Tag Archives: 3 words 1 story

Sorbet | Curtains | Farewell

It was the best sorbet in town. That was what he told me. I didn’t believe him but I said, ‘sure’. From two weeks of messaging, he didn’t seem like the kind of person who would know much about desserts. The sudden ability to name a cafe–after I called myself a sweet-tooth–was obviously aided by the internet. Still, I wanted to give him a chance. He could be the one after all.

“I’ll have the Tangy Tangerine,” I told the waiter.

“Just black coffee for me,” he said.

Out of the variety of treats on the menu, he ordered ‘just black coffee’. No cake, pie, or sorbet caught his attention. As I suspected, he was as boring as the curtains against the red brick walls–patternless and grey.

“Just coffee?” I asked, after the waiter left.

“I don’t do desserts.”

“Not even chocolate?”


What was I expecting? Right as he walked in, in his plain deep-blue shirt paired with black jeans, my assumptions were right. He wasn’t dressed to the nines nor was he sloppy, but he was dull. A straightforward and no-frills-attached kind of a guy–the kind I was actually looking for.

“So, how did you learn about this place?” I asked.

“A friend.”

“Oh, I thought you looked it up on Google,” I admitted with a chuckle.

“I didn’t. I’ve actually been here. It’s a nice cafe,” he stated.

“I see.”

It was a decent joint, but oddly quiet on a bustling day. Despite it being an easy place to find–nestled in the heart of the city–there was no other customer in sight. How does a place as such survive? That thought baffled me, but only for a brief moment.

“It’s a gem–this cafe–unlike any other. There’s no free wifi. The service is fast. And–this might surprise you–it isn’t listed on the internet,” he added.

“But… is the sorbet really good?”

“The others say so. I’ve never tried it myself.”

“The others?”

He nodded. I contemplated asking about the number of people he had previously invited to this hidden gem. But when our orders arrived, I decided it was better not to know.

“So, shall we begin?” he prompted.


“Let’s start easy: how long have you been on this quest?”

“Quest?” I chuckled. “Long enough.”

“And how many have you met?”

“Before you?”

He nodded. Unlike me, he chose to be informed. But, I didn’t hold it against him. In this game, more wasn’t always better. At least from his perspective, more could mean danger.

“Three,” I answered.

“How much did you divulge?”

“Just the picture.”

“That’s good to know. I would tell you how many people I’ve met before you, but I don’t want to scare you.”

“I don’t want to know–ignorance is bliss.”

“Then in this case, you shouldn’t.”

“But if I did want to know-”

“You can trust my profile,” he interrupted. “I’m not an open book, but what I say is the truth.”

Challenging his confidence, I dipped the metal spoon into my melting sorbet. I had forgotten about it–preoccupied with the purpose of our meeting.

“Go ahead,” he prompted. And just as I had my first taste of the not-overly sweet, fine-crushed ice, he said, “I told you.”

I chuckled–he was right.

“Now, can I see the picture?” he asked.

For the past few months, I had been carrying the picture with me. It was taken by a beach one summer ago, framing two friends about to be sisters–I was in a yellow, floral sundress while she donned a frilly blue top, as the sun dipped into the horizon behind us. But the day that picture was taken, she disappeared. If only I had suspected, I wouldn’t be spending the afternoon with another stranger.

Placing the picture on the table, he swept it up and slipped it into his pocket. Then, he asked, “Name and age?”

“Bethany, twenty-seven. Do you need her full name?”

“No, Bethany would do.”

“Are you sure you can find her?”

“I’m sure. But I’ll only start searching once I see the money.”

“My father is preparing the cash. I’ll be able to get it to you by the end of this week.”

“You can drop it off here.”

“In this cafe?”

He nodded. It was only then I understood why the cafe was barren. But while I hesitated to take another look around, he asked, “What do you want me to do once I find her?”

