Manic Monday’s 3 Way Prompt – I’d rather be Frozen than Wet – A Song.

Yes, I know it’s now Wednesday but I have got a little behind (No personal comments please 😉 ) 

I have written a Christmas parody song, I think you’ll be able to guess which song it is based on.

This Song was written in response to Laura M Bailey’s Manic Monday’s 3-way challenge.

See Link:

You may also wish to read my previous entry for the 3-way challenge:

The Word: FROZEN

I’d Rather be Frozen than Wet

Oh, the weather outside is Awful,

All this rain should be made unlawful

I stare at all this mud below

And cry, make it snow, make it snow, make it snow.


I worry I’ll end up drowning,

When instead I’d rather be clowning,

In a frozen land all white, aglow

Please make it snow, make it snow, make it snow.


I want to frolic in the frozen white.

I’d rather be frozen than wet.

I put money on snow on Christmas night,

and I really want to win my bet.


I want to light a warm winter fire

And drink Snowballs*, that’s my desire.

But the Woods too damp to make it so.

Please, make it snow, make it snow, make it snow.

Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 5th December 2018 with obvious tribute to Sammy Cahn and Jule Styne who wrote the wonderful song, Let it Snow.

Snowballs* are a drink made with Advocaat (similar to Eggnog) mixed with Lemonade, it is commonly drunk at Christmas by people who want to enter into the festivities but not drink anything strong. It is often the first alcoholic drink that children are allowed to drink (with more lemonade). 

I have also included the word RAIN:

Manic Monday’s Three Way Prompt – Patience Lost.

Yes, I know it’s now Tuesday!

This Story was written in response to Laura M Bailey’s Manic Monday’s 3-way challenge.

See Link:

You may also wish to read my previous entry for the 3-way challenge:


Patience Lost

How long did I sit there for? I lost track of the time

I looked at the clock on the wall and watched as the second hand ticked and the minute hand completed circle after circle. 

I had a glass of water next to me and I sipped it patiently. 

Patience is a virtue and one I usually lack, but there was something in the atmosphere in that dark place that just said, ‘wait, it will all be worth it, you’ll see’. 

Eventually, I felt I couldn’t bear waiting any longer and I stood up to leave

At that moment the heavy wooden door at the top of the stone steps swung open and in walked the person I had wanted to meet for so long. 

He was shorter than I expected, or maybe his advanced age was making him stoop. It was hard to tell, as he was wearing heavy black robes that swamped his body. 

“Going so soon?” The old man laughed but his eyes remained steely blue. His appearance had been a bit of a disappointment, but those eyes held all the power and knowledge that I’d been told about. That was what I had come for. Answers.

“Come, sit and tell me why you are here, and how. I want to know how most of all. Very few have ever found me before.” His voice was superficially friendly but it was like a silk cloth over a snake pit. 

He pointed back towards the chair and As I turned, the old leather chair had been joined by a second which I knew had not been there before. 

This was the man I was seeking. My quest had led me here, my search for power and knowledge. I had already learned so much. I had learned that this man was responsible for everything. He had the power to make life on earth as wonderful or as terrible as he liked. 

We sat down again and I turned to him. I couldn’t stop myself any longer. Finally, I lost patience and pulled out the dagger I had concealed in the lining of my coat and asked the one question I so desperately wanted to know before I took my revenge.

“Why did you let her die?”

The End.

copyright: Kristian Fogarty 27/November/2018

Manic Monday’s 3 Way Prompt – The Singer.

This Story was written in response to Laura M Bailey’s Manic Monday’s 3-way challenge.

See Link:

You may also wish to read my previous entry for the 3-way challenge:


The Word: Sultry.

The Singer

He sat at the back of the club like he always did. Despite the crowds and the smoke, he still had a good view of the stage. He’d reserved the table in advance and this was his fourth visit. He’d wanted to make sure. He waited patiently for the Singer to walk on stage. The audience erupted into applause before she’d even opened her mouth. She was clearly making a name for herself.

Leaning back into the shadows he watched her performance with rapt attention.

She moved in a sultry fashion across the floor, hips swaying in her floor-length red sequined gown. She reached forward to grasp the microphone with her hands encased in gloves that reached her elbows. Her long red hair covered her left eye in a parody of that actress of yesteryear, Veronica Lake, herself parodied by the cartoon character Jessica Rabbit.

She had changed her name and her hair colour, but Claudia Van Horn was definitely the woman he had been searching for. He got a thrill listening to her familiar voice as it sang a skilful rendition of that old classic ‘Stormy Weather’. She had lost none of her technique.

He had found her again, after searching for so many years. He knew that no court order would keep him from finding her. No police protection programme could have kept her from pursuing her calling on the stage. His intentions, though benign at first, had been twisted by her rejection of him into something purely comminatory.

