A Christmas Present

It was Christmas. I saw a 7- or 8-year-old boy wearing a man's overcoat that covered him from neck to toe. The sleeves of the coat were cut short haphazardly to match the boy's arm length. I went to the nearby shop. As I had a son of the same age, I knew the size. I bought a nice pair of clothes, with a matching overcoat. Wearing Santa's hat, I went back and gave new clothes to the boy. The unexpected joy on his face thrilled me. Unplanned charity brings a strange sense of contentment that money can never buy.

From Guest Contributor Thriveni C. Mysore.

The Missing

Gerald curled his hands around his coffee, coveting the warmth to be found there. Sabrina wrapped a blanket around his shoulders, lingering long enough to give him a squeeze, before she hurried back to the kitchen. He took a moment to look at the faces of those around him and realized he wasn't the only one who was cold and exhausted. But they would be back out there searching as soon as their cups were empty, and so would Gerald.

He kept his smile to himself. He may have been cold, but at least his son wasn't among the missing.

Tammy

Janine squeezed the sweat from her shirt into a glass, carefully safeguarding every drop. It was a hot day and, after the exercise routine she'd just gone through, she was really in a lather.

Adding today's sweat to what she had gathered earlier in the week, she had almost a full glass. Tammy, her guru, had said to wait until the sweat touched the mark near the rim, but the temptation to gulp it down immediately was too great. Janine tipped the glass back and started chugging.

She ran to the mirror. For the moment, she didn't look any younger.

General Gelid

If Milton had a weakness, it was the cold. Anything below room temperature would make him start to shiver uncontrollably and if it got down to freezing, he'd begin vomiting.

Milton knew his comic books though. Every hero had a fatal flaw, his own personal kryptonite, so to speak. Milton's susceptibility to the cold would be his. Obviously, his mortal enemy, his arch-nemesis, would be a villain who used cold as a weapon. Maybe his name would be General Gelid or something like that.

Sadly for Milton, while he might have a weakness, he didn't have any discernible super powers.

The Raven

George hated the raven outside his window. For weeks it had perched on the sill, staring in at him. He thought about shooting it, but he could barely kill a spider. Besides, he didn't have a gun.

He hated the way the raven mocked him. The silent condemnation of his friends and family was bad enough, but the raven held nothing back, insulting the way George dressed, the way he ate his cereal, the fact he was a virgin.

Eventually George decided to move to another neighborhood. The raven watched him leave with contempt but he kept his beak shut.

A Gift

A man with similar looking bags hopped into my cab. He rudely declined my offer to help with his baggage. It was an hour’s drive. He went into a hotel. After the day’s work I went home. I saw a bag in the trunk. I recognized the bag. It was late, I hurried back to the hotel, described him at the desk. I knocked at his door. He was surprised to see me holding his bag. He thanked me for the honesty, offered a token of appreciation. I declined. The awkward look on his face was itself a memorable reward.

From Guest Contributor Thriveni C. Mysore.

The Gardener, In The Pool House, With A Rake

I stared at my client, debating internally how to respond. It wasn't the first time I'd been asked to perform a questionable task in my line of work. Normally I would refuse, but she was offering 50,000 dollars.

"You're putting me at risk here."

"If you don't want to do it, there's plenty of people who could use the money."

She was bluffing. The fact that she was asking me to murder her husband said that she didn't have anywhere else to turn. But then again, where else was I going to make 50,000 dollars as a gardener?

Guilt-Free Murder

Carlos dragged the body onto the street. Veronica screamed about the neighbors, but if anyone was awake, it was because she was screaming. Besides, he didn't care who knew.

Mr. Caspar had deserved to die. He'd hit Veronica. He'd hit Mrs. Caspar. He'd hit the dog. If Carlos had to go to jail, at least he'd know Veronica was safe.

Veronica screamed again. It made Carlos mad to see her crying for her father, but he'd never admit to a mistake.Today, we're deviating from the 100-word format. Today's story is exactly 81 words, and is a submission for this writing site.

Export Business

Suddenly, the company in California I’ve been negotiating with is ready to sign.

This is so important, to say nothing of the many months of work involved; I have to fly there now!

The second I get off the phone from the airline, I phone a good Californian hotel to be sure of a reservation.

Of course the Reservation Clerk wants both my credit card details and residential address. Patiently I spell Brisbane for her and then Australia.

“Aren’t you glad I don’t live in Tallygaroopna or Coonabarabran,” I conclude with a flourish.

“Sir, you have no idea how glad.”

From Guest Contributor Barry O'Farrell

Other stories by Barry O'Farrell have been published by Cyclamens and Swords and 50 Word Stories, even though he is an actor living in Brisbane, Australia.

Yellow Cabs

Jake sat in the back of the taxi wondering where the snowstorm was coming from. Outside was a sunny day in New York City, but the interior of his yellow cab already had several inches of cold, wet snow and the conditions seemed to be worsening.

He'd heard of strange events happening in cabs before. He actually knew of a guy who got into a taxi on 96th Street and got out near the Village transformed into a woman. But this weather seemed even more bizarre.

Perhaps the fact his driver was a penguin had something to do with it.