“I…well… I just…”

The answer was easy. I wasn’t able to request my desire blatantly, but I knew what needed to be done. If only she didn’t betray my trust. If only she paid for her crime. As much as I didn’t want to take justice into my own hands, I had to. If not for her, my brother would still be alive.

“I want to say goodbye,” I said.

“Well then, enjoy your sorbet,” he replied. “It’s on the house.”

As he rose from his seat, leaving behind an untouched cup of black coffee, I knew I would never see him again. And just like my silent bid to Bethany, I wished him farewell… and good-luck.


Sorbet, curtains, and farewell were words given by Patty Uy on Facebook. I remember Patty asking for a romance story with her previous three words. So, I decided to give her another but with a twist.

Now, it’s your turn! You have until the end of March to write a story of your own with the three words given. Anything can happen with these three words. Hopefully, yours isn’t about revenge too.

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3 Words, 1 Story © 2018 by Jeyna Grace. All rights reserved.

(Click HERE for a list of stories in this writing challenge.)

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Posted by on March 8, 2018 in Original Works


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Square | Exhausted | Populate

We all have stories to tell–stories of adventure, love, grief, and misfortune. Stories that shape who we are and the decisions we make in life. In every galaxy–on every living and dying star–stories flood the cosmos. This is my story, on a planet I call home, Bevattna.

Bevattna nestles in the Andromeda galaxy. It doesn’t belong to any solar system–static amongst many others. It has four moons orbiting its cobalt blue surface. And yes, the blue you see sweeping across this planet, from your expensive telescope, is indeed water.

Bevattna is a beautiful place covered by a great ocean–so I’ve read. No one knows how our people were able to populate–how we even began civilization–but we do know we’re a thriving race. It’s amazing when you think about it–being supported by an air bubble system beneath our concrete, man-made surface. How did we come so far? But my story isn’t about my sun-kissed countrymen and the advancement of our technology. My story begins in a square room I live, eat, sleep, and breathe in–the room I’ve never left since birth.

This room is white–blinding white. The white walls reflect the single fluorescent lamp hanging two feet from the white ceiling. A white, rectangular table sits at a corner by the white door, accompanied by a white chair. A white bed frame, nailed to the white concrete floor, cradles a white mattress covered in white bed sheet. All is white, and the only other colour in the room is me–the absence of light. So, why am I here? I don’t know.

Every day–breakfast, lunch, and dinner–a hand, in a white glove, will slip through a flap at the bottom of the door. The flap locks immediately after I receive my food tray, often bearing the same meals daily–a sandwich and a glass of milk. What do people eat beyond these walls? I don’t know. It’s a wonder I’ve yet to find myself exhausted by the lack of variety. It’s odd, don’t you think–I have no complaints.

After my last meal, I find the highlight of my day. It’s the most anticipated hour because I get to leave this room. Three knocks will come from the door. The knocks are an order to face the opposing wall. Once I position myself, I’ll hear the click of the lock and the faint grind from the hinges of the door–you have to really listen. A series of footsteps will then make its way toward me–one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight–before a pair of hands slip a blindfold over my eyes. The same hands will guide me out of the room, along a pathway I imagine to flank more white walls, before I arrive in another white room. When the blindfold comes off, it looks like I’ve never left.

This room is white too, except that there’s nothing but minute–almost unnoticeable–holes in the walls, ceiling, and floor. I can’t remember who taught me this, but in this room I’ll remove my white gown and place it over a hook on the door. Then, the hissing begins. Two seconds after, a burst of water escapes the holes–first clear, then foamy, then clear again. This room provides me my daily bath and dries me with a blast of warm air. It sounds fun, doesn’t it? But that’s not the reason why I’m telling you this. My story, up till today, has always been the same. Day in, day out, I write the same words on a blank piece of paper. But today, my story changes. Because today, when there was supposed to be three knocks, there was none. Instead, I heard the click of the lock.

All I’ve done since is write and wait. I’ve been waiting for my bath. I’ve been waiting for the person to arrive. I’m not sure if he or she is late. I don’t know what happened and why the schedule changed. I’m contemplating about going to sleep. But will the light turn off at the same time today? Will I receive my meals tomorrow? Something isn’t right and I don’t know what to do about it. Is this where my story ends, or is this where it starts over?

