TINY STORIES

How is your writing going? Keep those stories coming in.

Thinking about the theme, TINY STORIES, of course it doesn't have to be a physical tiny THING. Think about the senses... how about a story about...

a tiny... sound
a tiny... subtle scent
a tiny... tingle or touch
a tiny... flash, glitter
a tiny... unexpected taste

How about emotion/thought...

a tiny... memory
a tiny... idea
a tiny... feeling
a tiny... twitch, fear, scratch...

JUST KEEP THOSE CARDS AND LETTERS... um, stories... COMING IN!!!

http://fagblog.blogspot.com/2005/06/tiny-stories-call-for-submissions.html

Morbid? Am I Being Morbid?

You think THAT was too morbid?

www.deathclock.com.

Save the date! Y'all have to come to my funeral. On July 21, 2040. OK, well, actually, the funeral probably wouldn't be until a few days after that, right? So you have time to travel to New Jersey (ooh, now THAT'S morbid!)... :)

How Long Would It Be?

As a single person currently living alone, I sometimes wonder this morbid thought. If I died at home alone, how long would it be before they found me? Depending on the day of the week, the time of day, what's going on in my life, it could be days. Work is the only sure thing that I wouldn't show up for where someone would wonder where I was and take steps beyond one phone call to me to say, "Hey where are you? I thought you were gonna be here." I only hope if I slip in the bathtub, it isn't on a Friday night right after work on a weekend I have nothing scheduled for, or else they're never going to get that smell out of the drapes.

With a large group of single friends, we actually started an emergency contact list on our Yahoo Groups website. Though my other fear is also kinda real, too. If I died, and dear old Dad took care of it all, would he be able to contact all my friends? I guess more importantly, would he bother? Who wouldn't find out? Would anyone just feel like I merely disappeared out of his/her life? All the friends I have on the Internet would think I just flaked. My friends in other towns would just 'lose touch.'

HHmm... am I too young for a Medic Alert bracelet?

Keep Writing!!!

Derek from Maine submitted a tiny story about our tiny stories project! I had to share this with you all. I'm so happy to spread the frustration around the globe. Keep your stories and letters coming in... and keep beating yourselves about the head and shoulders trying to craft your stories...

Phrase Anatomy
by Derek Ash
Franklin, Maine

His site said “Hundred Words” but damnation, I have struggled discovering: It cannot be done. Nouns? Adjectives? Verbs?
Teeth ground dull, bald spots grown immense, blank computer screens leering lecherously, reveling in an author’s frustration.
Ideas so far: Turkeys thawing, butterflies postulating genetics, lost pens revealing divine disappointments, drive through serial killers.
Each shattered by limited description or plot.
Required subject matter? Tiny things.
Steaming bull’s shit!!!
Sitting, hours on end; pacing ferally; throwing fits and Ming vases.
Costs to my marriage alone? Incalculable.
Family? Torn asunder.
Sanity? Even deeper damage detected.
All for lack of just one more--

Who's Your Number One?

OK, stole this from Neil Gaiman's website. Someone pointed out to him that he is Neil Number One, meaning if you enter just his first name into google, he is the top search result. So that leads to the question: Who's Your Number One? OK, just some silly fun for a Friday afternoon.

So for me, Bob Number One is Bob Dylan.

Your Reading Habits Public?

Hey folks,
For those of us who publish, for those of us who write, for those of us who read, we really need to do something to ensure our freedom to study, read, research, learn is not compromised. Can it be the United States of America where the government is allowed to review what you are reading? And how will they use this information? Especially for those of us who read dark subjects: serial killers, mysteries, dark fantasy. Do I really want the government to have access to library records, bookstore sales, etc? If I read a dozen serial killer novels in a row, and then there happens to be a serial killer in my area, does that mean I will be vaulted to the top of the suspects list?

In my local newspaper, a writer made some very good points about the writer's life and these potentially dangerous, insidious laws. It's just a point of view that makes you think... do I have to think twice before I buy a book with a credit card or borrow one from the library? What will people think?

Besides. Somehow I think the truly evil people who really are plotting something will be a little bit more careful than to make their reading habits viewable. They buy the book with cash, not credit card. And if it's a library book they need to read, instead of borrowing it, I'm sure they'll do what we all did in college when we owed on already-overdue books. Go to the back of the library, throw it out an open window into a bush, and then go retrieve it. Oooh, bad people and library personnel, don't read this!

