100 Words:

….and that’s how the zebra got its stripes.

Update a fable.

My entry:

“But is it not true,” asked Mason, his voice suddenly turning into an inexorable drill of justice, “that your uncle confided in you where those deeds were.  That you then picked up the dagger, State’s Exhibit Number 5, in your hooves, and thrust it into his back?  Did you not, in fact, kill your uncle, so that you could steal the deeds, lay claim to the mineral rights, and pay off the debts you owed to mobsters in Las Vegas?”

“Yes!  Yes!”  Mrs. Zebra broke down sobbing.  The next photo of her in the society magazines would be in prison garb …

100 Words:

My entry:

“That’s … big.”

“That’s very big.”

“Ginormous.”

She rolled her eyes.  “Whatever.”  Her head cocked.  “But slow.”

“Anything that big,” he said in a pedantic tone, “will seem to move slowly from a distance.  Like jets.  Or clouds.”

“But that looks like slow motion.”

“Still probably moving at hundreds of miles an hour.”

“Huh.  I guess.”

It grew dark. 

“Honey?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“For — well, everything I should be sorry for.  You know.”

“No worries.”  A pause.  “Sure is big.”

“And moving faster.”

The foot trod upon them, and most of the city, with a sound like the end of the world.

100 Words:

Write something with a hidden message in it.

My entry:

He eventually left Paris. I assisted Maurice to ride a prancing pony, enduring deluges in Nimes and storms throughout Orleans, riding yellow ways rendered impassibe, though the entrances nearby bode yet another gut-wrenching unpleasantry, yes. Onward, now, the horses entered into Nice, their eyes rolling. 

Nobody ever thought his experience laying pavement in malls that ran along prison property evilly designated inviolable, not accessible, should then occur retaliation.  Yet when Rene invited the top enforcer Nicholas by yesterday, a gentleman understood, yet only now thought heroic, everyone intuited no town ever rued nor enjoyed this classic, reprehensible, abominable plan.

 

100 Words:

Finally, someone who understands.

My entry:

“She hates me.  Damn bitch hates me.”

Todd wiped the counter and nodded.  The guy was nursing his fourth scotch, and he’d been going on and on about his wife since Todd filled the first glass.

“I mean, I work my ass off, y’know?  When I come home, do I get poured a drink, or get a chance to rest, watch the game? Hell no.  Kids to help with homework, dinner to help put out or clean up, neighbors coming over … she’s at me, all the time.  Damn bitch just hates me, understand?”

Todd did understand. Just not the way the guy meant.

100 Words:

My entry:

“Mark!  Mark, thank God!”  I ran up, grabbed his shoulders.  He was was the sweetest sight in the world. 

“Mark, listen.  I don’t know — I was by the museum, just taking pictures, and this van rolled up and cops poured out, pointing and shouting at me.  I ran down an alley, and I could hear sirens all around, so I headed for the hotel.  I don’t know what’s going on, but –”  I smiled, feeling sudden relief.  “– but I’m damned glad I ran into you.”

Mark looked down at me, a slight frown.  “I beg your pardon, sir.  You have me mistaken for someone else.”