A Story In 100 Words

My clammy hands make the number I pulled soggy. I roll the paper’s corner between my fingers until it looks like the twisted end of those poppers you throw at the ground. The chairs are ice cold and don’t warm up to me. Who am I waiting for to call my name? The slip is blurry. There’s no number after all. My skin is on fire. The paper disintegrates. Now I’ll never know when I’ll be called. The gift of creation is eating me alive. I really wanted to get that checked out. But I don’t think anyone is coming.

From Guest Contributor Madeline van Batum

Madeline lives in Colorado with her cat and hopes that one day she can go back to her home country of the Netherlands to finally meet the Flying Dutchman.

Please support the site by purchasing one of my books on Amazon. Check out Quitting The Grave, a murder mystery set on the Oregon Trail. Plus, don't forget my other books: They Both Loved Vonnegut, Ahab's Adventures in Wonderland, and Picasso Painted Dinosaurs.