Road To The Suburbs

Her house was situated next to a busy route. A road which connected the city to the southern parts of the suburbs.

The whole year, living in that house without wired broadband, with the incessant dust of the road, and the smell of pollution as the trucks roared by; she could barely sleep.

In her dreams she murdered and killed drivers of four-wheeled vehicles, and imagined a day when she could make their lives miserable.

The next year the media went gaga over the unaccounted increase in car crashes on that road. She was not on the list of suspects.

From Guest Contributor Debarun Sarkar

Debarun sleeps, eats, reads, smokes, drinks, labors and occasionally writes stories and submits them. Recent works have appeared or are forthcoming in Off the Coast, The Opiate, Aainanagar, Rat's Ass Review, Cerebration and here at A Story in 100 Words. He can be reached at debarunsarkar.wordpress.com

Contrast

A painting pulled me from across the room. Past spectators scrutinizing other exhibits. Past a man commenting on contemporary art.

I wanted to meet the artist and ask what had inspired him.

Hut alone in a field. The dark evening sky contrasted with flaxen wheat. No people or animals.

“Do you like it,” a man asked me.

“Too depressing,” I answered. “Looks familiar.”

“It’s the toolshed on my parents’ farm. As a boy, I took shelter there during a sudden storm.”

“So, you’re the artist,” I exclaimed eyeing him.

I left the gallery realizing we were once classmates at school.From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. Her work has been published at: Nailpolish Stories, 50-Word Stories, 100 word story, 101 Words, Boston Literary Magazine, From the Depths (Haunted Waters Press), ShortbreadStories, SixWordMemoirs, and Espresso Stories.

Spring Cleaning

Winter surrendered. Riverbanks croaked a single splash with each muddied footstep. Wild Sweet William's dainty lavender flower mingled lush green leaves and twisting vines of yellow-hued buttercups and scarlet sumac. Scraps of ocean blue ribbon and coral-colored yarn frantically entwined weaving sticks and leaves, nesting six brown-speckled eggs. Wild turkeys gathered strutting rowed corn fields. Beneath the refuge of centenarian pine fawns struggle against tottering wobbled legs. Snapping turtles lazily sit side by side sunning on downed oak logs across the trickling eddy. A deluded hummingbird, hoodwinked by an empty bird feeder, tells me to get busy.

From Guest Contributor Christy Schuld

The Hobo

“Take my wedding rings. I don’t use them anymore,” the hobo said to me.

Zelda and I were outside Tiffany’s, but it was closed. We had just decided to elope. We had arrived at the store too late.

“You can’t be serious,” I said. “How much money do you want for them?”

“None. With my wife dead, I have no use for money.”

“Don’t you wish to keep the rings anyway?”

“No, you two need them more than me. I still have her picture. Go on. Take them.” He forced the rings into my hand.

“Thank you very much, sir.”

From Guest Contributor Mark Beddard

Mid-Night Dilemma

Am I awake? Had I actually slept? I was fighting the urge to check my watch but the curiosity of what unholy hour this was got the better of me.

Slipping my hand out from under the sleeping bag I paused.

No.

Just close your eyes, go back to sleep it's too early for this.

As I closed my eyes, my thoughts swirled attempting to deduce and desperately seeking an answer I knew would destroy my chances to sleep again this night.

Just sleep.

I can’t.

Inevitably the unbearable urge won and I was cursed with the answer I sought.

From Guest Contributor Michael Major

Haircut

That summer when everything in his life seemed to be going just right, he finally contemplated cutting his hair. It had been over a decade now, and the summer heat showed no sign of dying down.

Compared to other years, he had enough companionship around him to sustain what he thought would be the antithesis of a lonely life. One girl and a woman were deeply in love with him. He thought it was the best time for a fresh start.

As the heat soared he finally cut his hair off, and both the women suddenly disappeared from his life.

From Guest Contributor Debarun Sarkar

Debarun sleeps, eats, reads, smokes, drinks, labors and occasionally writes stories and submits them. He can be reached at debarunsarkar.wordpress.com

I'm Alive

People come and go, they fuss and say they love me while doing everything that I cannot. They touch my arm, but I don’t feel it. They talk to me, but I cannot reply. Their mobile lives allow them freedom to gaze upon beauty or hide from the disgusting whenever they please, but I will forever remain seated in my chair, staring at the projections that appear on my television screen. My fault or not, a single moment brought me to this place; a car accident I barely remember. This is my life now, but at least I'm alive, right?

From Guest Contributor Michael Atherton

Wishes

I saw a comet yesterday. It came as though from nowhere, soaring across the deep blue expanse of sky inset with bright stars. Watching it, I felt youthful again, glowing with vibrant dreams and astronomical aspirations—reborn like a phoenix from the ashes of adulthood.

In a moment of euphoria, I closed my eyes and wished for the love of my life. The fiery tail ripped through the night, searching for my soulmate. When I opened my eyes, my wife was standing before me.

Then I remembered—comets are hard, icy rocks, and they suck the life from the sun.

From Guest Contributor Taylor Shepeard

Homecoming

Years of content memories awaited familiar arms. Angel wings brushed bedposts softly, listening for command. Good-byes graciously accepted. Passing without fear, anticipating this new journey, unknown. Each shallow breath now numbered, every fragile heartbeat heard. Yesterdays spent letting go of earthly things and people deeply loved. Words need not be spoken, it was understood. No sorrow or regret. She would miss them, but only for awhile. Withered hands smiled, soothing random tears. No pain present, peace her blanket. Voices heard yet distant, creased lips pressed in prayer. Fading eyes searched light, bent fingers directed misplaced hair. Would he recognize her?

From Guest Contributor Christy Schuld

Waiting For The Days To Pass

You’re my obsession. My addiction. I lay on my sheetless mattress under the black light--posters glowing. I’m chain smoking. Looking at old photos of us. Happy moments frozen in time; hugging, kissing, making faces. Going through my withdrawals. I wipe my nose. The music dwindles. I drift in and out sleep. Dreaming of babies. The one that’s decaying from our past mistakes, and your new plump one that’s not mine. I’m awake, and I’m breathing. Rapidly. I’m covered in cold sweat. Yet, this won’t stop me...when you call, and you will, I’ll come...because I need my fix.

From Guest Contributor McKenzie A. Frey