100 Word Stories Anyone?
This was some time ago, not sure which forum it was suggested but it might be fun. Here are the ones I penned.
Please contribute and get the juices going .......
It wasn’t so much the claustrophobic dank confines of the box that terrified me. It was the complete absence of sound apart from my madly pumping heart. I could move my fingers, wiggle my toes and shift my head slightly and that was it. This is what it must be like to be dead, I thought. How long will the air last? Should I hold my breath or try screaming? Would anyone hear? With a startling rasp I saw a crude shiny blade through the wood, inches from my face.
Hell! I thought nervously - Who’d be a magician’s assistant?
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The first time I saw God I was twelve and sitting on the toilet. He sort of floated above the bath looking amused. I knew it was Him instinctively, pulled up my shorts and introduced myself, mentioned my maths homework and showed Him my football scar. When I was twenty He appeared by my hospital bed, said hi, held my hand then vanished.
I’m now ninety one and my pain’s indescribable. I’m deaf, almost blind and know I don’t have long left. I’ve seen nurses, carers and even a visitor with a friendly Labrador but maybe God’s lost my address.
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“Don’t go near the water!” called the woman absently to her toddler staggering by the poolside. She held her paperback high against the glare. “And keep off those deckchairs.”
But three is such a rebelliously exciting age, the surroundings so enticing. Easy to obey sometimes, but at three, such adventures beckon …
He ran, knock kneed and chuckling, towards a cuddly man in the shadow of a palm who offered a drippingly pink ice cream and a shark’s smile. His mother turned a page and devoured the trashy sex liaison and dreamed of Brett’s rough kisses while her son vanished.
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I’d always hated my nose. “Snooty” they called me, and “Pinocchio” and it hurt. When I reached adulthood I couldn’t wait to get it fixed. I was recommended an exclusive clinic to the stars, braced myself and was booked in immediately.
Well, it went superbly well, I have to say. The ridiculously handsome doctor held a dainty mirror up to my face, teeth gleaming, and invited me to agree that I looked wonderful. And I did. A pretty retrousse nose sat there like a pink rosebud.
Weeks later, and the taunts of “big ears” follow me. What can I do?