Friday Fiction: 100 Word Challenge

Friday Fiction: 100 Word Challenge

Friday Fiction: 100 Word Challenge

A quote: “Every generation revolts against its fathers and makes friends with its grandfathers.” ~~ Lewis Mumford

I’ll start with a story …

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He got away.

My own fault. Or maybe grandpa’s since I wasn’t the grandson he expected to turn over the family business to.

Gramps also never expected that his own stubbornness would be outmatched by a granddaughter. An American one at that.

I held him in my arms as his life drained on the floor his eyes fixed on mine, unafraid and burning with purpose.

“Carry on, Holmes,” he breathed his last.

I kissed him on each eye and gently laid him on the floor. I looked back just before I left.

“I will do you proud, sir. Love you.”

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Now, it’s your turn.
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. featured image, cropped, Adobe Stock, standard license.

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3 Comments
  • Andrew says:

    I ran away from home when I was 11. Right around the corner here is where two men grabbed me. Alone in this city, thirty years ago, a night like this one.

    A middle aged woman showed up. She was shockingly well armed. She saved me, and took me to a place in the country.

    John told me not to worry about the Butterfly Effect. The past is the past, and I’m part of it, even if I travelled from the future. Even if I’m shockingly well armed.

    Right around the corner is where it happened. Is happening.

  • Cameron says:

    The lights went out and focused on the lady with the lantern. She did a quick head count and gestured dramatically. “And this was a rolling blackout that was used to heal the Earth. If you protested or kept a generator, you were an Earth Criminal. Note the decayed state of the buildings as well. Repairs were discouraged because they wanted the planet to be a pristine Eden!’

    As we walked on, my granddaughter looked at me skeptically. “Was it really that bad back then?”

    I patted her head. “Sweetie, it was worse. You’ll learn when you’re a little older.”

  • Charles N. Steele says:

    I was young when Dad died, but I remember the $10,000 suit, the Rolex, the perpetual scowl. After his death – stress, they said – Mom and I kept the penthouse overlooking the city, but it never mattered to me – I felt drawn to Central Park below.

    Schoolfriends said our regular depilation was weird. When I asked, Mom took me to Oregon to meet Grandad.

    Grandad hates the city. We’d meet him in the woods. Grandad tells the wildest stories – like when he encountered Roger Patterson. I love Grandad, his life of freedom.

    I finished at Harvard, but I can’t follow Dad. Now I’m in the forest clearing. I wait, naked. Grandad will come. When he leaves, I’ll go with him.

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