Friday Fiction: 100 Word Challenge

Friday Fiction: 100 Word Challenge

Friday Fiction: 100 Word Challenge

A quote: “Government’s first duty is to protect the people, not run their lives.” ~~ Ronald Reagan

I’ll start with a story …

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Her wave to us from the back of the wagon looked enthusiastic. We waved back.

But we knew better.

Winter cold killed her EV a mile out of town. Spotters watched her as she walked towards us ready to intervene if she got in trouble.

Funny how she never did.

We took her in, fed her, kept her warm. She was bright and young and took a keen interest in touring the village to see our handlooms, blacksmithy and candle production.

City monitors are satisfied what we show them. They’d be upset if they found out about what we don’t.

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

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5 Comments
  • Lewis says:

    I was shoveling, yet again, just to get to the driveway to clear snow off the car, in case we had to try to get out. The snow already at 13 inches and coming down so hard I couldn’t see the barn. For a moment I leaned on the shovel and looked out into the blizzard, what’s that? I tried to recall, is there a tree right there, what the heck is that shadow? The shadow began to move.

    Shit. Is that a critter? I wasn’t carrying, but really hadn’t even thought of it. I am so knackered from the continual snow and trying to cope alone. Maybe I better back up a bit?

    The shadow began to take more shape as it moved, a bit awkwardly I thought, toward me. It grew taller, walked with a strange gait and seemed to have three legs! I waited, still as the early morning around me.

    “Morning, Ma’am! Just checking on you, everything okay today? You can expect the plow to do the road later this morning with any good luck!”

    The sheriff’s deputy took form and stepped up on the unshoveled side of my walk, his snowshoes sticking out over the bank like two pieces of a broken wicker chair . That “third leg” was a ski pole! He grinned at me, handsome young man in his uniform, and tipped his Stetson to shake off the snow.

    “If you folks are okay, I’m moving along up the road, sherrif just wanted to reach out to you all and let you know we’ve got your back!”

  • Leigh Kimmel says:

    Roy wasn’t as much of an amateur blacksmith as some of his friends. However, he was still a hands-on sort of guy who enjoyed the satisfaction of turning scrap metal into something useful.

    At the moment he was transforming a worn-out chisel into a blade. His efforts were still less than satisfactory, but it was only the second time he’d attempted this particular form of recycling. At least it had taken on a recognizable shape, unlike the lumpy thing his first effort had produced.

    Maybe with a little more work he could get something that was worth the effort of shaping and polishing a wooden handle. If not, OmniSource still bought scrap metal.

  • Cameron says:

    I hammered away, heedless of the heat, smell and the shadow looming threateningly behind me.

    “Do you see these claws I can use to tear you?” the voice said quietly.

    “I can yet still I make this.”

    “Do you see these teeth with which to bite you?”

    “I can yet still I make this.”

    “And do you feel my presence getting closer?”

    With a final blow the Ward was done and the creature was pulled into it.

    “I can yet you are bound.” I smiled at the picture of my grandfather. “Thanks for teaching me that one. Came in handy.”

  • Navig8r says:

    The white shirt won’t be white anymore. I disposed of my grubby shirts when I retired. The job is urgent. The horseshoe needs replacing to get that last load of supplies to nephew’s cabin before snow closes the trails.

    Had to move to another state to retire. When you are the only farrier for a 150 mile radius, work hunts you down relentlessly. Word will leak out here now, but that’s OK. Since inflation took the value of our money down to zero, it is good to have a barterable trade. We’ll manage as long as my health holds.

  • dribbl3r says:

    We’re teaching the old way. The boys stand around wide-eyed. The furnace flames. Fiery hot metal bends easily. It’s bent again creating an ‘S’ hook. The hook is dumped into the water to cool and set.

    “Who’s next?” the smithy asks.

    The tallest, strongest, cockiest boy steps forward. “This’ll be easy,” he smirks.

    It doesn’t take much strength; it takes finesse. He doesn’t have it.

    “Who’s next?”

    A small scrawny boy steps forward. David beats Goliath. He proudly hooks his project on his belt. His mother needs a hanger for her new pot. Woman needs-man supplies. The old ways.

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