I’ve considered leaving this room, but I’m afraid the walls outside won’t be white. What if they’re black? That’s not how I’ve imagined them to be and it scares me. I’m not sure why I’m scared to leave. I only have one piece of paper and a pencil that is now blunt–I cannot write a list of why I think I’m scared. The only thing I can do, once this page is filled, is wonder and wait.

Perhaps if the light don’t turn off tonight, I’ll peek outside. Maybe if the meals don’t arrive tomorrow, I’ll leave this room. If you–whoever you are–are reading this, without me by your side, it means I’ve started a new story. But if you find me with this paper, clutched to my chest… well, my story–amongst a great many others–is over.


Square, exhausted, and populate were words given by Matthew Lok on Facebook. Like a majority of my 3 Words 1 Story pieces, I started with no idea where the story is heading–forcing me to leave the dull white walls I often find comfort within. Though I’m not sure how well a story as such will sit with you, I can hope some find it enjoyable… or, at the very least, intriguing.

Now, it’s your turn! You have until the end of February to write a story of your own with the three words given. If you choose to take on this challenge, be sure to link your work in the comment section below!

*To download the banner, left-click then right-click to save.

3 Words, 1 Story © 2018 by Jeyna Grace. All rights reserved.

(Click HERE for a list of stories in this writing challenge.)


Posted by on February 8, 2018 in Original Works


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Learn | Window | Brussels

One window remained. The only window un-shattered. Our last window to freedom.

“Are you sure we’re going the right way?” I asked, as skepticism settled.

“We’re almost there,” Marie answered – too confidently for someone without a map.

“I think we’re lost,” I stated.

“We’re not.”

Marie tapped on her compass, signalling we were still heading north. North was what we were told to follow – go north and you’ll find the castle. But after three hours of trekking the Hallerbos, my doubts could no longer be silence. What was I thinking? Could we be walking into a German trap? Should we turn back? I hesitated to suggest.


Marie hissed. “Believe, Camille. We cannot lose hope now.”

Hope – hope started this mad venture. It had us believing the whispers of a butcher, whose family had successfully fled to the United Kingdom. He claimed that they escaped through a magical window of an ancient castle, nestled within the Halle Forest. But as fictitious as it sounded, many believed him. And to add truth to his fairy-tale, those who left for Hallerbos never returned.

The skeptics theorised that the Germans had caught those who attempted escape. But the believers clutched at the promise of freedom. As Marie and I hoped to flee the war, we believed the story too. So, we packed our bags and traveled from Brussels to Hallerbos.

To some of the older Belgian folks, Hallerbos was known as a mystical forest. During a specific time of the year, bluebell flowers would carpet the terrain. In such great numbers, the deep blue and purple flora was said to be magical – it could bring forth or shadow what lay on the forest ground. But before the seasonal bluebells could lead us to the castle, it brought us the soldiers.  

“Down,” I whispered, tugging Marie to her knees.

I couldn’t see the armed men in their field-grey uniforms, but I could hear them. Their foreign chatter traveled between the tall, scrawny trees. And as their voices rose in decibels, my heart pounded deafeningly in competition.

“Where are they?” Marie mouthed.

In reply to her question, I snapped my head in all cardinal directions. But in hope of glimpsing the enemy first, I saw no one – not even a silhouette. With the disembodied voices and the trudging of footsteps growing louder every second, I froze in fear. And then, as though they had heard my racing heart, the soldiers halted their conversations.

Instantly, I lay flat on my stomach. I cupped my hands over my mouth and lowered my head. I prayed to be unseen. I wished for peaceful silence. Unfortunately, the crunching of dry leaves and broken twigs persisted. They drew nearer until eventually, I could sense the enemy’s presence. I could feel their movement. And I knew, they would soon find me. But like a child, I believed that if I couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see me too. What a naive notion it was, until the encircling bluebells rustled.

