100 Word Stories

In May of 2020 my friend Tom and I started a writing challenge to keep our minds busy while our bodies couldn't be. His stories are on his blog and here are mine.

May 1st 2020

We went for long walks that summer, we spent the lengthening days exploring the cobbled streets of the city. Sun bathed the hills and harbours with gold, whitewashed walls turned terracotta to match the roofs. The streets we passed were broad and bright, their upper stories overhanging the lower to form covered walkways out of the sun’s heat. In the mornings the air filled with the sounds of gulls, swarming trawlers as they returned with the days catch. You would never know that far away from the walls of this great seaside metropolis a war raged in its name.

May 2nd 2020

The first star of the evening shone bright in the sky. The boy stood at his bedroom window, arms rested on the chest high sill. His mind wandered as he reflected on the busy day which was drawing to a close. His parents had prepared a picnic lunch which they ate under the tree in the garden. He’d been given an ice lolly for pudding. Behind him bedtime preparations were underway, his brother’s bath being run and clothes for the morning laid out.

“Come on! Pyjama time!”

His father called from the hall. He turned and went to get changed.

May 3rd 2020

The grass was long and wet with rain. My bare feed slipped slightly in the soft clay, the soles red with the stain of the earth. I strolled languidly that day, the summer had stretched on for years already. I longed to go back to the city, back to my friends, back to drinking boba while I skipped class, back to reliable internet, back to my own space and things. In the years to come I would look back on these long hot months in the country as a wasted idyllic period but in the moment, I was just bored.

May 4th 2020

The dream came again. Subtle changes from the night before made her believe she was visiting a real place, not reliving the same experience. The woods stretched out beneath her from the cave in the cliff. The whole valley green and white, firs capped with snow. Behind her a fire burned with an eerie blue-green tinge. There was no fuel, no implements to tend the fire and seemingly no need to. As the night before, she sat by the cave’s entrance holding her knees and watched the birds over the trees. She stayed there until she awoke in the morning.

May 5th 2020

In the vaulted crypt hooded figures meet. They are well aware of the cliché and in fact play up to it. They know, they fervently hope, they are not being observed, yet why join a secret cabal of mysterious figures if there isn’t at least the option of a cowl? They stand in a circle, well an octagon, surrounding a plinth on which rests an improbably large book. The figures confer in whispers for upwards of an hour before, at last, they part. Each gliding down the passageway immediately behind them. Decisions were taken tonight which will ripple for years.

May 6th 2020

My companion and I rise with the dawn. A few minutes is all it takes to pack our camp onto the horses and we move on. Always on guard we ride stiffly across the plains. A week into our journey, with several more ahead of us, we travel as fast as we can. Our cargo on this trip a single letter, we do not know its contents. When we arrive, we could spark a war or instigate a wedding. We stand aside from such concerns, a neutral party ensuring that such messages can be conveyed. We wear our uniforms proudly.

May 7th 2020

Ink curls as it splashes into water, the last dips from the feed of the pen expelled before cleaning. Pinching down you carefully remove the nib with a twist. The design etched into the gold highlighted in black, splashed across the surface and now staining your thumb and forefinger. You remove the nib from the feed and drop them both into the bowl of water, letting them soak. The cartridge discarded you set to work cleaning. You should perform this ritual more often but never make the time. Maintenance is part of the joy of using a well-crafted tool.

May 8th 2020

You part the heavy black and white canvas flaps and step into the tent. Inside it is pitch dark, though the discreet sign outside indicated that the tent was open. Ahead of you a line of candles illuminates one by one, lighting the way to a dais which illuminates in turn. On the dais a woman stands, motionless as a statue, in a monochrome cocktail dress. You watch as she dances in silence, slowly rotating, like the figure on a music box. After a few minutes she stops dancing, the light cuts out and you leave. Back into the crowd.

