She was impeccable. His mentor. Love. Tears clouded his vision as he viewed their life together through photos he flipped.
“You ought to take better care of yourself,” she often scolded. He wanted to say the same to her. Couldn’t. He closed the album with her smile nestling in the recesses of his mind.
A wooden box nearby cradled ripe peaches. One had gone bad.
He thought of her, his mom. How she would have dealt with it promptly. Not like him.
He grumbled at the cancer that had wasted her body. Lifted the rotten fruit and threw it out.
From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs
Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. Her fiction and poetry have recently been published online and in journals at: Nailpolish Stories, 50-Word Stories, 100 word story, A Story in 100 Words, 101 Words, From the Depths (Haunted Waters Press), ShortbreadStories, and espresso stories. Her nonfiction has appeared in flash fiction chronicles and in Wild Lands Advocate. Krystyna resides in Alberta, Canada.
Sunil’s adolescent fantasy of being a bus conductor was now fulfilled. Nubile women pressed against him in strategic spots, he smirked.
At Valanchery, a horde of schoolgirls boarded. Sunil could barely squeeze through to sell tickets. This was heaven.
At Vattappara, thirteen aunties got on. Commuters. Other passengers were in hell. Sunil attained paradise. Though paradise was slightly suffocating.
At Kakkad, the tension eased slightly, but before Sunil could exhale, twenty quavering old biddies surged into the bus. A handbag knocked against Sunil’s temple.
When the bus pulled into Ramanattukara bus stand, Sunil was no longer in this world. Literally.
From Guest Contributor Aparna Nandakumar
Aparna lives in Calicut, India, and writes stories and poems. Her work has been published in Atticus Review and previously at 100 Words, and is forthcoming in Cafe Dissensus and Red River Review.
I’m a lucky lady. I have a wonderful lover in my life. A younger man. An enthusiastic younger man.
Lovemaking sessions are spontaneous, passionate and spicy. Lately we have been able to see a lot of each other. It is great.
I was annoyed he didn’t drive here immediately to help me with the post-storm clean up. The house is fine; the yard a carpet of leaves and branches.
Calmly, I put things into proper perspective.
-I have no right to put demands on him.
-He can’t be on call.
-My husband will fly home tomorrow from his overseas posting.
From Guest Contributor Barry O’Farrell
Barry O’Farrell is an actor living in Brisbane, Australia. Barry’s other stories can be found at Cyclamens & Swords, 50-Word Stories, and of course here at A Story in 100 Words.
by thegooddoctor in News
I’m very happy to announce that Quitting The Grave, my first full-length novel, is now available for pre-order.
If you want to read the first chapter, all you have to do is sign up for my monthly newsletter and I will send you a link to download a free preview. OR, follow me on Twitter, and tweet out “@doctorentropy2 I want to read the first chapter of #QuittingTheGrave” I’ll PM you the download link.
Eugene, Oregon. October, 1999. After three graves robberies–in each instance, the abducted corpse was a John Doe–the police have few leads and little interest in the case. Caya Blumenshine, a reporter for the local newspaper, canvasses Eugene, questioning anarchists, wyccans, and politicians, until her search hits upon a secluded house on the outskirts of the city. Its owner, Alexander Hilyard, a history-writing hermit who hasn’t been seen in years, may be involved in the grave robberies, or may have been the most recent victim.
Fort Vancouver, 1830’s. A trading outpost on the Columbia River is charged with harvesting as many furs as possible for the Hudson Bay Company, while at the same time discouraging American pioneers from settling in the region. Dr. McLoughlin, the chief factor, and his three adopted sons find the undertaking challenged by the arrival of Jason Lee and his Methodist missionaries, who seem more interested in establishing a new territorial government than converting any natives.
Fort Wayne, Indiana, 1846. After the murder of her father, Helen Hunsaker wants nothing more than to escape the strictures of a society that views women as second-class citizens. She sets out on the Oregon Trail hoping to find a measure of freedom not afforded to her by her family circumstances or gender. Unfortunately, a spurned suitor chases after her and will apparently stop at nothing to win her hand in marriage.