I'm saying this is a truly brilliant essay, but it does make you think:
http://ems.gmnews.com/news/2005/0621/Editorials/033.html

We Love Our Kimmy

I have to quote my good friend Kimmy. Something she just said (ok, a little paraphrased for effect)...

"Don't piss me off. I could kill you with some chicken wire, a pack of chewing gum, and a magnet."

HHHmmm.... chicken wire, a pack of chewing gum, a magnet.... all 'tiny thing.' Anyone feeling inspired?

Question

How come women can get away with wearing flip-flops to work if they have a few sparklies on them? How come women can get away with wearing shorts to work and calling them a 'split skirt?' How come women can wear spaghetti straps to work, but if i wear a tank top, I'll be yelled at and sent home? Well, I guess there is that menstruation thing... so we'll call it even.

Lotsa Tinies!

Keep them coming! Even more came in today! Need inspiration?

One split second
A missing button
A crumb
An old note or letter
One glance or one eye contact
A key

Actually the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy revolves around one tiny thing, doesn't it? Interesting.

You Think You've Got Issues?

I can watch the movie WILLOW over and over and over. It's got to be one of my all-time favorites. I can quote practically every line. Love it, love it, love it. And the campier it got, the better.

You are my sun, my moon, my starlit night. Without you I dwell in darkness.

Mother! Traitor child, I must despise you now.

That is Razel? I expected something more grand and less... fuzzy.

TINY STORIES -- Keep 'Em Coming!

Hello, you creative folk! You're all doing an amazing job sending in your short-shorts (and I'm not talking about cut-off denim Daisy Dukes). Just a few notes based on the submissions I've gotten and comments I've seen, things I want to reiterate and say again even....

1. Your title does not count toward the 100 word count; however, just to make it fun, please use unique words in your title, too!
2. Remember your piece should still be a STORY. A snippet or description or poetic musing is nice, but I really want these to be narrative stories... that's what makes 100 words a challenge. Something should happen --- not just be described. Not a stickler on that, but if your piece has a narrative flow, it stands a much better chance of being selected.
3. If you've submitted a story, THANK YOU! I'm not sending out acknowledgments or thanks for every submission, so if you didn't hear back from me, it doesn't mean I didn't receive it. Of course, if due to your system, email, or general angst, you're concerned that it might not have come through, please feel free to send a separate email specifically requesting I confirm I got it.
4. Please please please continue to spread the word. As the days and weeks go by, our links get older and older. Continuing a steady traffic flow and continuing to spread the word with new links is the only way to keep this project fresh out there in blog and journal land.
5. Again, there's no limit to the number of pieces you can submit. While I probably won't include more than one, okay maybe two, from any one single writer, but that doesn't mean you should not continue to be creative for the entire month of July, send in pieces, and increase your chances of being selected for the collection.
6. Some people have made note that I work for St. Martin's Press. Yes, this is true. But I want to specifically point out, and split an infintive to do so, that this project is not sanctioned, owned by, authorized by, okay, it's got nothing to do with St. Martin's Press.
7. Seven? I don't really have seven comments to make, do I? You can't possibly still be reading this list.
8. Anybody see Batman this weekend? Fun. Dark and brooding. I enjoyed. But frankly, I am absolutely blubbering as only an idiot can over the Human Torch in the upcoming F4. Oh my stars.... *sigh* Can anybody get me Chris Evans' phone number? I'm sure if he got to know me, he'd.... oh, never mind. Just go back to your writing.

MORE! MORE! MORE!

Hey everybody, as those of us who obsessively look at our hit numbers can attest, your daily traffic is only as good as your links and active discussion. Please continue to talk about the TINY STORIES project on your website and spread the word. Please get your blogging friends to mention and link to it! We want lots and lots of entries so we can pick a fantastic best-of collection. Thanks for the comments on the difficulty level of the no-repeat rule. I think it's the whole slant of the exercise really. So I hope you can all make multiple entries! I know I'll be writing and writing.

