinate that troublesome royal,

Keeping his mouth shut seemed to be most wise,

Bodies all look the same, buried in soil.


All that was done, was done for the best,

And now to disappear into the night,

For the worlds top spy, there’s no peaceful rest.

In espionage, there’s no wrong or right.


Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 21/March/2019


This poem also contains the following word prompts:



The Wind Sheds No Tears – Part One

As you may know, I am currently taking a break, but wanted to share some of my earliest posts with you, that you may have missed. 

This story was the last one I wrote for my Creative Writing course and I published it on my block on the 29th of March. It became part of a series and one day I intend to write some more. 

All the best 🙂 


This is part one of a longer story. I will keep writing and upload sections of about 800 words. 

Please let me know what you think.


Chapter One: Estuary Summer

The tide was out. There’d be no fishing for now. We sat down and began mending our nets, basking in the warm sun. The sky was as clear as a crystal blue lake with barely a wisp of lacy white. Rivulets trickled through the mud to join up with the main body of water which had retreated across the bay. The stagnant stench of mud was overpowering and yet strangely familiar and comforting. He had smelt this smell every summer of his life, for as long as he remembered. Whenever the tide was out and he helped his grandfather get ready for his next fishing trip.

He could see, on the other side of the now diminished river, the white buildings that made up the Casa of the richest family in the area. He saw their jetty sticking out into the water and walking on it, he saw her. Her dark hair was flowing in the wind that also stirred the hem of her pristine white dress woven with bright red ribbons that also entwined her hair. She was the same age as him and they had gone to the same school, but he had always admired her from afar. She probably wouldn’t want to talk to the son of a fish merchant, the grandson of a fisherman. He was far beneath her. His heart didn’t appreciate these social intricacies, however.

“Here lad, keep your eye on your work or that net will unravel on you and catch you no fish. What’s got your attention then eh? Oh, I see, setting your net for too grand a catch. Look, my boy, you’re too young for that sort of thing, barely out of school. Learn yourself a trade and work hard at it. When you’ve got something to call your own, some money in your pocket, then you can think about women. You’ll need someone who can work beside you, keep house or keep shop. Not a fancy thing that looks pretty but is no use to anyone when the catch comes in. You hear me, Pablo?”

“Yes Belo, A boy can dream though can’t he?”

“You can dream or you can mend nets. Now is the time to mend nets. You can dream later.”

He knew his grandfather, or Belo, as h always called him, wasn’t really annoyed with him, he was just a bit tetchy when he’d rather be out catching fish.

They went on mending their nets until the tide started to turn, after an hour of sitting in the warm sunshine. He felt the wind get stronger too. A fresh salty air straight from the sea.

They got their small fishing boat ready, the Conchita, or little shell, his Grandfather had called it. It was only big enough for the four of them, his Grandfather, his Uncle Miguel, his cousin Matias and himself, ‘little Pablo’.

One of the other fisherman, Old Diego, called out to them.

“Hey, Rodrigo, you’re not going out this afternoon are you? Can’t you smell the storm coming? You won’t catch me going out today, not for all the fish in the bay.”

“Diego, you’re nothing but an old woman! We’ll be out and back before any storm hits and we’ll have the catch of the day and you’ll have nothing to eat but your sandals.”

My Grandfather called back. Uncle Miguel laughed and wiped a tear from his eye. My Grandfather was a local character, he liked making people laugh. Old Diego wasn’t laughing though, he was just shaking his head.

They were just out of sight of the headland when the weather started to change. The rolling waves of the sea started to get white tops on them and the sky, so clear earlier, contained those wispy clouds that told of the storm coming swiftly in. Just like Old Diego had predicted. They hadn’t even had time to catch any fish yet.

“Belo, can we go back. I don’t like the look of that sky coming.”

“Yes, little Pablo. I was sure we’d have enough time, but I admit I was wrong. Let’s get the nets in and head for home.”

They all started hauling in the nets, just a few mackerel to show for the risk they had taken. Then Mother Nature decided she was not going to wait for them. The storm hit suddenly and hard. The purple clouds that had been on the horizon only minutes before now covered the sky. The thunder roared and the sea behaved like a thousand demons were writhing and wrestling just beneath the surface as all hell broke loose.

The last thing he remembered was Uncle Miguel looking grip on the rope holding the boom and it swinging around, knocking him on the head and off the boat into the churning sea. Then nothing but blackness.


Slowly, he opened his eyes. He was lying in a soft bed. A candle just gave enough light to show the young woman leaning over to touch his forehead. He smelt her perfume, spicy and intoxicating. Bewildered, he asked “Where am I? What happened?”

