Guard Dog

 

Guard Dog

 

The sun set and his people were tucked into the house.

The dog started his perimeter check, head and tail up, sniffing and listening.

He began to bark.

Inside, the family shook their heads. He was a great dog, but good lord, the barking.

“What is he barking at?” the little girl asked, nervously.

Her mother laughed and said, “He’s such a big goofball, it’s probably a turtle in the pond or leaves on the trees.”

Alone in the dark, the dog did what he did every night, and stared down the very real monsters who would harm his family.  

Clouds

 

Clouds

They loved sunny afternoons like this, with nothing to do but relax and use their imaginations.

“That one looks like a seahorse!”

“Which one?”

“That little one there shaped like a seahorse! Next to the one that looks like a balloon.”

“Oh. Now I see it! A seahorse holding a balloon!” and they both laughed.

They laughed so hard, they started to cry, and then others around them started to cry, too.

Far below, the surprised humans looked up at the clouds that had been white and fluffy a minute ago and ran inside to get out of the rain.

Hair

 

Hair

 

I was going to compliment her on her hair.

The woman in front of me had the most beautiful silky silver hair pulled back into a high sleek ponytail, and I started to say something when I saw the look on her face.

She was angry, really angry.

“May I help you?” the nice lady behind the counter asked.

“Yes! You can stop putting other people’s mail in my post office box” the woman snapped, throwing an envelope across the counter and stomping out the door.

The postal worker looked shocked.

“Your hair looks wonderful today” I told her, smiling.

Noise

 

Noise

 

“What is that noise?” she thought to herself. It only happened during the day, and the nights were peaceful and quiet.

Stealthily, she crept around the tiny, renovated church, trying to pinpoint its origin.

People had warned her that the building was so old a bulldozer would be a mercy, but she had ignored the naysayers and turned it into a cozy, perfect little home for herself.

Climbing the narrow stairs to the steeple, she poked her flashlight through a crack in the door and sighed.

They had been right, after all.

She really did have bats in her belfry.

Crows

 

Crows

 

She left cookies out for them, and they brought her shiny things.

People annoyed her. She preferred the company of the crows.

She left her doors and windows open, and the crows came and went like Family.

Eventually, she withdrew into herself, depressed.

“My family is gone” she told the crows perched around her. “Why the hell am I still here?”

The day she decided to drive her car off the bridge, she left cookies out for the crows, but then couldn’t find her keys.

She never thought of looking up in the tree, where the crows had taken them.

The Road Home

 

The Road Home

It was late, on a dark and stormy night.

The wiper blades were brand new, but it was still damn difficult to see the road.

He loved working 2^nd shift, but nights like this could be tricky.

As he approached the long narrow bridge, he instinctively slowed down, just a little bit.

He’d lived in this swampland his whole life; grown up hearing the folklore that outsiders thought of as silly or quaint, but never true.

He felt its eyes on him, and he gazed back as steadily as possible.

They nodded to each other politely and he drove on.

Nose

 

Nose

She sat, stunned, as the entire family acted like nothing had happened.

They had all seen it. In fact, they’d laughed.

Her grandfather had reached across the table and taken her nose.

Just like that.

She hadn’t even been aware that it was removable.

Horrified, she’d clutched at her face. It didn’t feel any different, but clearly there was her nose in between her grandfather’s fingers. 

As she started to cry, her grandfather quickly put her nose back, chuckling and tousling her hair.

And now, everyone had moved on.

But she had not.

And she would have her sweet revenge.

Ghost Story

 

Ghost Story

The campfire crackled, reflected in the eyes of the little campers surrounding it.

An owl hooted, and a slight wind rustled the leaves in the trees.

Their leader was almost whispering, leaning in towards the fire, telling a ghost story about the Headless Horseman who’d kidnapped children in the area for a hundred years.

Reaching the climax of the tale, he suddenly threw his head back and let loose a bone-chilling shriek, ending in a maniacal laugh.

Hidden in the forest, the Horseman startled, dropping his pumpkin head, which shattered on the ground.

“Dammit” he whispered. He hated ghost stories.

Texaco

 

Texaco

It was freezing, but he needed gas, so he pulled into the Texaco.