The flowers shifted, as though someone was moving through them. Stiff as a log, the bluebells brushed against my body. At that moment, I expected a painful jab from the end of a rifle. But as I waited, nothing happened. Did they not see me? With courageous curiosity, I turned my head to peek. And to my surprise, there was no soldier hovering above me. Cautiously pushing myself into a seated position, while I scanned the dense timberland, I heard no voice and saw no man.

Still, something odd was occurring. The bluebells continued to rustle with the sound of heavy footsteps. The flora parted, creating multiple trails that slithered away from where I sat. Then, after what felt like an eternity of the strange phenomenon, silence cloaked the Hallerbos.

“Marie,” I whispered.

Marie remained on her stomach, stifling what sounded like sobs.

Marie,” I repeated.

As I moved in to comfort her, a peculiar shadow caught my eye. It had emerged up ahead, veiled by a ghostly fog. It didn’t outline a castle, but was large enough to be what we were looking for.

“Marie,” I said. “I think… we found it.”

Marie peered up – cheeks wet with tears. As I pointed toward the silhouette, she turned her head and gasped.

“We… we found it,” Marie chimed. “Let’s go – the window is on the first floor.”

Without hesitation, Marie rushed ahead. Staying on her tail, I kept the silhouette in sight. As the fog around the structure began to thin, I squinted my eyes in search of the window. How it could take us to safety was no longer a question. All I hoped for, was the sight of the window itself. For if I saw it – the only un-shattered window – I would learn that the story is true… and that my faith had finally saved me.


Learn, window, and Brussels were words given by iamvickiroberts. I chose to build this story around the location, because I don’t think I’ve done something like this before. I guess… it didn’t turn out so bad. And, I discovered the existence of Hallerbos – yes, it’s real, I didn’t make it up.

Now, it’s your turn. You have until the end of January to write a story of your own with the three words given. Oh, and if you’d like me to write a tale set in your country, leave 3 words (one of which being your country) in the comment section below!

*To download the banner, left-click then right-click to save.

3 Words, 1 Story © 2018 by Jeyna Grace. All rights reserved.

(Click HERE for a list of stories in this writing challenge.)

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Posted by on January 11, 2018 in Original Works


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When Does Fiction Begin?

I know, for the last series of posts, there has been little fiction. I also know, that most of you, love fiction. So before I start writing fiction, I just thought I should set the tone for the year – to hold myself accountable to a new year of writing. And in order to do so, I’ve decided to share my blogging plans with you! But if I’m being honest, I simply don’t have anything else to write today – the holidays made me a little lazy – so this is a ‘cheat’ post. Nevertheless…

Based on the polls I ran a few weeks back, I’ll be producing two fictional pieces per month this year. One of which would be 3 Words 1 Story season 3, and the other would be 12 Genre Months. 12 Genre Months is another platform for me to challenge my writing and creative abilities – pushing past familiar settings to hopefully produce decent stories. You are invited to join me on this endeavour, as it’s always less daunting to embark on a new adventure with a friend. With two fictional posts a month, I’ll balance the remaining two weeks with my writing experiences (especially with a new book on the way) and inspirational posts.

As usual, when I retreat from reality for a vacation, there won’t be posts. Though, I will prioritise fictional content during those months. If life gets a little too hectic – which I hope it does when The Slave Prince launches – I might tap out for a while too. Those who’ve been around for years know I don’t miss a blog post unless I really have to – I don’t go absent without reason. But I’ll try… I’ll always try to give you something.

With that being said, I apologise for my laziness this week. After a slow, year end season, it takes a while to pick up momentum. But by next week, it’ll be full throttle. Thanks for sticking around last year, my dear reader! I’m looking forward to seeing more of you this year.