Softly, she replied. “Just lie there, don’t move. You’re safe now.”


End of Part One…….


Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 29/March/2018

This was the first part of my story that just happened to contain the word Rivulet, which is the word of the day. If you liked this story please have a look on my blog to see the following parts.

Gemini – The Broken Mirror (A fictional short story)

As you may know, I am currently taking a break, but wanted to share some of my earliest posts with you, that you may have missed. 

This was one of the very first stories I wrote and published on my blog on the Twentieth of March. 

When I wrote it, I had to go back and add in the title that it was fictional because I was being left some very kind and supportive comments but thinking that the story was a true one. I hope that means that it comes across as authentic, but I would like to reassure anyone reading this that I am not a twin. 

I hope you like this story. 

All the best 🙂 




People always said we were identical.

We were born only eleven minutes apart on the 1st of June.

Our star sign was Gemini, the sign of the twins. 

We were brothers and as we grew up together, we knew each other better than anyone.

We both had blond hair and blue eyes.’Totally Angelic’ people used to call us. 

We both got straight A’s at school. Both of us seemed to excel in the arts subjects but had to work harder at Mathematics and Algebra.

To everyone, we seemed to be the same. 

I knew we were different.

When we were very young and played in the garden together. I used to like making daisy chains and then I’d sit and watch the birds flying free in the air. He used to look for insects and spiders. I remember toddling over to him, walking was still quite a new adventure and I was still a bit wobbly at it, I found him playing with the ants. He was picking them up and squashing them in his fingers with a look of pleasure on his face. I was revolted. I couldn’t understand why he would want to do such a thing. 

We both had large teddy bears bought for us by our grandmother. Mine was blue and I called him Bluey. My Brother’s bear was red and he called him Boss. One day Boss was found behind the garden shed with his head pulled off. I remember Mom asking him “What happened Joey? What happened to Boss bear?” Joey said he didn’t know. He didn’t seem bothered. I knew what happened but I didn’t say a word. I remember crying that night over this bear that wasn’t mine. 

Then at high school, the most terrible thing happened. One of our friends, Jimmy, disappeared. He was younger and smaller than us, one of the smallest boys in his year. He used to like playing with us. We used to stop other people from bullying him. I used to play cowboys with Joey and me as the heroes and little Jimmy was our side-kick. Sometimes Joey used to boss Jimmy around, Jimmy didn’t seem to mind though, he was good-natured. He was a bit slow and I sometimes helped him with his homework. 

I remember as clear as if it were yesterday, though it is close to twenty years ago now, the day they called us into the assembly and told us that Jimmy was missing. Everyone was so worried, the teachers and all the children, their faces betrayed their inner fears. I looked at Joey. His face was blank. No emotion showed. That was what scared me the most. I remembered the last time I had seen Jimmy was down by the bottom of the playing field, with Joey. They seemed to be arguing about something, but I was too far away to hear what they were shouting at each other. The bell sounding the end of playtime had rung out and I ran to my class. About ten minutes later Joey came in, his face was flushed and he had been panting as if he’d run all the way from the lower field. Poor Jimmy was in the year below, so I didn’t know then that he didn’t make it back for the afternoon register. 

It was at the morning assembly the next day that we all gathered to be told the news that he was missing. Upon the stage, next to the headmaster stood a man in a police uniform. He was going to speak to us all, the headmaster said, and we were going to have to tell him if we knew anything at all about Jimmy, if he had told us he was going to meet someone or if we had seen any strangers hanging around the school gates.

I remember thinking then, that there wasn’t any stranger on the outside, it was the stranger within that was the scariest of all. 

When It was my turn to speak to the policeman. My teacher sat in with me with a look of genuine concern on her face. I knew that this was more important than what had happened with the Ants or with Boss bear. I had to tell them what I had seen. 

It wasn’t long before they’d searched the trees at the bottom of the playing fields and came across poor Jimmy’s body, lying there next to a large bloodstained rock. 

I was there, of course, when they came to take Joey away. He looked into my eyes, cold and clear, and asked me why I had betrayed him? He would never have betrayed me, he’d said.

We couldn’t understand each other. I couldn’t understand how he could do such an evil thing and he couldn’t understand how I could have told someone about it.

I remember they took him to a secure place, where everything seemed to be white. White walls, white floors, white lights and people in their long white coats. They not only spent a lot of time talking to Joey, but they also talked to me. I was, after all, his twin brother and we were identical. Eventually, they realised that although we looked identical, we were very different on the inside. I remember one of the doctors saying that. “I have rarely seen such two different personalities. One is so kind and thoughtful whereas the other is as cold as the grave.”

