Blog Archives

A Pluperfect Tale, by Gordon Lawrie

6/1/2017

This is a little repetitive, isn't it?

Writing his novel, Gordon had developed a problem: 'had had' had started to pop up in his sentences. Things had come to a head when he had penned the following:

'Discussions Annabelle and he had had had had a profound effect on his actions.'

Appalled, he had cried out for help, but the advice he had had had only made things worse, until someone had suggested:

'Discussions Annabelle and he had had had affected his actions profoundly.'

Now, the story which at the critical point had had 'had had had had', had had 'had had had' inserted in its place.

Don't Ask, by Johann Lux

5/1/2017

My neighbor Jack was a Chief in the US, Navy. A lifer, Jack retired, lived on a small farm and passed away in his sleep.

Jack’s lawyer informed me that I inherited Jack’s beloved pet parrot, and left the bird on my porch.

While feeding the bird cashews, I asked if Polly wanted a cracker. The bird immediately responded with a string of profanities; including where I could stick the cracker.

Days later, three people promoting their religion arrived at my door. The elderly woman in the trio handed me a pamphlet and jokingly asked, “Does Polly want a cracker”?

Gallery Of Eternity, by Pavelle Wesser

5/1/2017

Dense darkness enveloped Jayde as the waited for the train, mulling over countless victims whose memory never sustained her, because relentless cravings consumed her.

On the train, she smiled at the lone passenger, her lips cracking and oozing. Pouncing stealthily, she sank her fangs into his throat, his ensuing screams confirming his unwilling participation in her interpretation of Art splattered across the canvas of life.

“Beauty is forever fleeting,” She gazed upon him under ghastly glow of yellow lights, filing his image away in the Gallery of Eternity in her mind, where all the relics were cold, empty and bloodless.

The Deal Is Off, by Bobby Warner

5/1/2017

"Listen," I said, looking hard at Wilson across the table. "We had a deal, and you're not backing out."

"Wilson tipped back his chair, lit a cigarette. "That deal is off. I got a better one lined up, and you aren't part of it."

I had figured him for something like this; I kicked myself a dozen times for getting mixed up with Wilson.

His hand dropped to his jacket and he pulled a gun and pointed it at me, grinning.

I shot him under the table. I had been right to suspect he would pull a double cross.

The Old Man, by Bobby Warner

5/1/2017

The old man would come an sit on a stone bench in the town square. We kids gathered around him as though he were some strange creature.

One day Ted Halstatz climbed onto his lap and the old man spoke, for the first and last time, as he patted Ted's back, "Someday you will all come back, and be with me, and I with you."

Years passed; I decided to visit my boyhood village. To my surprise, many of my old friends were there, too.

In the town square we waited for days, but the old man never came back.

The Dreams Of Arthur, by Guy Fletcher

4/1/2017

He awoke, contented with the lovely smell of fresh linen, far away from the trenches in his childhood home.

"Here's a nice cuppa for you love," said his mother.

Then he was pushed roughly on the shoulder.

"Time to go over the top son." He was filthy, flea-ridden and shaking like leaves in a brutal storm but knew he had no choice.

This beautiful dream crushed him even more but then he was somewhere else again.

"Drink your cuppa when it's hot."

It was a nurse, not his mother, and where his legs had been...Arthur only felt stumps.

The Deal Is Off, by Bobby Warner

4/1/2017

Facing Fears, by Bobby Warner

3/1/2017

"Why are we going here, Dad? This is where those three girls were killed.

He stopped the car and said, "You're 15, Darcy, and growing up quickly. It's time you face the fears of life. I'm going to let you out here, drive a few miles down the road, and wait for you."

"But this is the scariest part of the park."

"I know. I'll wait for you up ahead."

She got out of the car, watched the taillights dwindling in the darkness.

"I hate you, Dad," she said, trembling, tears streaming down her face. "And someday, somehow I'll get even!"

Runaways, by Fliss Zakaszewska

3/1/2017

Daniel and Tricia ran past the waitress, through the open door and out of the café.

“Oi!” called the waitress as she waved the bill, turning to walk to the table.
Helen sighed as the woman approached her. They surveyed the detritus on the table; the remains of three Very Filling All-Day Breakfasts, (as claimed on the blackboard).
“Left you to it, did they?”
“Huh-huh. And not for the first time.”
She started to clear the table. “Smokers, eh! Can’t wait, can they?”
Helen grinned. “I know, but I’ve learnt. I get the money out of them before we order!”

Simples, by Bobby Warner

2/1/2017

She's decked out in her pretty pink dress. Lying there, she giggles and coos and my heart fills with love. My precious daughter.

She takes my finger and holds on firmly, as though she knows I would protect her from her worst nightmares. She smiles a happy smile, dimpling her chin, and my heart purely melts.

She's so tiny and wonderful to behold. If she's such a beauty now, what will she be when she's 16, attracting all the young boys with her dimpled smiles, and perhaps unwittingly breaking their hearts! She will have no trouble finding her Prince Charming.

New Year's Day 1943, by Ian Fletcher

2/1/2017

Hans wakes from a fevered sleep. There’s less pain from his shattered leg. An ominous sign. Gangrene has set in. Without amputation he’ll die, but the surgeon vanished two days ago. Killed, probably.

An orderly brings ice-cold water, a couple of sips, but no food.

The agonized screams of the recently wounded reverberate in this freezing dark cellar, mixed with the groans of the dying.

Hans is used to the stench of rotting flesh, pus and excrement.

The enemy shells explode above.

He won’t pray. He no longer believes in God or Heaven.

Only Hell. It is here, in Stalingrad.

An African New Year, by Diana Keschner Henning

1/1/2017

New Year’s day in the south of Africa. The locals flock to the seaside, splay themselves over the lawns and the sidewalks in the shade of the trees. Babies sleep in the crook of their mother’s arm, children shriek with excitement as waves break over them. The men sip lazily on a cool beer while their wives pile plates high with drumsticks, fries and coleslaw.

I weave between the pools of resting visitors and ingest their uncomplicated satisfaction, their freedom just to be. Mama can I sit with you a while on your tartan blanket? Could I eat with you?

Forward>>

"Classic"100-WordStories﻿

Archives

"Classic"
100-Word
Stories