My Sense of Reality Is In Shambles

Something like this could not have possibly been going on without everyone knowing it. Can this really be true? If anyone has insight, please let me know. This is almost as bad as the time on Thanksgiving Day when I was 33 years old when my father's girlfriend asked me, "So did you ever want to find out who your real parents are?" Seriously, something like this could not have been kept a secret all this time. Maybe it's like the adopted thing. Maybe this is something everyone else in the world always knew except me:

When you go to buy bread in the grocery store, have you ever wondered which is the freshest, so you "squeeze" for freshness or softness? Didyou know that bread is delivered fresh to the stores five days a week? Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday. Each day has a different color twist tie. They are: Monday = Blue, Tuesday = Green, Thursday =Red, Friday = White, and Saturday = Yellow. So if today was Thursday, you would want red twist tie; not white which is Fridays (almost a week old)! The colors go alphabetically by color Blue- Green - Red - White - Yellow, Monday through Saturday. Very easy to remember. Even the ones with the plastic clips have different colors. You learn something new everyday! Enjoy fresh bread when you buy bread with the right color on the day you are shopping.

TINY STORIES -- CHALLENGING?

Hey there, writing folk!

I'd like to hear from anyone hard at work on their writing exercises. We've heard from at least two people that think the no-repeat rule is maybe a little bit TOO challenging. Or it might end up causing us all to write a little too esoterically.

How are you all feeling about the challenge? Are you up to it? Do your writings end up sounding stilted, weird, awkward? Chime in on the 'comments' link, and let me know. Plenty of time to work on your story. This was never intended to be something you could churn out in 20 minutes. :)

What do you say, kids?

TINY STORIES -- A FEW SUGGESTIONS

Hi folks, when we did this before, we discovered a few things about trying to write within the parameters of the exercise. First, Microsoft Word comes with a handy 'word count' feature in the Tools drop-down menu. However, I have found it doesn't always count words in the same way you or I would. I keep recounting one story I wrote, and I count 99 words to Word's 100 count. Can't figure out what it's counting and I'm not.

About policing your repeats. I've found the only sure-fire method to ensure you are not repeating a word is to enter your story into Excel in a single column. This actually helps with word-count, too. Then sort the column alphabetically -- any repeats will show up next to each other. Make sure you either kept your story in a Word file or save before sorting in Excel, the sort is kinda permanent! OK, it's annoying having to type it into Excel, but it's only 100 words... :)

Now go. Be creative.

[added, 3:40 pm] OK, I highly recommend inputting your story into Microsoft Excel after you write and save it in Word!!! One column, one word per cell, leave out all your punctuation, confirms your 100 word count, then sort the story alphabetically to catch any word repeats!!! Works like a charm. What do you know! I had a story that was 101 words long, and I didn't realize, and... neither did Microsoft Word!

What a Weirdo!

I caught myself again. Being weird in public. So I was at my desk, and it was time for a snack. I had to wash my fruit, but we only have one sink on the entire floor, and it's at the other end of the building. So I walked over, but on the way, I realized I had to pee, so I stopped off. In the bathroom, I didn't want to put my snack down on a counter of questionable cleanliness, and you know, you sorta need two hands, and that's when it happened. I caught myself standing at the urinal with a pluot on my head. Why am I so weird!?!

And Of Course...

Please feel free to spread the word about our short-short project to anyone you know who dabbles at writing. Feel free to link to the submission post if you have a website, blog or journal.

TINY STORIES -- CALL FOR SUBMISSIONS!!

Tiny Stories

Lisa Snellings Clark (http://slaughterhousestudios.blogspot.com) and I are launching a project, and we want YOU to try your hand at it. We were both so pleased with the wonderful stories folks wrote for our recent writing exercise, and we want to try to make something out of it!

To review, the writing exercise is as follows: Write a short-short story of exactly 100 words in length… AND… don’t use the same word twice! [For samples, please look through the previous posts.]

The pieces we received the last time we did this were so good, we think we can compile some of them together and make a nice little collection. I will review the submissions and pick the very best ones, and Lisa has agreed to provide an illustration for every story that we accept for the project. We will then look for a way to get it published and make a donation to the Comic Book Legal Defense Fund (www.cbldf.com) in the form of a share of any proceeds. So we’re putting out a call for submissions! Try it! It’s fun, and it hurts your brain at the same time!

