Friday Fiction: 100 Word Challenge

Friday Fiction: 100 Word Challenge

Friday Fiction: 100 Word Challenge

Your mission: to use the picture as inspiration to write a story using 100 words, no more no less.

A story:

**********************
At six he waits.

She comes into his life by way of spilled milk and tears. From that inauspicious beginning forms a fast friendship built on shared Bradbury stories and a love for peanut butter and bacon sandwiches.

At 25 he waits, telling her to breathe, now push, now breathe, now PUSH and marvels at the child their love has made.

At 55 he waits, standing with her as their son-in-law rushes into the room “It’s a boy!”

At 75 he waits, as she slips into his arms and they sway to their song.

At 85 he waits to follow.

*********************

Now it is your turn to post your story in the comments

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10 Comments
  • cathymv says:

    Kissing her head gently, John was reminded of the first time he saw the women of his dreams. He spied a beautiful woman sitting on the boardwalk bench at the beach. She was beautiful, ethereal almost. He was stunned by her beauty. Behind her, he saw a woman running across the boardwalk, trip and fall flat on her face. He was stunned at first and rushed over to help her. He noticed her shoulders shaking and he heard peels of laughter. She looked up at him, her blue eyes sparkling and he knew she was the woman of his dreams

  • A.L. Knable says:

    “No closer.”, he cautioned. “They’ll see us.”

    Thier gaze crossed the stream taking in the party. Toddlers chasing ants about their mound. Father baiting hook. Proud mother content in the moment she’d created; yet, longing in her look.

    “Nonsense,” he reminded, “she was a baby when you, when we…”. Always the shadow fell, no matter the lifetime of sunlight past.

    “We did the right thing.” Repeated; to be true.

    She looked across. Eyes familiar, hesitating then searching on. Past the horizon…to find?

    “Hello!” Half-choking, waving.

    “Shhhh”, imploring, gently taking her hand. Whispering, lips caressing her forehead,
    “No more words.”

  • Skillyboo says:

    Her mind wandering, her daughter playing in the sand, she noticed an elderly couple standing on the boardwalk. They were holding hands and cuddling. Her mind began to fill up with thoughts of them. Why were they here, one last look at the ocean maybe, was this a daily stroll or did they just reconnect after losing their spouses? She wished she had the nerve to ask them. But, as was her usual way, she didn’t. Just then she saw him turn his head and kiss her gently on the cheek with tears streaming down his face, then she knew….

  • Anthony Cutright says:

    Now you know I close my eyes in pain, hiding behind eyelids guarding grimaced smiles that remain.
    My presentiment, revealed, does not stop my execrate scream for the halcyon memories of
    your first touch, the solicitude of your ivory smell, your smile first seen. I beg to glimpse our last remembered hug, ignoring insubordinate dreams interrupted by promises of the doctor’s drug.

    Still, my tongue mumbled at times missed grasp, fumbled with finger ideas counting the ones I knew couldn’t last. Parched an indelicate tickling, ignoring the thirst of haunted unfilled dreams, taking more out of life than possible seems.

  • Anthony Cutright says:

    What do you do with the submissions? Is there a winner, comments, suggestions on improvement?
    Tony

    • Anthony Cutright says:

      It appears as if I missed the fact that the writing is done by women only. Erase my post at you will, but I do like your 100-word challenge.

      Tony

  • Andrew says:

    It was 18:10 exactly when the doctor told me the news—and I secretly laughed at him, inside. “Why do you laugh?” he said, “the tests are conclusive.”

    “I didn’t laugh,” I defended myself. How could he know I laughed inside?

    “You laughed.”

    And now the OB confirmed it. I laughed out loud, but for a different reason. Still, I confided to my husband my worries: I’m too old for this. My back is too weak. The nausea is already too hard. And we’ll be so old!

    “It’s what I told you 50 years ago,” he said. “We’re in this together.”

  • Jeffersonian says:

    Devotion.
    To an idea. A lifestyle or a loved one.
    That’s what life is really about after all.
    Isn’t it.

  • Steve Fletcher says:

    I remember his hands. They were the part of him that never got old. I remember them holding a piece of wood, hammering our bookshelf together. I remember them shading his eyes as he drove, because, you know, he insisted on driving. I remember them holding me as we danced, and still smell his perspiration mixed with Old Spice.

    I remember the day he came home from the war, and how we celebrated and said we’d never be parted. I remember everything, and I miss him now. I miss him more than words can say, for I loved him so.

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