Three stories that span more than 150 years of American history, united by a shocking mystery. Will Caya be able to discover the truth? And how far will people go to keep their secrets buried?
In addition to the regular Kindle version, iPad owners have the option of purchasing an enhanced version, made possible thanks to the generous support provided by my Kickstarter backers.
The enhanced version of Quitting The Grave, available exclusively on the iPad, features more than 35 videos and 100+ photographs, illustrations, and maps that will help readers learn about the true history behind the stories and characters of Quitting The Grave.
Quitting The Grave goes on sale February 28th! Pre-order today.
Blake sat alone in the cell. He only had the bar of soap his guards had given him, and a button he’d smuggled under his tongue.
Alone. Alone. It had been 17 days now. He knew it was 17 days, because each morning, he made a mark in the soap with his button. There were 17 marks for 17 days.
For those 17 days, his only contact with the outside world was the metal plate they slid through the door at mealtime.
17 days to contemplate his crime, his smuggled button the only thing keeping his sanity from slipping away.
When Daniel heard the first notes of the song begin to play, he immediately broke out in inconsolable sobs. The best efforts of those around him only made his hysterics worse. The tears ran off his cheeks and began soaking into his collar and tie.
“I’m sorry,” he kept repeating between desperate breaths. “It’s just…that song…always does this to me.”
“Pull yourself together, Jones. This is no time to blubber.”
Daniel looked around, first at his boss, then his marketing associates at the conference table. The clients were there as well. Indeed, this was no time to blubber.
As Tom flipped through his mail, he hesitated when he came to a thick parchment envelope, intricately addressed with gold trim. This was certainly not a bill.
Breaking open the wax seal, Tom pulled forth a hand-inked letter in an elegant cursive, with the type of curls that indicated a tremendous sense of self-worth.
“Dear Thomas Pendergraph,” the letter began, “Your presence is requested in the royal palace on the fifth of December…”
Tom scanned to the bottom of the correspondence. It was signed by the Emperor.
He tossed the letter into the trash bin with the other junk mail.
It’s a four day cycle.
Day One: The wife drops off a computer then rushes out. Next her husband is on the phone demanding both diagnosis and priority repair.
Day Two: They make several phone calls throughout the day becoming angrier, more threatening, and more abusive with each call. Their lives are at a standstill.
Day Three: Their voices on the phone are now almost incoherent, a mix of rage and swearing.
Day Four: I phone advising job now complete, and cost, only to hear, “I’m too busy. I’ll pick it up next week.”
Their cold turkey misery is over.
From Guest Contributor Barry O’Farrell
Barry is an actor in Brisbane, Australia. Other stories by Barry have appeared in Cyclamens and Swords, 50-Word Stories and of course here at A Story In 100 Words.
Barbara fiddled with the hem of her shirt. Untucked, disheveled, fraying at the edges, the shirt reflected Barbara’s state of mind.
“You need to make a decision, dear.”
Barbara stared at her mother, so neat and handsome. In some ways, the woman was a complete stranger. Inheriting someone’s genetic code, what did that really matter? Proximity and shared experience did not imply intimacy. Barbara felt so alone.
“We’ll just let you stay here a while longer. I’m glad that’s settled.”
Barbara smiled as her mother departed. She knew she’d never be allowed any freedom, not while her mother yet lives.
There were more than twenty people in the crowd a little distance away from where I was standing. I shouted, but none could hear. A huge rolling tide swept me, I was choking. I could not feel anything.
I was holding on to the branch of a tree. Feeling so lucky to be alive, I walked a little distance.
There were snakes of all kinds along the path that led to a house. I was terrified.
Next morning, I went to an analyst and asked him the meaning of this dream. He said, “You indeed had a very stressful day.”
From Guest Contributor Thriveni C. Mysore.