May 9th 2020

I don’t understand what all the fuss is about. I brought the mouse in here and then you came in and distracted me, so it got away. Now it’s hiding behind the bookcase and you’re acting as if it’s somehow my fault? All of you run around, slamming doors, poking at it with sticks as if that will help. You need to be patient, but you never understand that. You all need to learn to slow down, conserve energy, have a little nap. That’s a good idea. If you need me, I’ll be in the other room getting some sleep.

May 10th 2020

The man sits cross legged in front of an empty, ornate, brass picture frame, larger than a door. The frame stands on the ground, it’s bottom edge sunken beneath the powdery eggshell blue soil. The man is positioned in the centre of the frame, from the correct angle, he is the foreground. The curvature of the moon he sits on is such that when standing in front of him the blue of the ground fills exactly one third of the frame. The top two thirds show the void of space filtered through the dense atmosphere. A breeze blows his hair.

May 11th 2020

The mundanity of it all is what I find so frightening.

“I know, it’s a windy day again. Just another storm.” They say, as if just another storm wasn’t something totally out of the ordinary.

We had several over the winter. There was a tree down in our garden during the last one. Even that wasn’t an event, we went out one day and cleared it, it didn’t even take long. We stored the wood to burn on the stove. I suppose I hope that the next thing is just another storm, not The Storm. We aren’t ready for that.

May 12th 2020

You stand ankle deep in the waves, the water washing up over your feet as you work them into the wet sand. You have you trousers rolled up and your sandals hang from your hand, your arms folded across your chest. Staring out to sea you rock up and down on the balls of your feet. The tension of the day builds in you as you rise, washing away with the tide each time you rock back down again. You wonder how long you can keep up the facade of normality and hide your true loyalty. Long enough you hope.

May 13th 2020

We stand together at the top, the path laid out before us almost too steep to stretch. Helmets and face masks secure, vision tunnelled to the path. I kick off, knowing you’ll follow shortly. My mind as blinkered as my vision I focus on the path a few meters ahead, the dirt, dust, slate and stone undisturbed for seconds only before they’re churned by my tires. I fly, no focus on the route only the next decision and the freedom of speed. Approaching the tree line, dodging roots, airborne, the bike twists, face down in mud, ready to go again.

May 14th 2020

The forest is dark and quiet, a stream falling into a pool of clear water and the rustle of the leaves moving in the breeze the only sounds. The trees grow thick here, an ancient wood of oak, ash and beech, their leaves now beginning to turn as the summer dies. A pile of leaves at the base of a particularly venerable oak rustles and is pushed aside. A field mouse emerges, shaking it’s head. It struggles it’s way free of the pile and brushes itself off. Reaching back in it finds its broom and begins to clear its doorstep.

May 15th 2020

You walk along a wide, dark country lane. The high hedges obscure the view other than the road ahead. Long grass grows down the centre of the lane, the tracks on either side pitted, no carts have travelled this lane in many years.

You wrap your cloak around you. When you look up you see unfamiliar stars. They seem closer somehow, not balls of plasma but the idea of stars. You also see numerous bridges. Each bridge, you know, supporting a lane similar to the one you walk. Each lane connecting from mirror to mirror, different routes back into England.

May 16th 2020

Cool blue waves lapped against the sea wall below us as we strolled arm in along the promenade. The railings showed their rust, they didn’t get the upkeep they needed this spring. The sun shone today as it had much of the last fortnight, but we didn’t see many people. Nobody relaxing on the beach, the few who were out were exercising. Although we keep our distance everyone is friendlier than before, each engaging with the world around them and the people they meet. All happy to be out and breathe in the fresh sea air before heading back inside.

May 17th 2020

The boy and his mummy are walking through a featureless grey desert. Above them the void of space and hanging in it the blue and green disk of the Earth. The boy runs ahead excitedly.

“Look Mummy! Footprints!” He calls, without even pausing or turning his head.

“Oh good!” His mummy calls. “That’s what we we’re looking for!”.