As I say, that was close to twenty years ago now. Joey and I don’t talk to each other anymore. He is safe and secure behind his walls and I feel much better for it. He could never understand my betrayal and I could never understand his cruelty.

The thing that I still find very hard to take in, although I have had many years of Psychoanalytic therapy and the doctors have been very kind, I cannot accept that Joey isn’t my brother. That we are actually one person. How can we be? When we are so different?

The End

Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 20/March/2018

via Daily Prompt: Identical

Multiple Word Prompt Story – A Tight Deadline (A slightly rude comic tale)

This story was inspired by the following word prompts:

Word of the Day: Succinct.

Today’s things are: meat loaf, soup, stealing

WARNING: This story is a little bit rude. 

A Tight Deadline

It was the strangest dinner party I had ever been to. The host and hostess were a particularly odd pair wearing matching aprons. I had only been invited along at the last-minute because Siobhan asked me to come with her. Why I said yes, I’ll never know. Infatuation will make you do crazy things.

Continue reading Multiple Word Prompt Story – A Tight Deadline (A slightly rude comic tale)

Multiple Word Prompt Story – An Appreciation of Candour and Eloquence

This story was inspired by the following word prompts:

Word of the Day: Candour.

Today’s things are: buzz, July, load

An Appreciation of Candour and Eloquence

It was a hot July day and the air sizzled with the heat. The grass had lost any trace of green, it was dry and straw like and gave off a dry dusty aroma of the cornfields. I opened the garage door and drove my old car out onto the driveway. I wished once again that I’d had the air-conditioning fixed but money had been tight and I had no idea the summer was going to be so unbearably hot for so long. Usually we had a handful of hot days in July and August, but never longer than a week’s worth at a time. Usually a rainy day came along or a cold spell, but not this time. It had been in the low thirties since May and the forecast did not show any sign of cooling down. At least the car was a bit cooler for having been kept in the garage rather than out in the street. No one used their garages for cars anymore, they either used them for storage or else converted them into more living space. With all the hooligans around who loved walking down the street and pulling off windscreen wipers or scratching the paintwork, I was glad to keep my car locked away at night.

Continue reading Multiple Word Prompt Story – An Appreciation of Candour and Eloquence

Sunday Evening reading – My Fantasy story part 21.

I have been posting instalments of the Fantasy story I wrote about 17 years ago every Sunday and Wednesday afternoons.
Here is the next instalment.
If you would like to read it from the start, this is the first part:

Part Twenty-One

Bethra was bored with her book. She had borrowed it out of the reading room when they’d arrived two days ago; she was at least halfway through it. The story was about a girl called Alice who feel down a hole. Bethra thought that Alice was a perfectly silly name. The more she read the story, the more Alice reminded her of her cousin Lara ‘miss prim and proper, aren’t I all sweet and lovely’! It wasn’t so much that she hated Lara, she didn’t really, but she did hate the fact that Lara always appeared to have everything she wanted. In a fit of pique, Bethra threw the book across the room. It bounced off the wall with a thud and landed on Lara’s bed. ‘Let Lara read the stupid book’ thought Bethra ‘I’m sure that Alice and Lara will get on splendidly anyway’. Bethra got up, checked her reflection in the mirror. Her pale blonde hair gleamed, she had washed it three times that morning to ensure that it did. She was wearing a dress of finely woven pale blue wool with pink bows on it. She puffed up the bows, checked herself one last time then left the room to join the others in the common room. 

Continue reading Sunday Evening reading – My Fantasy story part 21.

50 Word Thursday #11 – The Lonely Spot

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 picture:


Here are the words:

Knock Down by Dick Francis

Here is my story:

The Lonely Spot

It was a lovely, lonely spot. We used to camp out here as kids. No one came here, we always had the place to ourselves. The perfect place for skinny dipping in the summer.

It was autumn now and the water gave off a mist into the cool early morning air.

I dragged the body off the back of the truck, still wrapped in black plastic. I paused trying to take in what I had done. If I’d stopped to think I might not have done it, but fury is a great disregarder of caution. I remember her leaning against the mantel piece with that cigarette gripped between those bright red lips, an amused look in her painted eyes. She was wearing a fuchsia pink satin dressing gown but it did not conceal much.

I had just caught her in bed with my best friend. He had gathered his things and scarpered, pretty sharpish. I asked her how long it had been going on for. She laughed at me and I completely lost it, picking up the empty liquor bottle and smashing it over her angelic head.