He took out his wallet and dropped a few notes on the table, he was feeling generous, then he slipped out of the nightclub, remaining in the shadows.

His handsome even features distorted in a smile that did not improve his appearance but gave it a bestial cast.

He couldn’t wait to see the surprised look on her face.

The End

Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 12/November/2018


FOWC with Fandango — Parody


Manic Monday’s Three Way Challenge and other Word Prompts – Fire is Cleansing.

This Story was written in response to Laura M Bailey’s challenge, I am aware that Monday is but a dim and distant memory, but better late than never. 😉

See Link:

You may also wish to read my previous entry for the 3-way challenge:

Screenshot_20180625-190039_Samsung Internet-01

The Word: Reverence

Other word prompts include:

FOWC with Fandango — Repress


He stood gazing in reverence as the golden light bathed his face.

He had done something he had been meaning to do for many years.

He had finally cleared away the dust of the past. He had been meaning to renovate that dingy old house. It was full of memories that he no longer wanted to repress, but they were part and parcel of who he was.

Instead, he’d decided to torch the place.

He couldn’t help admire the beauty of that wonderful bonfire as it engulfed his past and delivered him from his own private hell.

The policeman put an arm around his shoulders and lead him back to the car with its blue flashing lights. He wasn’t afraid of the consequences, his memories had held more fear than anything he was likely to face and he was free of them now.

Fire is cleansing.


Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 06/November/2018



Manic Monday’s Three Way Challenge – Reap your harvest.

This Poem was written in response to Laura M Bailey’s challenge, which was posted a bit late because she isn’t feeling great. Sending her all my best wishes, Hope she is feeling better soon.

See Link:

You may also wish to read my previous entry for the 3-way challenge:


The Word: REAPER.


Through the labyrinth of your mind

To the depths of your soul,

You’ll find life easier if you’re kind,

Whatever your destiny or your goal.


As you wend your way through life,

Sow seeds of love as you go,

For life can be full of fun or strife,

But you tend to reap more of what you sow.


In humility bow your head,

The reaper comes to take you,

To the final lands of the dead,

From where your soul returns anew.


Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 30/October/2018

Manic Monday’s Three Way Challenge – The Final Release.

This Poem was written in response to Laura M Bailey’s challenge. See Link:

You may also wish to read my previous entry for the 3-way challenge:



The maiden softly sleeps,

Free from the ravages of time

her heart no longer weeps

perfectly preserved in her prime.


Her chest neither rises nor falls,

She’s released from his hateful endeavour.

from his faithless and lustful calls, 

Her eyes have closed forever.


Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 22/October/2018




Manic Mondays 3-Way Challenge – So Hungry are the Damned – A Dark Poem



This poem was written in response to Laura M Bailey’s challenge. See Link:

You may also wish to read my previous 3-way challenge story because this one follows it:


So Hungry Are the Damned


He lured her to his lair

in that dark, secluded glade,

without fear, without a care

she danced to the tune he played.


He admired her tender form

so lovely, so full of grace.

Her body, soft and warm, 

then he slowly turned her face.


he bit into her neck,

to harvest her blood, so hot.

The red stains now bedeck

where diamonds soon forgot. 


Now she’ll join him as his queen,

in his realm, that darkest land, 

Envy not, those fiends, unclean,

so hungry are the damned


Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 01/October/2018





Manic Mondays 3-Way Challenge – Personal Scars – A story in less than 100 words.


This story was written in response to Laura M Bailey’s challenge. See Link:

You may also wish to read my previous 3-way challenge story because this one follows it:

Personal Scars

She was deeply scarred and yet her body was truly beautiful.

Her skin was adorned with the most opulent tattoo of blossom flowers, to represent her youth and beauty.

Her skin was perfect, unblemished; not a mole, freckle or mark disfigured that exquisite body.

All her scars were internal, personal. They were around her heart.

One day she hoped to meet a man who loved her and didn’t hurt her.

One day she hoped to find someone who didn’t just see her beauty as a way to make money.

The End

Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 24/September/2018

FOWC with Fandango — Personal




Manic Mondays 3-way Challenge – Caught in the Boondocks

This story was written in response to Laura M Bailey’s challenge. See Link:

You may also wish to read my previous 3-way challenge story because this one follows it:

I would like to thank Laura for introducing me to a new word – Boondocks – which, in case you think I was being very rude with my title, means a wilderness, ‘out in the sticks’ and what my Aussie friends call ‘the outback’ or ‘ Woop Woop’.



Caught in the Boondocks

This was Jenny’s first visit to the United States and everywhere she went she gawked. Arriving at the Airport on the outskirts of Washington DC, she’d flown over the city, she hadn’t seen much though, there was a fair amount of cloud.

