100 word stories
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After (13/100)
free image source: freepik.com After he left the room, she sat there in the heavy silence looking at the ring on the table through his untouched glass of Scotch. The amber liquid made it seem larger than it was…and like it was somehow hovering above the table, wavering like a mirage in the desert. Maybe that’s what their marriage had always been. Reaching over the glass, she picked up the ring and dropped it in. It sunk quickly, tapping quietly against the bottom. She picked it up, swirled it, and downed the entire contents in one swallow. Fuck him. She’d shit it out tomorrow. Join in… The 💯…
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Airborne (12/100)
Gray flesh sagged from his bones. Even from this distance, she could see the curved lines it created, like stacked smiles in his skin. He shuffled toward her, mindless hunger driving his lurching movements. Shuddering, she tried to shrink behind the counter. Her surgical mask clung to her face, sticking to the sweat, holding in the heat of her breath. Months ago, they’d promised the end was in sight. Yet, here she was…watching her grandfather’s macabre dance. The morning news said it was now airborne. She considered her options…the ruins of her life… …and slowly removed her mask, inhaling deeply. Join in… The 💯 Story Challenge You can follow…
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The Show Must Go On (11/100)
(Image credit: Creator: RapidEye | Getty Images/iStockphoto) McMahan: Where’s the body, Joan? [JOAN avoids eye-contact, wringing her hands nervously behind her back.] McMahan: Joan? Joan: I’m a little teapot, short and stout…here is my handle, here is my spout… [JOAN dips to the side, left hand pointing toward the ground. MCMAHAN starts, his face a question.] McMahan: There? [He points to the ground by her left foot.] Joan: Hey coppa, you’re a smart one now, aintcha? [MCMAHAN pushes her aside, digging into the dirt with his shovel, quickly uncovering a bruised hand.] McMahan: The director!? Shit, Joan! How are we supposed to finish this scene without him? Join in… The…
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I Didn’t Even Know His Name (10/100)
The whisper entered my ear like burning lava, dripped down my neck, and singed a path all the way to my toes. “Bathroom. 10 minutes.” Undulating bodies, pounding bass, and strobing lights swallowed him whole, as he walked away. I did as commanded, bent over the sink, closed my eyes, waited. “Don’t open them.” The air scorched my exposed backside, as he pushed my dress over my head. I heard him spit, then felt warm wetness spread with rough fingers against my slit. He pushed inside, rushed through my veins like heroine, filling me with sin. I exhaled and let go. Join in… The 💯 Story Challenge You can…
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The Voice in My Head (9/100)
(free image source: pixabay.com) Did you think I wouldn’t notice? The voice came from within, but I looked around in confusion, wondering if others on the bus had heard. I told you not to tell. Now they’ll be coming for you. I had to. They saw the marks you made on my skin. They asked too many questions…I broke…I’m sorry… They’ll lock you up. Force you to take the pills. I know. Tears pooled…escaping slowly. Why couldn’t I do the same? I’ll never leave you. I know. It was my greatest fear. What will you tell them? The truth. That I’m afraid of myself. Join in… The…
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Untoward (8/100)
I’m not sure why I looked up. I wasn’t drawn by lustful moans or the slick scent of hidden sex. But I sensed something…untoward. From the sidewalk, I watched the shadows of their infidelity ride the waves of our billowing white bedroom curtains. It was 8:03 pm on a Thursday night when my marriage went up in smoke. I considered stomping up the stairs, barging in, making a scene. I also considered sitting right there in the middle of the sidewalk, sobbing, and throwing my ring down the sewer drain. Instead, I walked into “our” pub and ordered a beer. Join in… The 💯 Story Challenge You can follow…
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Sleep Can Wait (7/100)
(image: unsplash.com/Dainis Graveris) She crawled in next to him, glancing at the bedside clock. 12:32 a.m. Reaching out, tentatively, she placed her cool hand on his warm back, sliding it up and around his waist. His breathing deepened and slowed momentarily in response to her touch, his bodily awareness of her apparent. Hoping not to wake him, she moved close, pressing her body against his, her nipples grazing his shoulder blades. Curling into her, they curved, like two parentheses, open to the possibility of the dark. He stirred, breath becoming shallow…quick. His hand slipped over hers, fingers searching…bodies hungry. Sleep would have to wait. Join in… The 💯 Story…
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Waiting (6/100)
Twelve photos. Black and white. Faceless, nude women, posed unnaturally, limbs bent as if broken. He’d found them, wedged between two boards in the attic of his new home, and on the back of each…pencil scratch: 1953 Joan, 1961 Maria, 1964 Emma… It took little effort to research the connection…dates, names, Cincinnati. The screen blazed back at him. Missing. Queensgate. Never found. Famous photographer suspected. Released. Lack of evidence. Greg raced back up the attic ladder with a crowbar. Prying up the boards, he sat back and gazed at the bones. He thought he heard a girl whisper, “We’ve been waiting for you.” Join in… The 💯 Story Challenge You…
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Naked (5/100)
Image source: Getty Images “Picture them naked,” Kevin said. “Everyone suggests that, but it doesn’t work for me,” Sara replied. “No, you must really imagine it.” “I don’t have that kind of imagination.” “Everyone has that kind of imagination.” *silent stare* *questioning blink* Sara licked her lips, “Maybe you could…help me…practice?” “Absolutely!” Kevin smiled, sat down on the couch, crossed his legs, and looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to begin. “No…I mean, practice imagining the crowd naked.” Sara grinned. “How, exactly?” *raised eyebrow* And that’s how Kevin found himself sitting, naked on Sara’s couch listening to a presentation on hummingbird migration. Join in… The 💯 Story Challenge You can follow…
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Hunger (4/100)
Though her eyes wouldn’t rise above his elbow, uncharacteristic boldness encouraged words that she’d not rehearsed, as she usually might have. “Your suggestion?” “The special…succulent…tender…moist…comes dressed in…creamy sauce…fingerling potatoes drizzled with…” She bit her lip. Sharp intake of breath. Thighs pressed together. Eyes closed and rolled back. All it took was his description. The cadence and rhythm of his words. She could drink them, imagine the taste, and then leave, still hungry, yet satiated, his voice vibrating on the back of her tongue. She wanted to swallow him whole. But…right now…she was on a diet. Join in… The 💯 Story Challenge