Short short short short short stories

Photo: Sean R., via Creative Commons, some restrictions.

Photo: Sean R., via Creative Commons, some restrictions.

Yours. Post your story of 100 words or less in the comment section. It’s raining, we’re all a little frustrated by the weather but there’s too much work to do to settle in with “War and Peace.”

The solution. Let’s write–and read–each others short, very short, fiction.

Here’s mine:

The small white bottle poked through the dirt at the edge of the one-lane road. Joan had walked past this spot  for 35 years, always alone. Stooping to pull the bottle free, the smell of wild strawberries–like the fruity scent on his collar the last time, decades earlier. The smell stirred the sound of him yelling and pounding the steering wheel, her own sobs a static fog inside her head as she grabbed the small perfume bottle from his  pocket and threw it through the window. Now, filled with sand, a bottle washed ashore.

  1. Ellen – I loved the raw emotion in yours.
    And what fun to read what everyone else wrote.
    Mine goes down a different path than the rest. ;)

    Good Grief

    He professed his undying love hours before he was murdered. At the funeral, I played the perfect grieving girlfriend, but really, I was relieved he was gone. Love? As if!

    Two days after we planted him, he shuffled back into my life. “Told you I wouldn’t leave.”

    Fantastic. Boyfriends are easy to oust, zombies, not so much.

    Without embalming, he was rotting within a week. On the morning an eyeball plopped into my coffee, I left the apartment door open.

    My neighbor’s mastiff is still licking his jowls.

    At least there’s no blood on my hands. This time.

    • Ellen Rocco says:

      Oooh, I love it! We have zombies on the ncpr website. And eyeballs! Who needs Poe?

      • LOL! Thanks Ellen!

      • knuckleheadedliberal says:

        I think a god neighbor should check with a veterinarian before allowing a neighbor’s dog to eat their zombie boyfriend. Boyfriends can be replaced but losing a dog will break your heart.

  2. It was so late. Summer days are long – the sky would begin to lighten soon. She shifted her hip on the thin pad trying to roll over without waking him up. In a few hours they would have bacon and eggs and bitter coffee at the diner, composing themselves for the drive back. And for facing the unspoken curiosity of the others.
    But what would she say, even if they asked? It was not a mistake, no, never that. Some changes would surely ripple out from this night, touching whom? Herself? Him? How long would the waves reflect, refract, fold over one another until there is no memory to disturb the glassy stillness of the pond in early morning?

  3. knuckleheadedliberal says:

    Long grass bent under a heavy dew as the sun rose, slowly burning the valley fog into wisps floating and curling into a clear blue sky. He remembered a dusty sunrise from his youth eighty years before and half the world away. His eyes closed and he slept and when he woke again he wished he had gone for a walk in the wet morning.

  4. jill vaughan says:

    We’re in the back of the pickup, with lumber stakes up the sides. There’s no room or seat belts in the cab, and the last thing we need is a run-in with the cops. We snuggle on loose hay and cedar, under sweatshirts and old blankets. This is our goodnight ride under the stars. The truck slows, the frame trembles. The artificial dawn of the prison looms and glows. Our hearts lurch in the cold. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. We accelerate. Darkness blooms.

  5. ok Ellen, I’ll bite! Here’s mine:

    Sunday morning had arrived and an overwhelming feeling of dread settled over Leigh’s shoulders like a cape.

    It was yet another one of life’s situations where she wished for magic; the ability to manifest true power, no longer having to lift a finger or put in actual physical effort.

    Leigh eyes closed as she imagined a world where she had the ability to whisper a spell and accomplish everything – anything she wanted. The possibilities would be endless, the opportunities remarkable, and the results astounding.

    Then she realized – hey it’s just dusting, get over yourself and do it.

    (yes I used this exercise as an excuse to not start dusting…)

  6. Thanks, Ellen. Isn’t fabulous how much story you’ve packed into 100 words!

    Here’s mine:

    The old man headed for a chair in the lobby. His grandson’s college graduation, in a hockey arena, was not comfortable for an 89 year-old. But he’d seen Darren get his diploma. That was enough. He’d wait out the rest in comfort.

    A young man stopped to help him ease into the chair. “Thank you”, he said.

    “You’re welcome”, the student replied. “Thank you for your service” he added, nodding at the old man’s hat.

    “World War II Veteran” it read.

    The old man nodded back.

    “I’m against war”, the student said.

    “So am I, young man. So am I”.