I wrote this story for the 100 Word Challenge: Road at Thin Spiral Notebook.
“Tony, you jerk, meet your son.”
The sky was cloudless above the executive lot, but the air crackled around the words.
Tony fumbled his iPhone, and it fell toward the brilliant concrete.
He caught it, held it against his heart.
There stood Sandra behind his silver S-Class, rolling a big navy-blue stroller forward a few inches and then pulling it back, coming closer each time to the rear-bumper of the coupe.
My baby! he thought.
I wrote this story for the 100 Word Challenge: “Parent” at Thin Spiral Notebook.
“Well, sure,” I said. “What else?”
Papa shook his head. “The baby didn’t die. The mother doesn’t want the shoes.” He finished his gin martini and motioned to the barkeep for another.
The fan turned ponderously above our heads.
“But why?” I asked.
“The shoes are a gift from the mother-in-law. You see? There’s a conflict. The women don’t get along. The ad is a knife in the ribs.”
“That’s a lot of iceberg under the water.”
Papa grinned and raised his glass. “Salute!”
I wrote this story for the 100 Word Challenge: “Memoir” at Thin Spiral Notebook.
Even a good drawing-and-quartering runs a distant second.
“Her name is Future,” Proffer said as we made our way back to the inn.
I knew he was referring to the accused. The anguish in his voice surprised me. “You know her?”
Proffer nodded. “As do you. She’s the baker’s daughter, the girl you flirted with our first day here.”
“I do not ‘flirt’!”
“You do. And you marked her by it.”
“It’s clear they know what you are.”
I wrote this fiction for the 100 Word Challenge “Future” at Thin Spiral Notebook.
Also see Part I of this story: If the gods be merciful.
The good people of Kal were fixing to burn another witch. The event would close the Festival of the Tyrant’s Demise. “Third one this week,” Proffer said as we watched the wood-stack grow. “They must like the smell. The evil–”
“Judge not, lest you be judged,” I said hastily. And in a lower voice: “Be careful, my friend.”
Proffer narrowed his eyes, but spoke more softly. “You’re right, of course. I’m sorry.”
“We’ll move on before the lighting.”
He sighed, and glanced toward the great temple. “Do you think she has confessed?”
“If the gods be merciful,” I said.
I wrote this fiction for the 100 Word Challenge: “Tyrant” at Thin Spiral Notebook.
See Part II of this story: Her name is Future
In fourth grade, before the Christmas pageant, a desperate teacher ordered him to lip-sync “The Little Drummer Boy.” Decades later, a grown man, it still made him sad.
“You can’t dance,” a woman told him over the booming bass at a grad school party. “It makes me wonder what else you can’t do.” A nasty sly smile. A mean drunk, he thought. He wanted her anyway.
He wanted to sing “Drummer Boy.” He wanted to dance. He wanted the music to lift him up and waft him away, but it never did.
I wrote this story for the 100 Word Challenge: “Music” at Thin Spiral Notebook.