The exercise:
Write a 100-word short-short story. Don’t use the same word twice (OK, we make an exception for contractions if you really really really have to, so don’t is don’t and do not is do not, but don't abuse this as a cheat too much -- see if you can work around it). This time we want the project to have a theme. Given that these are tiny stories, we want them to be ABOUT tiny things. Lisa and I have found so many different ways to explain what we are looking for, I’ll say it a bunch of different ways:

Little stories that are larger on the inside than they appear on the outside.
Stories that leave an aftertaste, that linger.
Special nod to stories that include elements of the fantastic.
Little things with big effects: lost keys, a scrap of paper, a chink in the armor, a missing screw.
The inexplicable in the definable, the fantasy in the reality, the uncommon in the everyday, that something under the surface.
The secret little things….
Now don’t let that constrain you – let it set you on your way…

Deadline: We want you to have enough time to work on your piece(s) and perfect it. So we'll set a deadline of August 5. {NOTE! THE DEADLINE HAS BEEN EXTENDED TO OCTOBER 10!} At that time, we'll take a look at all the submissions and pick the very best ones for inclusion in the final collection. Multiple submissions are more than welcome, but please don't flood me. We will hope to have the finalists selected for inclusion in the project announced within a few weeks (hopefully by Labor Day or thereabouts -- we'll be more specific when we have a sense of just how many submissions we receive).

Submit your story to: fagblogger@aol.com.

Disclaimers: By submitting a story for consideration, you agree to give us rights to it for inclusion in the project and all licensing and subsidiary rights to the collected stories. We can not at this time promise any monetary compensation, but you will receive full crediting of the work. At the time of any actual publication of the project, you will receive a more concrete, legal document to acknowledge that you have given us rights to your story. If you have any questions or concerns about this before you feel secure submitting a work, please feel free to e-mail me.

Authorship: You must include your full (real) name and physical address with your story submissions so that we can contact you if we decide to include your story in the final project. You must send your story in as a Microsoft Word document file, and your full (real) name and address should be in the text of the file along with the story.

If we get questions or concerns as we go, I will post here to this site anything we have to alter or modify as the deadline comes closer, so please keep coming back to see how we're progressing here. If you have any questions about genre, theme, length, etc. please feel free to email me.

Ready? GO!

Things You'll Never Hear...

....from a psychic who wants to get paid at the end of the session...

-- You might want to have that looked at.

-- Yes, they are all laughing at you.

-- You'll die a slow, painful death... alone.

-- You really need to rethink your wardrobe.

-- You'll never have to worry about money... cuz you'll never have any.

-- I'm seeing you finding the love of your life fairly soon... I'm getting... not a name... but... wait... yes, yes, I'm getting a number... it's on his shirt...

-- Your children hate you, your husband is cheating on you, and the dog isn't too fond of you either.

-- You have insurance, right?

Get Rich Quick Scheme

I've found it! I'll be a millionaire I tell ya! The perfect get-rich-quick invention...
Swiffer Socks! Dust while you walk around the house, then just throw them away!

Hearing the Screams...

Well, I've been polling people this last week, particularly in the breakroom at school. So far, I am still the only one who hears the candy screaming. I'm sure there has to be others out there. Anyway, folks, regarding a new writing project, please check back in early next week for a new request for short-short writing exercises. The RatHag and I will be looking to try a more involved project that could turn into something exciting. We're hoping to get it figured out and posted by Sunday. So get those pen tips licked, stack your paper, and turn off the television. We want cogs churning across the globe for this one.

A Minor Brush with Dark Brooding Fame

Yesterday morning, I was in an elevator with Billy Martin, guitarist for Good Charlotte. Of course this was at the happiest place on earth... The Borgata. Now, mind you, I didn't realize it was him until after I let him go ahead of me with his rolling carry-on and he said, 'thanks.'

I thought he was probably a member of the band or a roadie, since I knew they were there from their concert the night before. But I'm not one to bother people in elevators or in public, 'oh are you .xx.x..x.?' I was sure of who he was when a small child approached him outside the doors to The Living Room, and timidly asked him for his autograph.

