Once up a time there were three cows. Daddy cow (also known as a bull), Mummy cow and Baby cow. They lived in a field beside another field that was used as a car park. The cows did not do very much, all they did was eat grass and chew the cud. “I’m bored," Baby cow said one day. “Here the farmer has left the gate open," Mummy cow said. The three cows looked at each other. They could go into the next field that was full of cars. “Shhh," said Daddy cow (also known as a bull). “Let’s go in and see what’s what. There’s nobody about." The three cows wandered into the neighboring field and looked about. There were lots of cars. They had seen people get in and out of them and drive them about. “I want a shot." Baby cow said. “OK son," said Daddy cow (also known as a bull), “You go and see if you can get in one." Baby cow walked around the car-park, he tried the handles of all the cars until he found one that opened. He used his hoof to open the door and crawled into the driver’s seat. “Hey look I’m driving a car," he said as he turned the wheel. “Look." “Very good son," Mummy cow said. “I bet I can get right round the car-park without touching the ground.

He really did look like a tourist, with a camera around his neck and a bottle of sunscreen sticking out of his tote bag. The portly man sat on the terrace, sipping lemonade and pretending to look at a glossy cruise brochure. His sunglasses masked his eyes, but I knew he wasn't looking at the brochure: he hadn't turned a page for the last ten minutes. As I brought him his clam chowder, he coughed up a "thank you" and looked at me briefly. I tried not to stare at the tiny scar across his left eyebrow. I walked back inside with my empty tray, shaking my head. He looked familiar, but I couldn't quite place him. Then it hit me. The car accident. The mysterious stranger who helped me out of my smashed car, just before it exploded. I rushed back to his table. He was gone. I moved his saucer and found his tip, along with a card: I am deeply indebted to you. The night of your car accident, I was on my way to rob a jewelry store. Saving your life brought things back in perspective. I now live an honest life, thanks to you. God bless you! Mr. D. I shivered. The night of my car accident, I was heading for an interview in a shady dance club. Seeing human kindness through his heroic gesture turned my life around and brought faith back into my life. I unfolded the tip he left. Among the singles was a grand with a pen mark underlining "In God We Trust." I said a silent prayer for him and got back to work, smiling.

Danny switched on the kitchen light and peered at the clock on the wall above the cooker. It was 5.10am, the middle of Winter and two hours before the central heating came on. Butch opened one bloodshot eye, gave Danny a token wag, sighed and settled down again in his basket. He wouldn't budge until there was a chance of a titbit or two around seven thirty. The calendar on the wall above Butch's doggy bed had a red ring around today's date, the eighteenth of December, two thousand and fifteen.   On the work top sat Danny's battered flask, washed and sterilized and his snap tin containing his lovingly wrapped favourite snap, hand-cut ham and mustard on thick white bread. Janice had prepared these for him last thing last night, as she had done for the past forty two years. Danny switched on the kettle and stared through the kitchen window at the dark morning. Droplets of rain slid down the glass and the cold darkness stared back at him, completely oblivious to the enormity of the coming day. He filled his flask, packed his haversack, put on his coat and looked round at Butch as he opened the back door. He was now snoring gently and just as oblivious.   Danny's pride and joy sat on the drive looking cold and lonely, but immediately flashed two bright orange smiles at him as he pressed the key fob. They were soon on their way through the sleeping estate, taking all too familiar turns to an all too familiar destination. He switched on the radio and settled into his thirty minute journey with Radio Leeds to keep him company.