The first card was declined, but the next one worked. He pulled out the nozzle and started gassing up.

He was bone-tired. At 57, he was too damn old for construction work, but it’s all he knew. Retirement was out of the question. He’d be working till the day he died.

“Dead end job till the day I die”, he thought sarcastically to himself.

Leaning against the pump as the tank filled, covering the “No smoking” sign with his shoulder, he lit up a cigarette. “YOLO, motherfuckers.”

1am At the Diner

 

1am At the Diner

She sat in the back booth of the dingy diner, telling herself that if she just added enough sugar to it, the coffee would taste better, but she knew it wouldn’t. She’d seen the pot it had been poured out of; blackened glass that smelled burnt.

Sighing, she calmly watched a copper-colored cockroach climb the wall next to her, its ebony eyes trained on her, antennae gracefully swaying, waiting for the smack of the menu that would end it all, but it never came, and the cockroach disappeared behind the olive-green polyester curtains.

There was an unspoken kinship between them.

Spring

 

Spring

The soil had been cold for a while.

The bulbs were burrowed down, under the freeze line, dormant.

Above the surface, it went from cold, to chilly, to frigid, and back again.

It rained a lot, and snowed a little, and there was some ice.

Eventually, it stopped being cold and chilly, and for a while it wavered between cool and warm.

When the warm days outnumbered the cool days, there was a stirring in the bulbs.

Slowly, they sprouted roots and stems, stretching above and below with intent.

The day the daffodils bloomed, it snowed.

Defiantly, they bloomed anyway.

Alliance

 

Alliance

The dog and the monster stared at each other, not quite knowing what to do next.

Both had been howling at far away sirens, and now they found themselves looking at each other in the nighttime silence.

The monster was an omnivore, not a hunter, and the dog was a protector, not an attack dog. They were both the color of the forest, with wise green eyes.

They were both quiet, serious thinkers by nature, and they were thinking, now.

After what seemed to be a long time, a mutual decision was made.

Together, they disappeared into the quiet darkness.

Memoir

 

Memoir

The ginger tabby made biscuits on her lap, making itself comfortable in the soft folds of her lap quilt.

A cup of chamomile tea steamed in a delicate teacup.

Her grandchildren had asked if she would write her memoirs, and she had smiled and said, “Of course.”

At 85 years old, her hair was white and gently curled around her face, held back by a baby blue ribbon that matched her eyes.

She was the ultimate grandma; a sweet guiding light smelling of baby powder and chocolate chip cookies.

She started writing.

“Everyone I ever had sex with is dead.”

Belonging

 

Belonging

She sat on the top of the hill, sighing with happiness and relief.

She’d made her last land payment.

“You’re all mine” she said to the trees and birds, assuming they were listening.

But they weren’t.

The trees grew leaves and the birds sang and flew and built nests in the trees.

Nothing at all changed for the land.

She lived out her days in her little house on her land, content that it belonged to her.

As they scattered her ashes from the top of the hill, the land whispered, “I never belonged to you. You belong to me.”

Flying

 

Flying

“Is this seat taken?” he asked. When she smiled and shook her head ‘no’, he sat down, buckled his seat belt, and opened his book.

She settled back and closed her eyes.

The plane landed, and they ended up in the same hotel shuttle, chatting easily.

After that, they spent every moment together, and it was perfect.

Her whole life, she’d been waiting for this unbelievable magical fairytale and happy ending.

The plane bumped as its wheels touched the runway, and she opened her eyes.

Her seatmate closed his book and walked off of the plane to his waiting family.

Typecast

 

Typecast

“Line?” she shook her head in irritation.

This was dress rehearsal, for fuck’s sake. No excuse to blank out on anything at this point.

But what was she supposed to do, with that bitch Vanessa breathing over her shoulder?

Oh, sure she pretended to be a friend, giving her compliments and bringing little presents.

But she knew better. Vanessa was her understudy, just watching for any sign of weakness on her part, so she could swoop in.

She glared at the prompter, who quietly recited, “Yet do I fear thy nature; It is too full o’the milk of human kindness.”

Memories

 

Memories

“I’ll remember this forever”, she thought, about all the little gifts Life placed in her lap.