Aunt Emily and Uncle Frank were waiting as Jenny wandered out of the Customs gate. Uncle Frank wore dungarees over a checked shirt. He looked every bit the country bumpkin. Aunt Emily wore a bright yellow dress, that complimented her long brown hair. She rushed up to Jenny and gave her a huge hug. The tears came to her then. She couldn’t hold them back. Aunt Emily’s hugs were so like her mothers.

“It’s good to have you stay with us, dear Jenny. How was your flight from England?” Aunt Emily sounded like her mother too. Of course, she had a bit on an accent, but she’d been living in the states for ten years, since she’d met and married Uncle Frank who’d been serving in the US Air Force stationed in Mildenhall, Suffolk. Jenny had been a flower girl at their wedding but as she’d only been four years old, she had little memory of it.

Aunt Emily had come over for Christmas or Easter a number of times over the years, but she’d only seen Uncle Frank once growing up.

“It was fine thanks. We had some turbulence over the Atlantic, I didn’t like that much, but apart from feeling a bit fragile underneath, It was OK.” Jenny replied.

They walked her over to their parked station wagon. Uncle Frank jumped up behind the wheel, then Jenny sat in the middle seat with Aunt Emily taking the right-hand passenger seat. As she sat down, Jenny couldn’t help smelling a strong smell of dog. She’d grown up with Cats and was not at all sure she was a dog kind of person. ‘Oh, well’ Jenny thought ‘I knew this would take some adjusting to.’ 

“Can we drive through Washington DC, Uncle? I didn’t get much of a look from the plane.” Jane asked hopefully.

“Why, girl, that’s plum in the other direction. Heck, it’s gonna take nearly two hours to drive home as it is without wasting time sightseeing.” Uncle Frank said rather gruffly.

“Don’t worry dear,” Interjected Aunt Emily “I’ll take you into Washington next weekend, how’s that?”

Jenny nodded solemnly.

“You’d be better off taking her to Richmond instead.” Uncle Frank said. He was a Virginian boy, born and bred and had all the prejudices that came with it, though Jenny would not have understood at all.

As they drove along they passed open farmland and wooded hills. The leaves of the trees were turning golden and red as autumn fast approached. It was a beautiful palette of autumnal colour. Jenny enjoyed the scenery immensely. After a while, they arrived at the town of Woodstock. Jenny had heard of a famous festival that had been called Woodstock but apparently, that had been in New York state somewhere and not here at all. It looked like a pretty little town though.

Driving through, Uncle Frank waved at a few of the people he knew then they pulled off the main road and drove down a rougher track for about twenty minutes before pulling up outside a wooden farmhouse, painted cream with white highlights around the windows and the verandah, or porch. Jenny thought it looked quite charming in the late afternoon sunshine. She heard dogs barking in the distance, clearly, they’d heard the vehicle pull up and wanted to greet their owners.

As Jenny got out of the car, she turned and saw a rough track disappearing off into the trees.

Curiosity got the better of her and she asked: “Where does that path go?”

Uncle Frank replied “Oh, you don’t want to go up that way. That leads to the boondocks.”

Jenny stared “I beg your pardon?” she asked, puzzled.

Aunt Emily laughed and grabbed her hand. “It’s just an expression, dear. It means wild country. Uncle Frank’s right though, you don’t want to go up there.”

Jenny thought she was already in the wild country. She grew up in Suffolk and was used to fields and woods but this looked like the wilderness went on forever. How wild must it be down there then?

Jenny was an adventurous child and she couldn’t wait to explore her new surroundings.

After being introduced to the dogs, who had obediently sat patiently and each gave her their paw to shake, she realised that well-trained dogs were very nice indeed.

She changed her clothes from the more formal clothes her mother had insisted she wore for travelling into something more suitable for country living.

Then she ran out to find adventure. One of the dogs, a beagle type hound called Baxter, followed her, wagging his tail.

After exploring the yard and the outbuilding filled with farm machinery, Jenny found herself at the start of that mysterious path.

Despite the warnings, she started out walking with Baxter in tow.

As she turned a corner and the farm disappeared behind her, she felt a change in the air. It had been a lovely warm afternoon, but suddenly the temperature seemed to drop. The wind blew through the trees depositing several brown leaves across the path. She took one more step forward and she could feel someone watching her from the bushes. It did not feel like a friendly onlooker.

Baxter began barking at something unseen down the path ahead of them. Jenny took another step forward but Baxter refused to follow. He started to howl like only a beagle could do.

Jenny stood paralysed in fear.

Suddenly Uncle Frank was there and grabbed her in his arms.

“Didn’t I tell you not to go down here. You won’t last long around here unless you listen. It doesn’t bear thinking about what could have happened to you if you’d kept on going. If Baxter hadn’t warned me.”

