English Ivy

Flamboyant scarlet blossoms arched twisting, winding heirloom English ivy. An

unexpected downpour ignored by the water-soaked guests. Whitewashed mason jars

splashed crimson pallets of rustic rural splendor. The music began, he stood nervously

waiting, looking down at his rented black shoes. She grasped her father's arm. Fervent

desire charged fiery passion. Sugary words melted sultry shadows. Fireflies and fairy

dust lit moonless nights. Silence invited the darkness. Substance replaced by distance;

whiskey preferred to a kiss. Emotions frost bit in autumn's showy splendor she'd climb

grasping, experiencing struggle with the fortitude of English ivy. She knew he watched

her sleep.

From Guest Contributor Christy Schuld

The Ceramic Urn

We own a precious family heirloom; a ceramic urn. Well, it may be precious in the sense of sentimental value but we would like to know more about it. We sent it to an expert.

All eight family members now assemble around the boardroom table to learn the expert’s opinion. The family elect me to read out the report.

“This ceramic urn is African. When the rim chipped centuries ago, someone fitted a silver collar which helped preserve it. In our estimation, it is at least 500 years old.”

“It’s the same age as Granddad!”

Granddad smiles, displaying his fangs.

From Guest Contributor Barry O'Farrell

Barry O'Farrell is an actor living in Brisbane, Australia. Barry's other stories have appeared in Cyclamens & Swords, 50 Word Stories and of course here at A Story in 100 Words.