Time for another stab at very short stories. For a reminder of the last round, click here:
They are essentially a story in 100 words. I’m not brave enough to try fewer words yet. Like last time, these are untitled.
She was caught somewhere between door and gate; first gear and reverse. “Mommy I’m hungry!” said Mickey in the back seat. “Mommy hears you” she said. She got a glimpse of her eyes in the mirror. Flat. Dull. The years showing. At least this time he didn’t try the trick where she reversed out and he closed the electric gate before she could get out. At least this time the police weren’t called. No one to call though, but at least they were alive. “Mommy, where we go?” asked her son. “I don’t know baby” she said, flat and dull.
He walked over amidst cannonballs and screaming. The kids in the pool in the background. Last night she hit him; he called her a crazy bitch. But their song started playing in the heat of South African Christmas, Bryan McKnight’s Crazy Love. What happened last night didn’t matter as he pulled her to feet and her head rested on his chest. They swayed as the splashing went silent to them. It was crazy, but it was love and it was theirs. “Daddy, he won’t give me my chance…” screamed Tatum. There was peace.
The dead tree was there, where it’s always been. In the middle of the shallow dam, the brown three-fingered hand extended from the life-giving liquid. Pat walked past, on the N1, that big road where pedestrians shouldn’t even be on. He couldn’t go on. He used to plant bombs. He ran from Casspirs. He fought alongside heroes of liberation. Now he had nothing left. The struggle was over. It had been over for decades. No sunset clause for ol’ Pat. He was tired of walking and sat down with cars at his back, the dead tree in front of him.
The ogre came in and looked at her closely, observing her. The girl was fearless. She stood up, her legs shaking, not with fear, but excitement. She ran through the valley and avoided the capture by the giant, her blond cropped hair blowing, blue eyes sparkling. As she approached the oracle which told of lands far away and winds that blow from east to west, she was captured. She laughed in their faces as they picked her up. They smiled back at her. “Who’s a pretty girl? Who’s a big girl? Who’s the best baby ever?!”
The black and yellow blocks looked like a square squashed bee. The little army spread out across the board. Books surrounded them as they sat in the café. He moved; pawn first, predictable. Safe. She moved. Knight jumped, L for Lee-Anne, brave and strong. His father told him always play from the outside, protect your king. He moved his castle forward. Brave and strong. Castle Ken. But he was more Trepidation Tom. He watched her hands, smooth like ivory. He sweated. It wasn’t even that hot. He turned away, it was one second. Just one move. The Queen had won.
<p>Author <a href=”https://plus.google.com/102128103971030481396” target=”blank” rel=”author”>Jerome Cornelius</a></p>