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Posted by on January 4, 2018 in Others


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Freezing | Selfish | Shanghai

For the past forty years, I’ve been searching for the light – a radiant, almost blinding otherworldly light, that settled in the starry sky on a freezing Sunday night. I was nine when it appeared. It illuminated the moment I dashed into the cold outdoors – ignoring the hollering nurses on my tail – as I threw my gaze at the sky. With cheeks wet with tears – vision blurred in the concoction of anger and grief – I saw it. In my clouded and shattered world, it shone.

The light wasn’t man-made. It wasn’t the Christmas’ twinkling decorations, reflecting off the hospital’s glass panels. It wasn’t the glowing street lamps, nor the headlights of the passing cars. Those lights brightened the wintry evening, but were of no comfort to my broken heart. Except for the strange glow, reaching past the moon and the stars. It calmed my racing heart. It stopped the shaking of my hands. It cloaked me in overwhelming peace. And the impression it left, set me on a quest.

On the search for the brilliance of the unknown star, I ventured around the world. From the bustling city of Shanghai to the glass-like waters of Christchurch – I followed the trail of those before me. In my years of research, I’d learned I wasn’t alone – many others, from across the continents, have encountered it. So, I journeyed to where they all once stood – hoping to drown in the celestial radiance once more. But unfortunately, it has yet to shine.

The balcony where a man stood in Tokyo gave no view to the star. On camel back, along a Sahara desert trail – where a great gathering of incandescent bodies rested overhead – I didn’t catch its glimmer. Where, when, why, how – what was behind its appearance? I had no idea. I had countless questions, with no star to give me the answers. But the most unsettling of all – to those around me – wasn’t the star’s supposed existence. It was the reason for my obsession – why was I desperate to see it again?

It has come to a point where my pursuit seems selfish. It has consumed my thoughts, filled the pages of my many journals, and covered my bedroom wall. With years spent on this crusade, I’ve been told to stop – to live life like a normal human being. So perhaps it’s time I do so. Perhaps it’s time I live in the shadows of reality, embracing the hollow within. Perhaps, just like everyone else, I can embrace the turmoil of the world all by my self. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps so. But no. It’s not something I want to do. I won’t give up the light.

There’s an ethereal nature to light. The joy it brings when it brightens a tree in red, green, and yellow. The assurance it offers when it shines from the end of a dark tunnel. The warmth it produces in a deadened and cold room. The life it breathes to a broken and soulless place. Light comforts and secures. It gives sight – it gives hope. So, my dear Lector, don’t stop looking.

You’ve seen the light. And though you may not see it again, you know of the magic it holds. So don’t give up. Don’t let go of your belief. Because this world – this place we call home – is dark. It will always be dark – it will only get darker. And the only thing that can beat its darkness is light. So believe – believe and there’ll always be hope. Search and there’ll always be peace. Embrace and there’ll always be love.

Yours truly,
A Fellow Seeker Of Light


“He’s right,” I said, handing the delicate, moldy letter to my comrade.

“I don’t know – no one else has seen the light in centuries,” my comrade replied. “We don’t even know if this person ever found it.”

“We can’t give up. We’ve seen it.”

“We’ve seen a lot of lights this past few months.” My comrade gestured out the only window in the rented room.

Night had arrived in the foreign city. As day came to an end, its people rushed to the comforts of their homes. Vehicles streaked neon as they zoomed past. Buildings illuminated in gaudy colours. It was as bright as day, except for the darkness in the unknown below and the emptiness in the blackness above.

“Those are poor imitations of what we’ve seen,” I said.

“Imitations of what – reality?”

“Yes. What we’ve seen is real. We wouldn’t have found the letter if it isn’t.”

My comrade sighed. He retreated from the conversation and headed toward the bunk beds against the metallic wall.

“What time do we leave this godforsaken city?” my comrade asked, climbing onto the upper deck.

“Twelve noon.”

“Great. Wake me at eleven.”

“Eleven? I don’t want us to rush.”

“Rush?” My comrade chuckled. “We have plenty of time. I have a feeling… we’re going to be doing this for a while.”