But she didn’t.

When her family asked, “Hey, do you remember…?” she did not, and when her friends talked about good times, she came up blank, but smiled and nodded, pretending.

She was busy. She’d remember later.

Then, over the years, one by one, they left.

Her husband died, her children grew up, and her friends drifted because she was “always busy”.

Alone in her empty house, she remembered.

Every sweet, irreplaceable moment, with every sweet, irreplaceable human.

Memories were all she had left.

Order

 

Order

Everything was in order.

Her house was clean, her laundry was done (and put away), and there were fresh flowers impeccably arranged on the table.

She’d washed the windows, keeping an eye on the world from the neat little house she and her late husband had built after they married. So many memories, good and bad (mostly good) were here in this place that had sheltered her family and all their friends for three quarters of a century.

She felt tired but content, sitting in her rocker, chained to the giant oak in the front yard, waiting on the bulldozer.

Lucky

 *Author's note: I'ma change this up a little. Each story will be *exactly* 100 words, and there will be no hint as to where the hell it came from. Is it an intrusive thought? Part of a dream? Who fucking knows?

See? Fun. 😁

                                                            Lucky

She paused, scratching her palm.

“An itchy palm means money coming!” she thought, and then laughed quietly, because she’d be stuck at this dead-end job forever.

A few layers under her skin, in the muscle of her palm, the tiny worm felt pressure from above.

“That means I’m going to see outside again!” instinct told it, but since it had burrowed into her palm via a puncture wound a few weeks ago to lay eggs, outside had ceased to exist, except in genetic memory.

Six months later, she was awarded $500,000 for parasitic exposure.

The worm was not as fortunate. 

Baby's Birthday

 

Baby’s Birthday

(Snippet of a dream)

It was Baby’s birthday. She was one year old.

The house was decorated with balloons and banners and streamers. A huge cake sat on the table, one pink candle in the center waiting to be lit.

Family and friends gathered around, and Baby sat in a frilly dress and princess crown, gasping with happiness and watching the tiny flame, mesmerized.

The singing was sung and the candle blown out by a hyperventilating Baby.

In the next room, presents were tied around the “necks” of venomous snakes and the snakes set loose.

Baby giggled and crawled after the snakes.

Everyone smiled.

Bones

 

Bones

(found a gigantic bone that the dogs dragged home. *Obviously* a cow bone)

“What have you brought home?” she asked her enormous dog. He wagged his tail and dropped the bone on her foot. It was huge. “Son of a…is that a dinosaur bone?” she laughed. Of course it wasn’t.

She gave the dog his bone and peered into the sky. Sometimes she was sure she could see shadows beyond the clouds, but that was just silly.

Far above, above the trees and the clouds and the atmosphere, the giant glared at his daughter. “How many times have I told you to stop dropping your dinosaur bones into the Earth terrarium?”

“Sorry, dad.”

When the Stupid Idea is Maybe All You Can Manage Right Now

 Why aren't I writing?

I started writing Edna's story (loosely interpreted to protect the guilty), but honestly, there are parts of it I can't write, even semi-fictionally, until her son is dead. Because some things she told me in confidence and never wanted him to know.

So, there's that.

This morning, I had a random thought, as I do every day, and it was borderline "why the fuck would you even think that?", as they are every day. Then, I thought, "What if I took these weird snippets and wrote a tiny story around them? A story of 100 words or less? And shoot for every day?

Anyway, here's the first one, because while drying my feet after my shower, I thought, "Better not grab your toes like that; they might come off."

Yeah. I apologize in advance. 

Or do I?

Toes

"Shit" she thought, feeling the asymmetrical spheres in her hand under the towel. Sighing, she held her breath and opened the towel. 

Yep. It was her toes.

She lined them up on the edge of the sink, deciding this was a problem for later.

She got dressed, made her coffee, and settled herself on the sofa. 

Silently, Ajax pulled himself up onto the sofa, burrowing into her lap.

Tickling him gently under his chin, she thought, “Well, I guess that doctor was right" and out loud she whispered, "You are totally worth it."

The armadillo blinked, yawned, and fell asleep.