Jenny burst into tears.

“There, there. You’re safe now, I caught you just in time.”

As Uncle Frank led her back to the farmstead, Jenny turned and saw a pair of red eyes glaring at her from the darkness.

The End

Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 17/September/2018

FOWC with Fandango — Fragile




Manic Mondays 3-way challenge – Stubbornly Stoic

This story was written in response to Laura M Bailey’s challenge. See Link:

You may also wish to read my previous 3-way challenge story because this one follows it:



Lisa and Iain had kept to their agreement. Since their kiss last night on the beach they had not spoken. He was sitting at the back of the plane and she was next to Debra, one of her work friends.

The team building event had only been a partial success. The firm they worked for was one of the largest Accountancy companies in London. Every year they sent their managers on a team building long weekend to somewhere semi-exotic. Even though she’d worked for the company for fifteen years, this had been her first trip since she’d been promoted to junior manager last year. It was funny being called a Junior manager, she was forty-five years old, but she had been one of the few that had worked her way up from the bottom. Iain had only joined the firm a few months ago and was the same age as her.  He had worked for another Accountancy firm and so had come into the business the next tier up. The rest of the Junior managers were in their late twenties or early thirties and had come into the company from Accountancy college or university. It had only been a partial success because it hadn’t really broken down many barriers. Except between her and Iain. They had fallen in love.

The problem was they were both married. She was married to Dave, a high-flier in the City. He’d tried to stop her coming on this team building event out of jealousy and then she’d discovered that he had been having an affair with someone he had met at a similar event seven years ago. She now saw all her twenty years of marriage as just a sham.

Iain too was not in a happy marriage. He was estranged from his wife, Sheila, but they stayed together for the sake of their teenage sons. He wanted to provide them with a sense of stability while they did their exams.

They had talked about their problems. It had been so nice to have a sympathetic ear to listen to her. She, in turn, listened as he described his marriage as living in an enclosure at the zoo. He felt trapped and in a hostile environment with no easy way to escape.

As they had talked, they inadvertently fell in love on that beach in Majorca.

They had decided that they would be stoic about the whole thing and return to their lives as before.

When they landed at Stansted Airport, she caught a glimpse of Iain across the baggage hall. She was waiting for her suitcase but Iain had only taken one holdall. He looked at her and gave her a smile, she smiled back and then he turned away and strode towards the car park. He had a longer journey than her, he lived in a large four bedroom house near St. Albans.

She wiped away a tear, grabbed her suitcase then walked towards the pick-up point. She was stubbornly determined to be stoic.

Dave was supposed to be there waiting for her. There was no sign of their red Ford Focus. Plenty of red cars, but not his. She always thought it strange that as soon as you started looking out for a car of a particular colour, suddenly there would be hundreds of them!

She switched on her phone and checked her messages, Nothing.

After waiting for twenty long minutes, she decided to ring Dave and find out what was going on.

It went straight through to his voicemail.

“Hi Dave, I’m at the pickup point, are you caught in traffic? You are still coming to pick me up aren’t you?”

She always felt awkward talking to a machine rather than a person. Although come to think of it, talking to Dave was sometimes like talking to a machine anyway.

She waited patiently for an hour and had left three more messages, each getting slightly more angry, before giving up and walking to the taxi rank.

As the taxi pulled up outside her small three-bed semi-detached house in Chelmsford, she saw the curtains slightly drawn. There was just something about a house that just shouted “Empty”. It was Monday lunchtime, maybe Dave had forgotten all about it and gone to work. It would have been like him.

She paid the taxi driver and then walked into the house. It felt cold and unlived in. She noticed her husband’s coat wasn’t hanging in the hall.

There was a note pinned to the cork board in the kitchen.

She opened the back door and walked to her favourite spot in the garden.

In the corner, she had created a little sanctuary for her with Ivy climbing up the walls and the white face of an Angel emerging from the greenery. It was a spot she liked to sit in a read. It was her ‘happy’ place.

She opened and read the note, something instinctively told her to wait.


I realise that we have been living a lie all these years. 

I have taken most of my things.

I have decided that there is someone else I want to be with.

You can have the house. 


She looked at those few words, not much for twenty years of devotion, but somehow, she wasn’t sad at all.

Her mobile phone started to ring, the tune of Pharrell Williams “Happy” had been her ringtone for ages, but somehow couldn’t have been more poignant.

“Hi, Lisa? It’s Iain. Sheila’s chucked me out, she’s had all the locks changed and there’s someone’s red Ford Focus parked on the drive. I didn’t know who else I could talk to.”

Lisa couldn’t contain her smile, “Iain, come to me, I’ll text you the address. I think we have a lot to talk about.”

The End.

Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 10/September/2018


FOWC with Fandango — Stability