Freezing, selfish, and Shanghai were words given by Doreen. And since it’s the season of ‘lights’, I decided to steer the three words in that direction. Though, in all honesty, I didn’t see that ending coming.

Now, it’s your turn. I challenge you to use this same three words to write a piece of your own. And… if you’d like to help plan for a new year of 3 Words 1 Story, head over here to leave 3 random words of your own.

*To download the banner, left-click then right-click to save.

3 Words, 1 Story © 2017 by Jeyna Grace. All rights reserved.

(Click HERE for a list of stories in this writing challenge.)


Posted by on December 14, 2017 in Original Works


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[VOTE] 3 Questions For A Better 2018

I’ve been blogging for over 6 years now and truthfully, planning for the new year is always a challenge. With every blogging year being an experiment – attempting to balance fictional stories with relatable content, while juggling day job writing and personal book projects – I’m constantly hoping each of my blog post is of value. But to be honest, I don’t know.

I don’t know if you enjoy reading my posts. I don’t know if I’m boring you more frequently than I used to. I don’t know if you simply ignore the email notifications – classifying me as one of those people you used to read but not anymore. I don’t know if my words are impacting you positively. And with a diversity of readers, I don’t know how to appeal to all of you.

Back in 2016, 3 Words 1 Story was well received. There were comments, and many of you left 3-word suggestions. But this year, the engagement has dropped. I plan to continue the challenge because it helps me with my writing, but even then… I don’t know if you would continue to read them. It’s safe to say, blogging is tricky. And planning for the new year is even trickier. So here I am, again, asking for your assistance to help device my new year plan. How? With the 3 polls below.

To be able to create better and more relatable content in 2018, I need to know you better. I need to know what kind of reader you are and the type of posts you enjoy. If you’d like to share any further thoughts, please do so by leaving me a comment or dropping me an email. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I love hearing from you. Your thoughts and comments matter to me, because you matter to me. So cast your votes below!




Thank you for ticking off your choices! They may seem like simple questions, but your answers make a difference. If you’d love to help me further, head over and contribute to 2018’s 3 Words 1 Story challenge prompts – I could use your creativity on this one too.

P.S Don’t you just LOVE how it snows on the blog every December? I sure do!


Posted by on December 7, 2017 in Others


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3 Words 1 Story (Season 3)

I started the 3 Words 1 Story challenge in 2016, writing a total of 10 stories from the random words you provided. This year, I continued with the challenge – I’ve written 11 stories so far, and I plan to end the year with a final piece in December. Knowing how much the writing challenge has helped me – in my creativity and skill – I intend to go for a third season. But before I enter the new year, I require your assistance.

Truthfully, there’s no fun or challenge when I give myself a writing prompt. In fact, it defeats the purpose of the writing challenge. So while I plan for a new year of blogging and storytelling, I’m rallying you – in this rather random and boring blog post – to leave a collection of three random words in the comment section below.

Here are some prompts to help you choose three random words:

1. What did you eat for dinner?
2. Look up the synonym of a common adjective.
3. If you were a superhero, what would your superpower be?
4. A word you heard that you’re too lazy to Google for its definition.
5. What is one thing you’d hate to receive as a gift?
6. An obscure word you found while flipping through the dictionary.
7. The first thing you see when you look to your left.
8. A place where you can be yourself.
9. How are you feeling today?

Do you have three words in mind? Leave a comment! No, leave two comments! Or, if you’re feeling it, answer all nine questions and leave three comments! I thank you in advance for your helpful and totally ‘random’ words. Hopefully, with your assistance, there’ll be enough comments to choose 12 sets of words before 2018 begins. Then, we can run this challenge together in the coming year. That would be way more fun, don’t you think? So let’s do this!

If you’d like to read the stories in the 3 Words 1 Story challenge, you can visit its dedicated blog page. But if you prefer a ‘book’ format, head over to Wattpad – the 2016 stories were published as a collection, and the 2017 collection will be released once the final story is written.


Posted by on November 23, 2017 in Others


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