Debauchery

Rick stumbled into the alleyway hoping no one would notice him puking. The retching sounds could be heard one block over. He got back in his police car and drove away.

Preston kept his hat low over his face while checking into the hotel with his secretary. During the five minutes of sex, he wondered where he recognized the desk clerk from. Hopefully not his congregation.

Barbara dropped one last token in the slot and pulled the lever. She was bust. They never should have voted her treasurer of the cancer foundation.

Just another night in the big American city.

Snitch

Here’s my dilemma.

I’ve learned Roger is having an affair with a woman from work.

What?!

I saw them kissing outside a hotel downtown. I confronted him later and he admitted it, reluctantly.

Should I tell Audrey?

I assume she’ll be upset, though maybe she already suspects his infidelity.

I care about them both, but, as you know, Roger’s been a jerk to me since getting married.

Plus, I’ve had a crush on Audrey since high school.

So, you’re asking if you should snitch on your brother so you can get with your sister-in-law?

I am ... she deserves better!

From Guest Contributor Bob Gielow

A college administrator by day, Bob (he/him) spins tales in formats we all use when communicating with each other: text messages, emails, fictional Wikipedia posts, and diary entries all allow him to be clinical and thorough in describing his characters, their thinking and actions...without diminishing his ability to explore the resulting human emotions.

God, The Eagles

God how I loved “Hotel California.” Which was more than a song. The rooms had feather beds and cozy quilts you’d think came from the Amish people. Those people, straight and true. Me, I’m a scotch on the rocks girl, down at the hotel bar most nights singing along with those guys. “Desperado” comes to mind. My kids weren’t half as much trouble as I let on. All of them stellar now. So stellar I don’t know what to say to them anymore. And the way they don’t call, I figure they don’t know what to say to me either.

Linda Lowe's poems and stories have appeared in Outlook Springs, Gone Lawn, Dogzplot, Right Hand Pointing, New Verse News and others.

Overindulgence

She was tired and had too much to drink. Her eyes drooped to provide the perfect screen for strange imaginings. Time passed.

Chloe jolted awake to a shift in the buzz of conversation, her vision presenting a weird split screen of a now empty hotel bar, a new day’s sun barging through the large windows and reflecting off each polished surface to sear through the fog in her brain: judgmentally bright.

Her clothes smelled of staleness and smoke. Stale vomit prowled the back of her throat.

Chloe waddled to the bathroom, suddenly aware of another need.

She’d open late today.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid

Faster Than Light

When it was just science fiction, faster than light travel wasdepicted in terms of sight and sound. Stars would blur into radiallines, as layers of synthesised sound effects bombarded a 21st centurymovie audience.

Now that it's reality, it's the smell that dominates. The overpoweringreek of rotten sauerkraut mixed with fecal notes that sticks to youfor weeks.

Harold always dreads an assignment on a new planet, but when you workin galactic trade you go where the company sends you.

The hotel receptionist sniffs and wrinkles her button nose beforepolitely enquiring: "Have you travelled far?"

From Guest Contributor Ross Clement

We Accommodate Everybody

"Humanoid preparation team to the front counter."

Shaun, Michelle, and Joan crossed the lobby in seconds. Standing by the "We Accommodate Everybody" sign were a family of black eyed hairless grey humanoids.

"What can we do for you?"

"We can use beds at a pinch, but we always sleep better in a web" said the largest humanoid.

Galactic Hub Hotels are proud of their service. Joan holstered a plastisilk gun and led the family away. Nobody spins more comfortable webs than Joan.

"Humanoid preparation team to the front counter."

Uh-oh, aquatisuits. This is going to be more of a challenge.

From Guest Contributor Ross Clement

What Patti Smith Gets Up To

"I saw Patti Smith in concert once. It was quite recently actually. I like to think that after the show she went to a late night beat poet meet where they gave beautiful spoken word renditions through the fug of cigarette smoke whilst drinking sour wine. Or she went to keep candlelight midnight vigil over an altar of Allen Ginsburg, a vigil unbroken by his devotees since his death in the 90’s. More realistically I think Ms. Smith went back to her hotel with her band and caught an early night, she was getting on a bit at the time."

From Guest Contributor George Aitch

Infinity Pool

She and I are married but not to each other, if you get my drift.

Seizing a window of opportunity, we are spending four nights in a five-star hotel on the coast complete with infinity pool. I swim, she wades.

She says, during my swim, a young girl approached her complaining a couple of boys mischievously removed the safety floaters to use for a game in the pool. The lass asked, “Can you tell your husband to make those boys put the floaters back?”

“Why don’t you?” I ask cheekily. “Grab your phone, make the call.”

We both laugh.

From Guest Contributor Barry O’Farrell

Barry's stories can also be found on Cyclamens & Swords, 50-Words Stories and of course, here at A Story In 100 Words.

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.

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.