Word count: 100
I am old. I am weak.
Leathery wings rush past me; claws tangle my hair and pull my skirts. The smell of death and rot bring me to my knees. The demons came at night. Soon my family, friends, and neighbors were dead. But they left me, the old woman. So they could torment me more.
But I have a secret. I know how to bind them.
And I have.
And come morning, the sun will burn them to oblivion.
I am old. But I am not as weak as they think I am. And soon I will be alone.
Friday Fictioneers: a story in 100 words prompted by a picture that Rochelle Wisoff-Fields posts every Wednesday. Photo Credit: ©Dawn Q. Landau
Word count: 96
Jason walked in and Megan smiled. She moved to greet him with a kiss.
Instead of enveloping her in his embrace he held her at arms length. Megan’s breath caught in her throat.
Jason walked her to the side of the room. Her drink, sweet moments before, suddenly tasted bitter. He whispered in her ear. Two words, “it’s over.” Megan looked into his eyes ever so briefly before turning away.
She set her drink down and left the party. Alone, just like when she came, but now instead of happy anticipation she only felt cold shock.
Friday Fictioneers: a story in 100 words prompted by a picture that Rochelle Wisoff-Fields posts every Wednesday. Photo Credit: ©Rochelle Wissoff-Fields
Prompt from Madision Woods, go check out her blog and read others’ responses to this prompt.
Just In Case
She picked up the rifle and slung it over her shoulder. She had never had to use it, but her dad always made her take it, just in case. She saddled up her horse, grateful that her morning chores consisted of one task. Riding. Granted, she couldn’t deviate from the fence, so it got tedious some mornings, but all she had to do was ride. And make sure the fence didn’t have any downs in it, or worse, any animals tangled in it. Sometimes she was late for school, and sometimes she missed it altogether. But it was her job to repair any damage to the fence, and first she had to find it.
She heard the calf before she saw it. It was shrieking. She urged her horse to move faster. She topped a swell and could see the animal. It had gotten tangled in the wires. She was glad, this had happened before and it shouldn’t be too hard to untangle the calf.
When she got closer she saw the wires were cutting into the calf, they were around his legs and his belly and the one that cut deepest was around his neck. The more he struggled the more the wires sunk their rusty teeth into him. She grabbed the wire cutters and began cutting and pulling, trying to free the animal. But the more she freed him, the more he fought, and the more entangled he became. It was a fruitless effort.
She stopped and went back to her horse. She grabbed her rifle. She had never had to use it before but her dad always made her take it, just in case.
Prompt can be found at Madison Woods’ blog. Check it out to read her story and others.
It was their second date; he barbecued while she told jokes. She mentioned staying up until dawn and he agreed.
They sat, fingers entwined, her head resting on his shoulder, the conversation run dry. It had been such a romantic thought: stay up all night and watch the sunrise. But the reality of it was much colder than the idea.
And if she was going to be completely honest, he was much colder than he seemed.
Prompt from Madison Woods. Go check out her site to how others responded to this prompt.
The nightmares come at night. She wakes sweating and shaky. Silently, she rises from her bed.
Outside and across the yard she goes. When she arrives, she throws her arms around the dog and drops to the ground. Cuddling closer, she can smell the outdoors in the shaggy fur but she doesn’t mind. She snuggles deeper and drifts asleep into dreams that are safe, into dreams where she is protected.
The dog, used to watching over the little girl, keeps one eye open, and settles in for a long night.
Find this prompt on Madison Woods blog. Be sure to read her story here and others (they can be found in the comments)
In the Basement
The light changed the dust, turned it diamond and gold, showed it twirling and dancing in the air. Anne never blinked, at least she tried not to, not while the light came in through the crack.
Even as her body withered and shrank, the light fed her craving for the sun and it nourished her soul. The light, as long as it was there, was her guardian, it kept her safe and the monsters at bay.
Anne heard footsteps coming down the stairs. She scrambled to hide the crack, to cover the light, lest it be taken away. She was plunged into darkness just as she heard the key turning in the lock.
Another prompt…it’s funny because I just interpreted a prompt to be about jewels even though there wasn’t a single one in the picture.
Prompted by Madison Woods. Go check out her blog to read more stories inspired by this prompt.
Looking at the evidence, the cop sighed. They had only collected about half of the stolen goods. The victim, a high-profile socialite, would never find this acceptable. But then, she never found anything acceptable.
The cop, meticulously cataloging each jewel, envisioned the encounter with the socialite. She would be loud and shrill, ungrateful and angry. She would probably go to the press and berate all the NYPD because for her, any press is good press. But NYPD is held to a different standard.
The cop looked at the last jewel to be cataloged. She slipped it into her pocket, swept the rest of the jewels up, and put them in the evidence box. This was her standard, different than the socialite’s and different than the department’s.