Posts Tagged ‘House’
Aug
There’s Probably A Metaphor Somewhere
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
They’d played countless times, but never with so much at stake. Their matches began as flirtation, then morphed into courtship. They won in equal amounts until, as time passed, her victories became mostly afterthought.
Their styles contrasted perfectly. He was aggressive, careless even, looking to strike quickly at her most vulnerable spots. She played cautiously, guarding every pawn. Eventually, he’d wear down her defenses.
This was their final game. The winner would keep the house, the car, the dog. When she won, he couldn’t believe it.
“You were always awful at chess. I let you win because it was easier.”
Jul
Her Private Video Archive
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
I had first come across her archive of personal video footage, when she left the house to me for a few months, on her trip to Japan.
She had a considerable collection of 8mm tapes, DVDs, and CDs filled with amateur video footage.
I remember clearly that, I spent a whole month locked in the house, watching her film the mundane and the eventful. When she did not return from the trip to Japan, I auctioned it to an art gallery for a considerable sum of money.
Her ‘Sans Soleil’ though was never seen, like her footage of the riots.
From Guest Contributor Debarun Sarkar
Debarun sleeps, eats, reads, smokes, drinks, labors and occasionally writes stories and submits them. Recent works have appeared or are forthcoming in Off the Coast, The Opiate, Aainanagar, Rat’s Ass Review, Cerebration, and here at A Story in 100 Words. He can be reached at debarunsarkar.wordpress.com
Jul
Road To The Suburbs
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Her house was situated next to a busy route. A road which connected the city to the southern parts of the suburbs.
The whole year, living in that house without wired broadband, with the incessant dust of the road, and the smell of pollution as the trucks roared by; she could barely sleep.
In her dreams she murdered and killed drivers of four-wheeled vehicles, and imagined a day when she could make their lives miserable.
The next year the media went gaga over the unaccounted increase in car crashes on that road. She was not on the list of suspects.
From Guest Contributor Debarun Sarkar
Debarun sleeps, eats, reads, smokes, drinks, labors and occasionally writes stories and submits them. Recent works have appeared or are forthcoming in Off the Coast, The Opiate, Aainanagar, Rat’s Ass Review, Cerebration and here at A Story in 100 Words. He can be reached at debarunsarkar.wordpress.com
Mar
Curiosity Killed
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The house-bricks were as red as the little squirrel which inhabited the tree just outside.
Ciaran was glad he was able to watch the little fellow scamper about, and even left treats on the window ledge…when it had been left open.
Those big frames were too heavy for him to handle and he’d been forbidden to try: they were treacherous when it came to crushing fingers.
He’d heard in school that the American Grey Squirrels were causing the reds to die out. Mum was angry-ironing. He cocked his head and risked a question.
“Mum–?”
The blow rattled his eyes.
From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid
Aug
Blocked
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
“C’mon, Helen, add me back! I know you’re still active.”
She knocked a few more times on the portion of the wall where the door had been, hopelessly. Livid, she cursed the day she granted Helen authority to set permissions in her house.
It was progress, they said, that rooms and buildings could be subject to malleable privacy permissions. But now, locked outside, she missed the days when connections were not so easily lost.
No message came from inside, but, crouched with ears against the wall, she thought she could hear the distant buzz of postings addressed to someone else.
From Guest Contributor Leonardo A. Castro
May
House Hunting
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The realtor pushed the door open. “Will your wife be joining us?”
“Don’t worry about her. Does it have everything I asked for?”
“I believe it does.”
“Which way to the basement?”
She led him through the kitchen. “This is it.”
He flipped on the light and peered down into the dark dank hole. “Uh huh,” he said as he disappeared down the stairs. The realtor followed down behind him.
It was the worst sort of basement, dark corners, only one sliver of a window, musty, dead.
He toed the dirt floor and it gave way under his boot. “Sold.”
From Guest Contributor Darci McIntyre
Feb
Stressful Day
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
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.
Jan
The Exporter’s Lament
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
In Export there is something heroic about earning foreign currency for my country. It makes up for jet lag, family absences, and living out of a suitcase.
Disembarking the flight home, I am thinking of freshly made meals and welcome home sex, not necessarily in that order.
I open the front door to enter a silent, empty house; furniture, fixtures and fittings gone.
On the kitchen bench the business card of a lawyer, specializing in Family Law.
My mind floods with stories told by fellow exporters, their helpless acute vulnerability, when their wives ran off with another man or woman.
From Guest Contributor Barry O’Farrell
Barry O’Farrell is an actor in Brisbane Australia, who worked in Export many years ago.
Other stories by Barry can be found at Cyclamens and Swords, 50 Word Stories and here at A Story In 100 Words.
Jan
The Final Conversation
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
They walked the long way to her house, so they had extra time before they reached her porch. She had a previous engagement and he wasn’t invited inside.
The conversation had been lovely. They’d shared their most embarrassing moments. They made each other laugh. They held hands. They kissed around the corner, and didn’t care who might see them. He would remember it fondly forever.
It was their final conversation. He stopped returning her phone calls or answering her letters. He feared things ending on a bad note, so he had waited for the perfect moment to break things off.
Nov
An Alcoholic, A Nuclear Bomb
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Fact: an atomic bomb was detonated 8.4 km from where Wally Kazinsky was repairing the toilet in a decent brothel. The brick house shivered violently from the blast, a few windows shattered. There’d been talk of an attack, and Wally considered the possibility. He grabbed his glass of scotch before he went to look out the window. His legs were wobbly. Maybe nervous, but definitely drunk.
People were crying, hurt, bleeding. Fuck. They were probably already bathed in radiation. Wally was dizzy but lucid enough. Time for emergency measures. He found his hammer, and headed to the corner liquor store.
From Guest Contributor Wil Wang