A FEW DRABBLES
A SELECTION OF 100 WORD STORIES FOR THE HOLIDAY SEASON
I enjoy the challenge of creating a story in just 100 words - often having to use certain words or prompts. Hopefully something will appeal to you.
A MATTER OF OPINION
I pace the kitchen. He should be back. He’s barking mad cycling in this weather. Perhaps I should go looking for him? Or ring the hospitals? We both love speeding.
The metallic clump of his cycling shoes eases my pounding heart. I hurry outside.
“Where have you been?” I stop wailing when I see his bleeding limbs. “You’re grazed all over. What happened?”
“Came off the bike on a downhill run. Scraped some bark off. Looks worse than it is.”
“Why don’t you take up a safer sport?”
“Like you? Formula One racing? Nah, only idiots do that.”
“++++++++++++++++++++++++
A LADDER RUINED MY LIFE
My heart pounds. My mouth tastes like the bottom of a bird cage. I can see the Judges, scowling, muttering.
“Next!”
My turn! A thread in my tights catches as I stand, and I feet a ladder running up the back of my black, sheer hose. The music begins. I leap and twirl, my routine step-perfect. If only I’d chosen a character wearing a long skirt, instead of my short, seductive bunny-girl outfit.
“Next!”
I slink off.
I would’ve won without that ladder. I know I would. I have the figure and beautiful breasts. It was that damn ladder’s fault.
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GOING OFF PISTE
The postcard taunts me; a silent shout from the past. The handwriting is his! My husband, who walked out of my life years ago, untraceable. Can’t divorce him.
It’s addressed to Mrs Emma Burton, at our address:
“Darling Emma, I’m recovering from a skiing accident. A head-knock that felled me and rattled my memory. I’m alive, recovering in hospital in Geneva. Home soon. Kiss the babies, love you, Phillip.”
It’s addled his brain all right. He’s remembered our address, forgotten his current one. I’ll locate which hospital, get his details and ring wife No.2 She’ll be thrilled. Cursed bigamist.
++++++++++++++++++++++++
A VERY ENGLISH PURSUIT
The hollow smells like moldy socks and fermented fruit. I stop, heart racing, breath hitching. The dogs’ baying sounds closer.
I run down the creek that trickles its message through moss-covered stones. Then, I leap for a low-hanging branch and clamber high, to hide in the hollow where the oak’s trunk divides. I grip the bark, listening, exhaustion sour in my mouth.
My pursuers pass below with confused shouting, curses and the beating of foliage. They move on. Silence ticks.
Cook has promised me a treat if I make it home before the ‘hounds’ because - today I’m ‘the fox’.
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A Happy Holiday season to all my subscribers. If you run out of reading you can always download one of my e-books. A selection of contemporary fiction and paranormal romances, even a cozy mystery. See you all again at the end of January. May the New Year be full of blessings and thank you for reading my fiction.
Deryn Pittar
Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/author/derynpittar