 Letterpile: 8 Ways to Beat Writers Block   FEB 21, 2018 My Flash Fiction Stories: 300 Words Max. ANNIE MCMAHON  Very Short Stories for Everyone I wrote the following stories for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge contest on writing.com. My stories are suitable for all ages, although some are geared toward a younger audience and some are more for adults. I hope you will enjoy reading them as much as I did writing them. Each story has a maximum of 300 words and is based on a daily prompt, which I've included in the introduction for each story. If you like writing, see what you can come up with, using the same prompts! Or visit Daily Flash Fiction Challenge for more prompts and contest entries.  Magic Touch Prompt: Write a story that includes the words motel, billboard, and map. From my hotel room window, I see an oversized billboard with his face on it: Jason, the Great Magician. I absent-mindedly turn the pages of the phone book and come across a city map. Sipping my iced latté, I run my fingers along the streets from the hotel to the opera hall. Not more than a half-hour walk. I glance at the clock. The show starts in one hour. Plenty of time! I gulp the last three sips of my latté and hop in the shower. Soon I’m on my way to the show, carrying a fancy black handbag and a genuine smile. The billboard looks even more impressive is about to begin.

From my hotel room window, I see an oversized billboard with his face on it: Jason, the Great Magician. I absent-mindedly turn the pages of the phone book and come across a city map. Sipping my iced latté, I run my fingers along the streets from the hotel to the opera hall. Not more than a half-hour walk. I glance at the clock. The show starts in one hour. Plenty of time! I gulp the last three sips of my latté and hop in the shower. Soon I’m on my way to the show, carrying a fancy black handbag and a genuine smile. The billboard looks even more impressive from outside. The Great Jason's eyes seem to be glancing through me. I shiver and walk faster. I feel like a child about to open her birthday presents. The hall is dark when I come in; the show is about to begin. I make my way backstage just as the great magician puts on his top hat. "Daddy, I'm so glad to see you," I say in a half-whisper. "I'm in town for the writer's workshop, but I just couldn't miss your show." I give him a quick hug and go back into the seating area, leaving him with a startled smile. I settle down in the darkness, and the curtains open. Magically, that show remains the Great Jason's best performance to this day.

In a certain village lived a farmer and his only son. The SON was a thief who goes about stealing from people’s homes. He continued this wicked lifestyle till the day his cup got filled. He stole heavy some of money from the richest man in their village, that day he didn’t escape successfully as he used to. The farmer involved the police immediately he found out that his money was missing and the police started investigating, and finally they found out that the boy stole the money so they sent him to prison. After some months, it was time for farming and the farmer was already old and weak and can’t dig the ground anymore so the old farmer wrote this letter to his son in prison. "Son, this year I will not plant cassava and yam because I can't dig the field, I know if you were here you would have helped me". The son was really touched by his father’s letter so he thought a plan, and replied his father "Dad don't even think of digging the field because that's where I buried the money I stole". The POLICEMEN on reading this letter went early in the morning and dug the whole field in search of the money but nothing was found. The next day the son wrote his father again "Dad you can now plant your cassava and yam this is the best I can do from here." Dad replied "My son, you are too powerful indeed, even in prison you still command policemen to work for me. I was so surprised to see the IGP and his team holding hoes and shovels, digging my farm. I will write to you when I want to harvest."

Danny switched on the kitchen light and peered at the clock on the wall above the cooker. It was 5.10am, the middle of Winter and two hours before the central heating came on. Butch opened one bloodshot eye, gave Danny a token wag, sighed and settled down again in his basket. He wouldn't budge until there was a chance of a titbit or two around seven thirty. The calendar on the wall above Butch's doggy bed had a red ring around today's date, the eighteenth of December, two thousand and fifteen.   On the work top sat Danny's battered flask, washed and sterilized and his snap tin containing his lovingly wrapped favourite snap, hand-cut ham and mustard on thick white bread. Janice had prepared these for him last thing last night, as she had done for the past forty two years. Danny switched on the kettle and stared through the kitchen window at the dark morning. Droplets of rain slid down the glass and the cold darkness stared back at him, completely oblivious to the enormity of the coming day. He filled his flask, packed his haversack, put on his coat and looked round at Butch as he opened the back door. He was now snoring gently and just as oblivious.   Danny's pride and joy sat on the drive looking cold and lonely, but immediately flashed two bright orange smiles at him as he pressed the key fob. They were soon on their way through the sleeping estate, taking all too familiar turns to an all too familiar destination. He switched on the radio and settled into his thirty minute journey with Radio Leeds to keep him company.