Now, BM was all dragged up in full complete black from head to toe, black belt with metal studs, hollow earrings stretching out his earlobes so they now have almost-fuckable holes, dark and foreboding, looking like the world should leave him alone, is it any wonder I didn't say hello. First thing, all I could think was, somebody get that boy a sandwich! When he stepped off the elevator first, I got that all-important rear view. Chile, let me tell you, that boy is a Buttless Wonder. But you know what? He's still adorable, even with his attempts at dark mood, his layering on of black and metal and punk drag, the thick layers of 'leave me alone' that I bet most notable people wear in public. And I was left with that all-important realization: I could do that.

See, I've been thinking I kinda want my next boyfriend to be an East Village punk dude with a pouty face, too many pieces of black clothing, metal-studs on leather belt, bracelet, (collar?), and heck, when I look at Billy Joe Armstrong, I think, yeah, even if he wears mascara.

See, you thought I was posting something about celebrity, Good Charlotte, etc., and in the end, nope, it's all about me. Billy Joe, call me.

The Candy Screams.

OK, back to blogging... more on my own personal brand of weirdness.

Is it me? In the middle of an ordinary moment, I can see the brooding horror underneath the surface of even the most common of everyday items. The most innocent looking things. The cutest teddy bear is probably holding a boxcutter behind his back waiting for just the right moment. There's probably a razor blade in that crisp red apple. Yes, the bunny rabbit is a killer; the salmon mousse is poisoned; that doll is a psycho-killer; and yes, clowns and mimes freak me out.

Whenever I go for a snack at the vending machine, you know the one, with the candy all displayed on multiple levels held in place by spiral coils of metal, I think about the candy. Does it like being in there, clinging to the shelves, thinking only of the precipice, knowing that once it is selected, it will be pushed forward slowly, toward the edge, then jettisoned off to plunge to the harsh metal pan below? Can I see the fear in each Reese's Peanut Butter Cup, each roll of Life Savers, every Sun Chip? Is it that terror on Grandma's face on the cookie package? And why do they always put the potato chips on the top row?

Does it hurt them when they fall? Do they die? Do the pretzels bleed? Did they know each other? Do they miss the fallen? Did they have hopes, dreams? Am I the only one who hears the candy screaming as it plummets to its death?

Break Time!

OK, folks! It's time for a break. Lisa and I are hashing out a follow-up exercise, seeing what we can make out of this. Please keep posted to one or both of our sites for more information and possibly another call for short-shorts. This was way too much fun spreading the creativity and sharing with you all!

Love, hugs, and pen stains on your fingertips,

Bob

2 More! from Robert C. Johnson, Jr.

Hey! 2 for the price of one! Even more 100 Word exercises! Fantastic!

Lost Dreamer
by Robert C. Johnson Jr
June 2, 2005

At midnight laying in quiet darkness, seeking elusive altered consciousness. The dream sought is just an indiscernible thread hidden among dark dreamstuff weavings. More memory than imagining, never found. Always finding only dreams not wanted.

Remembering flight brings sweet melancholy. Lightness, distance, freedom, almost happiness.

As a child flying through every night, day hours crept by with longing for bedtime. Chance to shed so much weight, sad burden accumulated living ten short years. Nighttime, disconnected from that “reality”, experiences seemed crisp, sharp, tangible. Those daytimes, memories are smudgy, indistinct, surreal.

Drifting off, sloughing baggage, shucking inhibitions, clothes too, I flew.

*****************************

Cry for Vampire
by Robert C. Johnson, Jr.
June 2, 2005

Their relationship still young, lacking scars as armor against hurt feelings, fragile lovers exchange harsh words, slammed doors.

A strange dark cloud coalesces. Half-seen, savagely beautiful tiny winged creatures swarm. Not just of shape and time, beings crystallized from cruel thought. Hunger manifest in miniature imitation, woman, man. Nearly invisible perfect bodies, wings shadowy leather.

Eyes squeezed tightly shut, tears brim, dribble down human cheeks.

Unseen minute feathery tongues lap, finding nourishment. Each salty lick laden with weeper’s sadness. Only this emotion can slake bitter thirst. To the deep well they return over, again.

Sorrow’s kisses which offer no comfort.

100 Words -- Pete Clark

Bad Pete Clark, Bad! Bad! Repeater!

