She screamed. He’d picked her for a non-screamer. He hated screamers. That’s why his procedure of selection was so elaborate. He didn’t just pick the first pretty girl he saw. No, it took time, patience, balancing several factors and if he couldn’t find one who met all his standards, then he’d go home alone. This actually happened more often lately. Perhaps that was why he hadn’t been careful enough.
The noise was so gut-wrenching he had to end it. He bent down, her nails digging further into the skin of his back. His lips on hers. The silence was deafening.
This post is an entry in the 100 words for grownups challenge. This week (#66)’s prompt was: …the silence was deafening…
As I was waiting for him, I picked up a book from the desk. At first I didn’t pay any special attention to the single orange dot on the page. As I read on, I noticed no more sentences were highlighted like the pages before. It seemed strange. Like someone had dropped the marker on the page. I turned back to see it again and then noticed little splashes on the corner of the page. They were a reddish brown, a little faded. How odd…
I heard some shuffling behind me. I looked up but never even saw him coming…
This short story was written as an entry in the 100WCGU challenge wk #65. Check out what I am talking about here. The prompt this week was thesignificance or otherwise of an ORANGE SPOT or what it may represent.
Starting off with some image issues,
combined with a troubled youth.
Lot’s of competitive genes,
a dash of perfectionism.
Insecurities, commitmentphobia, wrong self-image,
high intelligence and a feisty personality.
A good sense of humor, high sensitivity
a sharp tongue, a load of sarcasm.
Bottled up fear, a sense of self-loathing,
a tendency to become depressed
and sensitivity to mental problems.
Te troubled years of college and living in dorms
Depressed parents wit burnouts,
troubled siblings, mad ex-boyfriends,
My best friend and I were bound to break up in a witch-fight. It as been 18 months since we last talked.
This story was written for the 100WCGU challenge. Find out what I am talking about here .The prompt this week was a recipe for a witch, which left me with a writers block for days on end. This was the best I could come up with. Btw, this week it’s not entirely fictional…
It was a cold day. I remember seeing the frost on my windows. I dressed warmly. It was a dirty job, but it had to be done. I mentally prepared myself over a cup of coffee. Got in the car and started the long, tedious drive.
She was cold. Her body had gone rigid and it wasn’t easy to transport. I started sweating in my warm hoodie. As I dropped her in the freshly dug hole, my breath made little clouds that seemed to instantly freeze.
My dog died on December 18th, 2001. And winter brings her memory back to me.
This short story was written for the 100 Word Challenge for grown-ups week #63. The prompt was ‘…and winter brings…’.
I was running fast as I could. I didn’t dare look behind me. It was pulling at me, I had to fight it, had to be stronger. Fear had made me curious. How could I not look behind? The landscape before me kept morphing around me. Like when you are filming in a high speed train and the world is flashing by. Though my legs felt like fudge and it kept closing in on me. I tried turning a corner. I turned to the side, felt it pulling, harder… “Hun, give back the blankets please!”. I woke with another headache.
I was so triggered by this challenge 100WCGU that I had to do wk #61’s prompt as well. Maybe more previous weeks will show up in the next few days.
She noticed his pained look when he glanced at her over the wine glasses he was filling, standing behind the island in his enormous kitchen. There was something scary about his look. It was nothing like the hungry looks he had thrown her just hours before from across the bar.
* * *
He could see the look on her face change. It was purely because her look changed that he knew the atmosphere between them had shifted. It wasn’t because of her or what she’d said. Gently he pulled the big kitchen knife out of the drawer. It can’t be that time…
This post is a response to the 100 Word Challenge for Grown Ups. It’s my first entry so I hope I’m doing everything correctly, please leave me a comment if it should be done differently. Thanks to Julia for the challenge.
Yeah, there’s always something about that very first post. What to write… Well, for now, nothing to tell you, just that my next post will be an entry in the 100WCGU challenge. Hopefully it’s something I can commit to and stick it out. And perhaps I will find the guts to post more things, just scribbles, poems, short stories, whatever comes to mind really. Pleas support by following, liking and commenting, I need it 😉 thnx.
the long road home
Because we all love them
That Firefly Phil bloke, still knocking out photography and other stuff.
Will Write for Paper
just scribbling my thoughts
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Naandika means I write in swahili. This is a site with poetry, short stories and rants
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Well, someone had to say it.
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