Here is a list of my previous work:

And here is a non-fiction post I wrote if you wanna’ read it:

I have decided to take up a writing prompt from Sarah. It was open for anyone to do, so thought I would try it out. If you guys wanna’ try it, here’s the link:

This is nothing like what the writing prompt was intended for, and probably not even close to the writing prompt. This story is more…inspired by the writing prompt, but hey, that’s why it’s called a prompt.

Hope you enjoy!


With trembling fingers, he reached into his coat and felt around until he felt the cold steel. He wrapped his fingers around the knife, closing his eyes. As he pulled it out, his breathing came quicker, faster. It’ll be over soon. His palms were sweaty, and his hands were trembling so badly.


He groaned in frustration as the knife clattered on the pavement. He pushed himself off of the park bench and went over to the knife. Bending over, he reached out to take hold of it again.


Rubbing his sore head, he glared at a little boy who was picking up the ball he had thrown. “Sorry, mister. It was an accident,” the boy hastily apologised and quickly turned and ran off. He watched the child run over to a group of people that were standing around a lake, talking and laughing. Despair gripped his heart as he watched the child start to play catch with a woman, who was presumably his mother. He watched the boy as he squealed in delight as the woman suddenly started chasing him.

A smile tugged at the man’s lips. It was full of regret. If only… Surreptitiously brushing tears away, he bent down and picked up the knife. He turned and walked away. Something buzzed by his ear. He saw a bee fly past and land on a sunflower. He watched as the bee collected the pollen and moved onto the next flower. It had a purpose. It was satisfied doing what it had to do. It didn’t have to worry about never forgetting. If only…

He sat down on the ground, his eyes following the ants as they marched on the ground carrying food. He had some children laughing as they came up the path in his direction and the parents telling them to calm down. Once they’ve passed. The noise of the children became louder as they drew closer. He closed his eyes, willing them to pass by. He heard somebody sit down beside him. ” ‘ullo.”

His eyes jerked open and he turned to look at the speaker. It was a boy. He had ruffled chestnut brown hair and looked to be around ten or eleven. The boy was looking at him with open curiosity. He gasped softly as another boy, another time flashed before his eyes.

…lying there on the ground, with severe burns, mouth open in a scream…

He scowled, shoving the memory away. “Leave me alone, kid,” he said, looking back at the ants.

“What happened to you?” the kid asked pointedly.

Thank you sooo much for reminding me of the scars on my face. “Go away.”


Realising the boy wasn’t going to leave, he sighed and said, “My house caught fire. My face was burnt. Okay?”

“What happened to your house?”

“It was burnt down. Wasn’t able to do anything,” he replied, his voice becoming low, as memories of that night surged forward. He could hear the crackling of the fire, feel the intense heat as he tried to climb back up the stairs. The screams of his wife and son filled his ears. “I lost everything.” He blinked rapidly as he tried to regain control of himself.

The boy was silent for a little while. Finally regaining control of his emotions, he turned to the boy and asked, “What’s your name?”

“Frank, sir,” the boy replied.

“Frank,” he repeated, chuckling softly. “That…that was my boy’s name. You look like him, too.”

“Really?” the boy said.

“My son Frank…he loved…to draw. He would draw pictures all day.” He fell silent for a moment as he remembered some of his son’s drawings. All gone. “I remember that he would be able to capture things so perfectly. He was able to draw perfectly at the age of 5!”

“I try to draw, but it never turns out right,” the boy sighed dejectedly.

“May I see them?” the man asked.

The boy shrugged. “If you want. I don’t have them on me right now, but I can bring them around tomorrow as the summer holidays started yesterday, so I’d be free.”

“Okay, fine.”

“Hey,” the boy sat up straighter, “I have some pencils and a pad of paper with me. Do you want to help me draw?”

The man couldn’t stop a smile appearing on his face. “Sure. Let’s get started.”


All novels and short stories on this blog are the works of @rue202 and Racheal’s Novels Unauthorised use and/or duplication of this material without the express and written permission of the author is strictly not allowed. You may use excerpts and links or reblogs of this material provided that complete and clear credit is given to rue202 and Racheal’s Novels with clear directions to the original content.

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