I remembered this spot, perfect for disposing of a body. I struggled, dropping it beside the lake. A hand broke out from the plastic, with long red-painted fingernails. As I pushed it into the water the mist cleared. I looked up astonished to see a boat moored across the lake, someone on deck. They shone a torch. I knew it was all over.

The End

Wednesday evening reading – My Fantasy Story Part 20.

I have been posting instalments of the Fantasy story I wrote about 17 years ago every Sunday and Wednesday afternoons (give or take a few exceptions).

Here is the next part.

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

You might want to read part 19 or the start of this may not make much sense…

Part Twenty

Mage Caraffi leaned towards Lara, his green eyes flashing in that peculiar way she found so unnerving.

“Well Lara, the gemstones sometimes tell us very little at all. A lot depends on the potential strength of the subject. Someone with very little magical ability will have virtually no response at all from the stones, they will just be pretty jewels. They do not really have any magic of their own, just reflect and focus the magic of the person who holds them. They reflect the natural power within the Mage. I am very impressed that you have had such a strong reaction, both physically and emotionally from these stones. You must have a great deal of latent power indeed. As I have explained before, Magic is energy, the energy that dwells all around us and also comes from within us. It can be tapped from a multitude of different sources. A Mage can tap that energy and use it to bring about changes that manifest in the real world, changes to the very pattern of life. This magical energy is not just a raw force, however, it is made up of four primary elements. Fire, Earth, Air and Water. Now each change to the pattern requires a different blend of these elements to form the right magical energy to bring about the desired change. If the balance is wrong, the result will be wrong as well. Do you understand what I am saying?”

Continue reading Wednesday evening reading – My Fantasy Story Part 20.

Sunday reading – My Fantasy Story, part 19.

I have been posting instalments of the Fantasy story I wrote about 17 years ago every Sunday and Wednesday afternoons. Except last Sundays was posted on Monday and Wednesday’s was posted on Friday morning… .

Now I am back to my usual Schedule.
Here is the next part.

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

Part Nineteen

Lara hadn’t realised how, without thinking, she must have been making Bethra feel. She had taken so much of her life for granted. She had been pampered and spoilt. Loved by her Father and respected by people without having earned it, just because she was the Governor’s daughter. Only now she was beginning to realise how lucky she’d been. She thought of how much harder Bethra’s life had been and she felt guilt deep within her, possibly for the first time in her sheltered and self-contained little life. She was beginning to see the wider world and it was opening her mind and her emotions to new sensations. 

As Lara walked down those narrow wooden stairs she could hear the noises coming from the common room below. The laughter, singing and general sound of people trying to forget they had troubles drifted to her ears. When she entered, the smell of pipe-smoke assaulted her nostrils and made her eyes sting. She could see David sitting at a table in the corner talking to one of the Merchants. It was the grim one, who always wore grey. The man was smiling as he spoke to David, something she had never seen on his face before, but when he saw her standing in the doorway his smile disappeared to be replaced by his more usual scowl. Was it her imagination or was there a touch of fear in his face? Was she not have supposed to have seen them together? Lara decided she would pretend she didn’t see them and instead walked straight through the room and through the door to the reading room beyond. The reading room was used as the towns library and was filled from floor to ceiling with books on the shelves that lined the walls. The smell of old leather and paper combined to form a much more pleasant perfume than had been present in the common room. Although quite a nice room, it wasn’t as grand as the great library in Argor, which was now the greatest depositories of knowledge in the country. The Library in the Rosana Palace in the Capital used to be the biggest, but it was burned to the ground in the revolution. So many Libraries had been burned, almost as if it was the books who were the enemy. Luckily his father had restored order in Argor quickly and preserved the library there.

At first she thought she had the room to herself, but then she saw Mage Caraffi in the corner gazing at a chessboard. Lara sat down opposite him and they began a game. She loved playing chess. It was something that her Father had taught her and when he wasn’t too busy, they would enjoy a game. She was quite good at it. In just six moved each, she had managed to put Caraffi’s king in check. With his king threatened, Caraffi brought in his Queen to take one of her pieces but had left it vulnerable. With a whoop of triumph Lara took his queen with her Knight. Calmly, the mage moved in his bishop which had been at the back of the line, captured her Knight and left her King in Checkmate. The game was over. Lara was furious with herself. She had been winning but had neglected to pay attention to his bishop.

“Remember Lara, not all your enemies are obvious. Sometimes they can be hidden.”