Here's his edits:

Imagine vast landscapes expanding before uncontaminated, civilized neural pathways. Unfamiliar memes triggering horrific immersions in scale gone excruciatingly awry. Distance… purpose…identity.. sentience… exposed as baryonic shadows played upon quantum walls, formerly Totality, by flames ignited at Time Zero. Forces which hover just below the surface of humanity’s gestalt watering hole where everyone’s soul monkey stops, catching an all too brief yet absolutely necessary repast from unflinching, atavistic predators that never, ever cease chasing delicious morsels, swinging temptingly, piñatas stuffed with guilt smelling suspiciously like cheesecake, whiskey and timidity. We animals must eventually lose, struggling vainly against this enemy, Instinct. Damn .

100 Words -- Not Me AGAIN!?!

All right, all right. I see the theme trend. I'll jump on the bandwagon with you all. Here's a piece a little bit darker. I wrote it on scrap then transferred it to Word, so please police any repeats that may exist... enjoy!

Rebirth
by Bob Podrasky

Two wings, dozens more, uncountable flurries, black leathery beasts swarm, blotting out moonlight, descend upon the dark, unmoving form sprawled over rocky soil, completely covering it in a desperate, hungry bloodlust, first biting then tearing gouges into flesh, feasting, nothing untouched, unbitten.

At once, as one, all launch skyward leaving behind mounds of bloodied fleshy clumps, bone, gristle, meat, teeth, innards, unrecognizable until... shivering movements, gelatinous oozing, sticky liquid sounds, pieces merge, reform.

Reborn, renewed, alone, naked, strong, filled with that same devouring need. Must find blood... Lights mark distant houses, towns, cities -- fresh, juicy prey. It's feeding time.

OK!

I'm all caught up! I still know of a few friends working who have promised to send me a finished story, and I have one I wrote on the train home this evening that needs some tweaking that I plan on posting tomorrow or as soon as it's ready.

Everyone, please keep logging in to Lisa's site and mine. We're going to be putting out another homework assignment soon... this time with a theme... and we're going to see if we can make this a more in-depth project.

Keep writing. Anyone who wants to submit more stories, I'll gladly post more. And hey, feel free to comment on any of the pieces already appearing. Having someone read your stuff is great... hearing how it made them feel... priceless...

I really couldn't be happier with the results. You're all wonderful.

100 Words -- Nora Wright

OK, Nora claims to have been suffering from jet lag when she wrote this one, so if anyone spots any repeats, please post a comment, but it looks good to me.

It's Over
by Nora Wright

It’s over.

After all the months of preparation, stress, confusion, overt disagreements, silent rebellion, this incredible train rolled into her station. Then came nearly one hundred hours filled with excitement, joy, sheer terror, pain, enlightenment, boredom, anger, and finally, exhaustion. New acquaintances were made, old friends celebrated, good times enjoyed by everyone. Nobody slept, much.

My mind absorbed myriad experiences, struggling to comprehend such disparity. Emotions battled against each other without resolution.

Some stragglers breakfasted together Tuesday morning. We exchanged brief goodbyes. I pulled away from our empty hotel feeling a sharp, wordless ache inside me.

Another Balticon is gone.

100 Words -- Pete Clark

Sometimes you have to keep it in the family...

Lake You
by Pete Clark

Imagine vast landscapes expanding before uncontaminated, civilized neural pathways. Unfamiliar memes triggering horrific immersions in scale gone excruciatingly awry. Distance… purpose…identity.. sentience…all exposed as shadows played upon quantum walls, formerly Totality, by flames ignited at Time Zero. Forces which hover just below the surface of humanity’s gestalt watering hole where everyone’s soul monkey stops, catching an all too brief, yet absolutely necessary repast from unflinching, atavistic predators that never, ever cease chasing delicious morsels, swinging temptingly, piñatas stuffed with guilt smelling suspiciously like cheesecake, whiskey and timidity. All animals must eventually lose, struggling vainly against this enemy, Instinct. Damn it.

100 Words -- Bob Podrasky

OK, Princess Points! I've been working over-time, and I wrote a couple more. So indulge my histrionics as I post another of my own.