The boy stops when he reaches the line of footprints and crouches down to investigate. His mummy catches up with him. The boy takes his mummy’s hand and together they begin to follow the line of deep boot prints towards the horizon.

May 18th 2020

I think a lot about doorways, every door hides a world, a story on the other side. Empty spaces tell the stories of the events which took place before they were abandoned. Cluttered rooms are a glimpse into the lives of the people who make the mess. Windows let us see, imagine and extrapolate, but when we walk through a door, we enter the world on the other side. We never know when we go through a new door what we will see on the other side. What stories can we find if we pay attention to all the details?

May 19th 2020

My favourite times are the times when nothing is happening. The first coffee of the morning sits beside me, nearly cool enough to drink, while I read. A summer breeze stirs the leaves above me as I lie on the grass looking up at the sky. The fire in the stove crackles as I cuddle up in my nest on the sofa cradling a hot chocolate. Getting up is always the hard part, facing the day, being productive. It’s no bad thing but I like to focus on the moments of calm before attending to the needs of the day.

May 20th 2020

While the world wakes slowly and takes its breakfast I’m standing here by the river in this god forsaken fog. I stand with this odious princeling, his second in a duel caused by his arrogance the outcome of which will surely only fan it’s flame. He stands by the bank posturing, warming up, practicing thrusts with his rapier. These altercations are rarely fatal, so my stance here is fortunately political. With any luck putting on a smile again this morning will secure safety for my family. The two combatants stand en garde, on command their swords clash. I’ll know soon.

May 21th 2020

The key clicked quietly in the lock. In the amber glow of a street lamp a gloved hand turned the handle, and a woman pushed the door open. She turned and resting one hand flat against the door, the other on the handle, she closed it without a sound. She was dressed in her finery, makeup still intact. With soft steps she slipped through the apartment to her bedroom and without waking any of the other occupants. She readied herself for bed. Sitting in the darkness she knew sleep would be elusive, her mind raced with memories of the evening.

May 22th 2020

The old mouse tends to the apiary. Her red-brown fur now grey, she sometimes mourns the loss of her youth, but she has fond memories of her days with the patrols. A long life of service to Lockhaven is a life full of excitement. The comings and goings of the guard, the patrols both mundane and extraordinary. She has travelled the length and breadth of the Territories from Pebblebrook to Appleloft, overground and under. Now she still serves quietly, tending the hives. She listens rapt to the tales of the younger mice and regales them with tales in her turn.

May 23th 2020

At the end of a narrow cobbled path there is a dark wooden gate with a black barred window. The lane runs alongside a whitewashed cob wall, capped with terracotta tiles. Opposite the wall there is an ornate black ironwork fence, backed by a thick yew hedge. The gate itself is almost completely obscured by shrubs which climb the wall and hang over the tiles. It is clear the gate hasn’t been opened for many years, decades at least. You hold the bars and press your nose through, trying to get a glimpse of the garden beyond, to no avail.

May 24th 2020

My sword was a heavy weight on my hip that morning. I’d worn it for decades, only using it if there was no other option, but that day as I pounded the cobbles in the driving rain I wondered where I’d gone so wrong as to have to carry it at all. I came to a stop by the river and sat under a willow, looking out across the water as the rain slowed from a torrent to a gentle patter sending ripples out passed the ducks. Maybe it was time to retire, it would be nice to sit longer.

May 25th 2020

He lay on the sofa for an hour today. He’d forgotten to think about anything for most of it and it’d been just wonderful! His mind is always racing these days, flitting from one anxiety inducing thought to the next. Dwelling on work he didn’t get to finish, beating himself up over the projects he’d thought about and talked about doing for years now. Yet here he is, happy for the first time in months empty headed and simply observing the goings on of a blackbird. It’s nice to remember that you don’t have to be productive to have worth.

