A man with similar looking bags hopped into my cab. He rudely declined my offer to help with his baggage. It was an hour’s drive. He went into a hotel. After the day’s work I went home. I saw a bag in the trunk. I recognized the bag. It was late, I hurried back to the hotel, described him at the desk. I knocked at his door. He was surprised to see me holding his bag. He thanked me for the honesty, offered a token of appreciation. I declined. The awkward look on his face was itself a memorable reward.
From Guest Contributor Thriveni C. Mysore.
I stared at my client, debating internally how to respond. It wasn’t the first time I’d been asked to perform a questionable task in my line of work. Normally I would refuse, but she was offering 50,000 dollars.
“You’re putting me at risk here.”
“If you don’t want to do it, there’s plenty of people who could use the money.”
She was bluffing. The fact that she was asking me to murder her husband said that she didn’t have anywhere else to turn. But then again, where else was I going to make 50,000 dollars as a gardener?
Carlos dragged the body onto the street. Veronica screamed about the neighbors, but if anyone was awake, it was because she was screaming. Besides, he didn’t care who knew.
Mr. Caspar had deserved to die. He’d hit Veronica. He’d hit Mrs. Caspar. He’d hit the dog. If Carlos had to go to jail, at least he’d know Veronica was safe.
Veronica screamed again. It made Carlos mad to see her crying for her father, but he’d never admit to a mistake.
Today, we’re deviating from the 100-word format. Today’s story is exactly 81 words, and is a submission for this writing site.
Suddenly, the company in California I’ve been negotiating with is ready to sign.
This is so important, to say nothing of the many months of work involved; I have to fly there now!
The second I get off the phone from the airline, I phone a good Californian hotel to be sure of a reservation.
Of course the Reservation Clerk wants both my credit card details and residential address. Patiently I spell Brisbane for her and then Australia.
“Aren’t you glad I don’t live in Tallygaroopna or Coonabarabran,” I conclude with a flourish.
“Sir, you have no idea how glad.”
From Guest Contributor Barry O’Farrell
Other stories by Barry O’Farrell have been published by Cyclamens and Swords and 50 Word Stories, even though he is an actor living in Brisbane, Australia.
Jake sat in the back of the taxi wondering where the snowstorm was coming from. Outside was a sunny day in New York City, but the interior of his yellow cab already had several inches of cold, wet snow and the conditions seemed to be worsening.
He’d heard of strange events happening in cabs before. He actually knew of a guy who got into a taxi on 96th Street and got out near the Village transformed into a woman. But this weather seemed even more bizarre.
Perhaps the fact his driver was a penguin had something to do with it.
For decades, scientists have studied Blackrock Crater to understand it’s almost mystical attraction. Birds, animals–even insects–travel miles to the scenic spot, only to die from a combination of hyperthermia and suffocation. These deaths were not random. Rather, something was attracting the animals.
All manner of hypothesis were considered and then discarded. Magnetic fields, parasites, chemicals. There was no plausible explanation for the mass deaths. It almost seemed like intentional suicide.
Finally, Dr. Seaver decided that truly was the answer. There wasn’t any scientific explanation for the phenomenon. The animals came to Blackrock simply because they wanted to die.
Johnny sure liked the sound corn cobs made as they brushed against his shoulders. It reminded him of a simpler time, a better time. That was when he enjoyed ice cream – now he was lactose intolerant.
He took a deep breath and loosened his tie, glancing idly at his soiled boat shoes. These were the ones Kara helped him pick out when the shop had a going-out-of-business sale. Kara was no longer around, and replacing her would be difficult.
Wiping the sweat off his brow, he couldn’t even remember why he was in the corn field in the first place.
From Guest Contributor Schmehl
by thegooddoctor in Uncategorized
“What’s this old vinyl record,” I call to Dad.
We are in the middle of downsizing him for his final move to a retirement facility. This is a painful exercise on many levels.
“Which one?” he replies.
“There’s only one…by Iron Butterfly. How do you pronounce the title?”
“Is it English?”
“It’s a piece of seminal rock and roll.”
“Yeh? What does seminal mean?”
“You were conceived to it.”
“Yes. After dinner with a bottle of good red wine, that was the record your Mother played…well, you know how these things end. You were conceived…seminal.”
From Guest Contributor Barry O’Farrell
Barry is an actor living in Brisbane, Australia. The acting experience has inspired a latent desire to write. Barry is enjoying the challenge of writing in 100 words.
The dark forest overlooking Houghton was well known to be the home of sprites. Thomas Buchanan, of Oxford, had made the journey to confirm the rumors of their presence were true. He came with all the normal accoutrement, including a traveling dresser, a coterie of servants, and a pack of beagles.
The sprites are nearly impossible to find when they want to stay hidden but Buchanan was prepared. Through a mixture of alchemy and freshly-baked pudding, he attracted a number of the young fairies. The hunt had begun.
No one ever heard from Buchanan, or the villagers of Houghton, again.
Johnson arrived home to find a Buick-sized hole that ran from the roof of his bedroom all the way through the basement.
On the other side of the world, Chen discovered her experimental rocket was missing.
These two events were not coincidental.
Mr. Johnson’s house had been hit by a meteor. Mr. Chen’s rocket had been seized by government authorities. In fact, in addition to the distance, the two events took place several months apart.
Yet as we all know, thanks to Reverend Bledsoe’s theological sermon this past Sunday, nothing happens by chance, but rather everything is by God’s design.