Defiance
by Bob Podrasky

Paper plates, sporks. Juice boxes, sandwiches, potato salad. Frisbee, kite, soccer ball. “Sweetie, go downstairs. Find the wicker basket with red handles.” Upstairs, telephone ringing, muffled conversation. Not again you don’t. Footsteps coming down stairs. “Honey? I’m so sorry. Emergency at work. Picnic will have to wait. Can we try for next weekend?”
A child bounding back up, eager, excited. “Mommy? Where is Daddy going?”
“Your father has lives that need saving, baby.”
“What about our…,” eyes curling in disappointment.
Postponements, promises. Summers go by, holidays, Sundays. Childhood never waits, nor marriage.
“Pack that bag, kiddo!” Who needs him anyway?

100 Words -- Robert Glaze

My Own Evening News
by Robert Glaze

He sat there without anything to say. Staring at her packing suitcases made him feel complete abandonment. Why leave after six years? She left. Visiting favorite places they went only brought thoughts concerning suicide. Looking upon many old photos would just make nice days, go bad. Songs shared between them were now depressing. Anger ensued then vindictiveness. Shoeboxes flew from the walk-in closet, a firearm retrieved. Driving across town didn’t give much time for reconsideration. When all was said and done, five innocent bystanders lay dead, including an unrequited love.
Will we ever start believing that people kill, not guns?

Still More to Come!

I'm really enjoying posting all your tremendous works for all to read. Quiet readers, if you have some words of encouragement or if you enjoyed any of the works, please feel free to post comments! Still more to come tomorrow! Heck, it was a soft deadline anyway. No one's giving out grades here. Happy Wednesday, everyone.

B

100 Words -- Heather FaerieStar

OK, this is the most rewarding one for me, because of how it makes Heather feel.

"um, im not a writer, nor do i generally entertain the thought... but having made a haiku challenge for myself this year, i thought, what the hell, 100 words wont kill me, and i wonder if i could even do it. i did. im proud of it, because i completed it... i know you will receive better stories, but im sending mine in, cause i did it damnit :) and im proud of myself."

I'm proud of it, too, Heather. It's adorable!

Xander Wiggins III
by Heather FaerieStar

No introductions necessary for my cat, there is fur, it's striped. Normally kitty spends his days eating, sleeping, purring...simple. One fairly boring afternoon, sweet tabby happens upon a cozy blanket...perfect napping zone. Paws begin to gently knead, slumber follows...bringing awake-like dreams where he finds an adventurous winged faerie friend. This laughing mischievous creature toys with whisker boy, First buzzing about velvety ears expecting quick chase...next giggling when little lion hands miss--skilled escape artist. Soon our pair settle down, whispering secrets of love and life. Listening, remembering the hunter wakes, finds warm lap, curls up.

100 Words -- K. Hutson Price

I think you can probably tell which ones come from Lisa Fans... lock your doors and windows tonight after you read this one! Very cool...

Winged Assassin
by K. Hutson Price

Broken glass crunched underfoot. Good people sleep while I roam, peeking in windows. Searching. Sniffing down her scent. Black leather gloves, shiny with age, stretched over hardened hands and a gleaming silver sappara is all the better for slitting throats, dear. Knife-points stars cruelly cut through an ocher bruised sky, lighting paths through darkness.
But which to choose? This house? That one, where Kindertoys lay strewn about like Hugo’s aftermath? Complications. Decisions. Life’s full of them. Creation? No, thanks. Destruction’s my job. Seek out sinners. End it. Michael assigns cases, Gabriel –that’s me- takes care of business, doing God’s work.

100 Words -- The Lady of Shallott

And One from a mysterious mad woman...

Untitled
by The Lady of Shallott

Slit throats glare back mockingly through hazy vision. Could such horror truly just happen? No fanfare, hardly any emotion felt. Death seems unfriendly now, considering pronounced pain endured in achieving it. Intrinsic guilt bears down before thoughts metaphysical return. Well-pitched lies conjure justification. Metamorphosis, afterlife, glory... crackbrain rationalization. Inevitably, crimson rivers of exsanguination make reality divert, falling upon delusion, unable or unwilling to recognize what ‘IS’. Smiling sheepishly while fingering the blade with reverent sensations, I reject gratitude for venerable actions. ‘You’re welcome, Dear Ones,’ muttered by unfamiliar voice, my own. ‘Time immediate. Move along. More souls require release.’

I Promise...

...more this afternoon. I have to go to a meeting now that will last the entire morning. Further adventures in 100 words will be back after this commercial break.