May 26th 2020

Standing on the edge of the island the courier leaned over, looking out at the suspended city below him. The Bridges crisscrossing the water gave the appearance of a latticework of streets and waterways, suspended above the vast natural harbour far below. Each bridge was lined with buildings, the aqueducts as busy with barges as the roads were with carts. The many bridges connected the islands in the bay to the city on the Wall. A vertical maze of stairs, makeshift ladders, parks, shops and houses which sprawled up the cliff face as other cities spread out across the land.

May 27th 2020

The sun beat down on the white desert sand. As far as the eye could see the rolling dunes lay undisturbed by even the slightest breeze. Ahead of me the rough stone road shimmered and rippled like a river. I adjusted the cloth covering my face as it pulled at days of stubble. The horses I had hired for this leg pulled a heavier load than they were used to. My cart was piled high with books of all sorts from scientific treatises to lurid fantasy. My route would take months lending and retrieving volumes from every town I passed.

May 28th 2020

A fire crackled in the hearth, filling the room with the warmth and sound of comfort. It gave the space a primal feeling of home and safety in stark contrast to the howling blizzard outside. The old farm house was too large to be heated by just the fire in the little sitting room. The family gathered here in the evenings to read or make room in the day for book keeping which was never prioritised during daylight. Without expressing it each of them put off going to bed as long as they could to stay within the fire's embrace.

May 29th 2020

The Resin Heart towers over the pulpit, dominating the space. The statue is an unsettling reminder of the presence of The Divine in this space as The Friend gives his address. It’s an honour to be in the crowd to hear his words of cohesion, community and progression. Visions of the future crystal clear to those of us listening in the church. He gives voice to those of us discontented with the constant upheaval of our status quo on this moon, in this principality. The machinations of the few devastate the lives of so many, I will stand for change.

May 30th 2020

The Resin Heart towers over the pulpit, dominating the space. The statue is an unsettling reminder of the presence of The Divine in this space as The Friend gives his address. It’s an honour to be in the crowd to hear his words of cohesion, community and progression. Visions of the future crystal clear to those of us listening in the church. He gives voice to those of us discontented with the constant upheaval of our status quo on this moon, in this principality. The machinations of the few devastate the lives of so many, I will stand for change.

May 31st 2020

It was a cloudless day, and the birds filled the sky with colour and noise. The airship cut through the tranquil morning with the bass vibrations of its diesel engines as it glided across the bay away from its mooring tower. The flight was mostly cargo, particularly samples from the geological expeditions in the north. There were a few passengers though who preferred the sedate pace of the dirigible. On this trip those on board lived in relative luxury and welcomed the extra time to write up the results of their experiments in the Arctic before presenting back in London.

June 1st 2020

In her summer palace The Golden Regent waits. With the absence of her champion the palace has lost much of its charm. She spends the morning in her private garden, by a large koi pond, carefully designed to appear naturally formed. The garden is her outdoor office, with all the fittings one would expect. A large, heavy desk with ornate scrolled legs and matching chair dominates one end of the sun drenched lawn. Today her dispatch box lies untouched, aligned squarely with the chair where a courtier left it. The Regent watches the fish distractedly and impatiently awaits your return.

June 2nd 2020

The darkness is absolute, dense and clinging like a heavily pigmented ink. It moves invisibly with a wind you can’t feel. As you walk you feel it crushing your chest, you struggle to catch your breath. You fall to your knees and feel the darkness pushing into your nose and mouth. You clutch your throat, gulping for air as you lie struggling. Ahead of you see a pinprick of flickering red, rapidly approaching. A torch held aloft and a hand on your back banish the smothering cloud and you see clearly, pressure leaving and darkness retreating away into corners.

June 3rd 2020

A fire burns in a pit, in the shadow of an immense ruined bridge. A sea of grass stretches in all directions, knee high and browned in the late summer sun. The slow, wide river, cuts through the plain like a road, twinkling as the moon rises. During the day it is busy with traffic carrying goods and people between the cities and towns along its banks from mountains to coast. Beside the fire a traveller sits, a blanket draped over her shoulders. Her pack nearby and a sword on the ground beside her, she waits to hail a boat.