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Your mission: to use this image as inspiration for your own 100 word story.
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A story:
Nana’s funeral was barely over before my brothers started arguing over her will. I left them, slipping to the back porch. For as long as I could remember her hair was white, her skin unlined and she could hold me for hours with her adventure stories.
It was more ornate sculpture than key and was the only thing I wanted from Nana along with my memories. It felt surprisingly warm in my hand.
Behind the brooms was a door. As I unlocked it, hearing the colors and smelling the light, I briefly wondered how I would look with white hair.
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Please share your story in the comments
Steven Fletcher says: Inspector Hale addressed the crowd.
“Our poor Miss Constance was murdered on the far side of that stateroom door. All of you claim innocence, but I tell you that one of you is a murderer.
“I hold now a key I took from the pocket of Mr. Dorrance. If this key fits that door, we have our murderer. How about it, Mr. Dorrance? Shall I try the key or will you confess out of hand?”
Dorrance, suddenly panicked, fled. Constables prevented his escape. Inspector Hale lifted the key in triumph, “You fool, undone by a key on your own ring.”
Andrew says: “No, Inspector Hale, I didn’t murder Ms. Constance anymore than you did. In fact I last saw that key 5 years ago—when I buried it with my grandmother.”
Mr. Dorrance struggled against the local constables. “Let me go you fools! Whoever—or whatever—killed my old governess is behind that door! Do not open that door!”
“Johnson,” inspector Hale said, “the man is mad with guilt. Open the door!”
Brian Brandt says: “What’s the McGuffin?”
“The what?”
“You know. The secret formula. The treasure map. The code book. It’s the thing that drives the action in your story. Your dialog is good, but you need a hook.”
“Yeah, I was thinking something that would throw off the police.”
“That’s good. That’s what you need.”
“How about this.” I pulled a key from my parka pocket. “I found it in my wife’s car. I just tried it in your front door. It fits, I wondered why she never answered the phone when I called her from my other classes.”
“Hey, now wait . . ”
“Or maybe this.” I took it out of the other pocket. “A candlestick in the library.”
[…] via Darleen […]
Jenny North says: After many jiggles and jangles, the cylinder finally clicked with a crisp snap. She hesitated before turning the key. Did she really want to know what secrets had rested behind this door for so many years? Maybe she should let them remain untouched. She’d dealt with the strange uncertainties, and the gaps in her memory, and the painful cycle of self-blame. She had escaped, not unscarred, but it was behind her now. She had no way of knowing if this would send her into darkness once again. This would change everything. She let out her breath and turned the key.
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