Platero And I: Smoke-Dry

There is El Boncalo, Platero. It is too late now to turn around without insulting him.

Look, that eternal hand-rolled cigarette is dangling from his lower lip again. It just smells awful.

Whenever I see him, I think of the time when I was a young man and thought I could impress the girls coming out of the sewing workshop in Calle de la Escula by lighting a cigarette with an American lighter, just like a movie star.

What a fool I was back then, Platero.

Frankly, I don't miss smoking, much like some other things aging makes superfluous.

Apparently.

From Guest Contributor Hervé Suys

Hervé (°1968 – Ronse, Belgium) started writing short stories whilst recovering from a sports injury and he hasn’t stopped since. Generally he writes them hatless and barefooted.

Second Date

Let me tell you about being single again and dating.

I meet remarkable women.

Non-smokers who chain smoke; social drinkers being borderline alcoholics.

When we talk on the phone, without exception, they’re all size 10-12. We arrange to meet.

The old joke goes, the women in our town are size 24, size 26, size 28, and then there are the big fat ones!

Seems to me it’s true.

They get offended when I say, “You deceived me,” and ask why I say so on our first date. I mean, why would anyone wait til the second date to speak up?

From Guest Contributor Barry O'Farrell

Barry is an actor living in Brisbane, Australia. Other stories by Barry have appeared in Cyclamens & Swords, 50-Word Stories, and of course here at A Story In 100 Words.

That Which Grows, That Which Dies

Lisa found a pallid yellow seed on her pillow. She rolled it between her finger and thumb, speculating that if planted, a good husband would grow. One that didn't drink or stay out all night. One that wouldn't smoke, swear, shout and scold. Her man would come, different to the others.

The seed cracked and an ocher fluid seeped onto Lisa's fingers. She licked at it as the crack repaired itself. The fluid was hot on her tongue. It erased all the thoughts she had of the perfect spouse and replaced them with images of sleeping pills and razor blades.

From Guest Contributor, Horrorshow

The Mustache

Last Tuesday morning, I woke up with a moustache. It had not been there the day before. It appeared, fully formed, overnight.

My new moustache seems to have a mind of its own. I used to smoke regularly, but it will not abide by any kind of flame close to my face. It also has a taste for jerky.

My girlfriend, thinking it was one of those fake 'staches you wear for Halloween, tried to pull it off my face. Let's just say I'm single now.

And I know it is only a matter of time before it kills again.