Lara changed the subject quickly, the Mage made her nervous when he spoke in that mysterious way and his eyes glowed green from the light of a nearby lamp.

“Augustus? Tell me a little about yourself. I know you Mages are secretive and mysterious but surely you know me well enough by not to tell me something of your past?”

“I was born a long time ago and a long way from here. I am a lot older than I look. I know I look to you about thirty-five, but I am many years older than that.”

Actually Lara had thought he was over forty but decided to only think it and not say it and hope he couldn’t read her mind like old Angstrom. 

The Mage continued “This is something you should be aware of Lara. Mages do not age as normal human beings do. We age much slower and live a lot longer. Although it hasn’t been measured exactly, the life expectancy of a Mage can depend on how powerful they are, what type of Mage they, how often they use their magic and even on whereabouts they live. A rough average life expectancy is around One hundred and forty years old. Generally, High-Mages live longer than Mages because they are usually more powerful, which is why they achieved higher rank in the first place. Although rank is not just awarded for pure power but hopefully for intelligence and wisdom also. Mages, of course, are just as susceptible to diseases and plagues as anyone else. A sword or an arrow is just as dangerous to us too. Oh, and by the way, you remember those testing jewels I gave you? How have you been getting on with them?”

“I forgot all about them. I still have them but while we held in Savarias I hid them away in case they were recognised for being ‘Mage tools’. Then I packed them in my saddlebags and I haven’t used them since. I remember they made me feel very strange. Each one made me feel slightly differently, it’s hard to explain exactly how. When I closed my eyes and grabbed them at random I found that for some reason I had chosen some jewels more often than others. Some of them practically leapt into my hand. Eventually I could even tell which jewel I had grabbed before I looked at it, based on how easy it had come and how it made me feel. I picked up the Garnet most often, about twenty times out of forty. It always made me feel invigorated and full of energy, like liquid fire flowed in my veins. The smoky grey gem I picked up about ten times. It made me feel quite calm but also exhilarated at the same time, like I was soaring high above over mountains and forests. I could almost feel the wind rushing past me. The Amethyst made me feel quiet and calm like I was floating along a calm river with gentle currents caressing me softly. The Diamond had the strangest effect on me of all. It made me imagine that I had a third eye, in the middle of my forehead. The eye was like a telescope so that when I opened it I could see for miles off into the distance. How odd is that? I didn’t pick the emerald up at all. I felt a pull towards the garnet and to a lesser extent the smoky grey gem and the Amethyst, but I felt repelled by the emerald. When I made myself touch it, it felt uncomfortable, like it wanted to jump away. When I had it in my hand I had a dizzy feeling like I was falling from a great height into a pit with no bottom. The sensation always made me feel queasy, but that may have been the motion of the coach. Tell Me Augustus, what does it all mean? What are those gemstones supposed to teach me?”

End of Part Nineteen. 

To be continued……

Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 22/July/2018



A multiple word prompt short story – A Hopeless Romantic



Today’s things are: museum, sneeze, romance



A Hopeless Romantic

I am a hopeless romantic, it has to be said. I love a bit of romance, but it never works out the way it does in books, does it?

I remember taking this lovely creature to one of the most romantic places I could think of. What could be more romantic than the Hunterian museum in London? It is the museum for the royal college of surgeons and is full of dissected body parts preserved in formaldehyde. What could put you in the mood for love better than staring at someone’s body preserved in a jar?

Well that date didn’t end well.

Then on another date, I took the lucky girl to the Portrait gallery. Unfortunately, I was allergic to her perfume, La Nuit d’amour, which made me sneeze everywhere. If you see a portrait in the gallery with a green mark in the bottom left hand corner, that was me. I also managed to sneeze over her too. So that didn’t work out.

I’ve learned my lesson now, I always take an antihistamine now before heading out on a date, just in case.

On my last date I took her on a spa weekend. Personally, I felt she took offence far too easily. I only said that she could do with something to rejuvenate her? I pointed out that her Crows feet were much more reduced in size after the face peel. Maybe she was just annoyed that I insisted we split the bill when It was clear an invite back to her place was out of the question. I had to dart left pretty sharpish to avoid her slap. As I dodged out-of-the-way she accidentally ended up hitting the Manageress behind me. What a kerfuffle THAT caused. I posted bail for her, but was she grateful? No.

I suppose I am just no good at picking the right girl.

I’ve joined an online dating agency now, so fingers crossed.

I’ve got pretty high standards though.

The End


Disclaimer: This story is totally fictitious, please do not make any assumptions about me from this story 😉

Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 09/July/2018