My Weekly Writing Challenge

This week sees the penultimate round of my latest challenge series. Almost at the 100-word mark, this week please could you send me your 90-word stories?

Here are last week’s brilliant 80-word reads:

Keith Channing‘s story will bring a smile to your face:

The alien arrived on the surface to take soil samples. Surveys showed that the planet was habitable, although no sign of life had been found.

As the alien dug up some soil and put it in a collecting bag, a group of local residents appeared from below ground and rushed toward it, brandishing weapons.

“Beam me up, Scotty. The natives are unfriendly,” the alien said urgently into a small hand-held device.

“Aye-aye, Captain. Right away,” came the reply.

Jason Moody sent in two highly atmospheric stories:

1) This was horrible. Nobody was saying anything, just staring. I knew what I wanted to say, but I hadn’t the nerve. Did they know already? How could they? Oh God, this felt shitty. This would crush them. It nearly killed my parents.

Say it. Get it out. Once it’s out, it’s done.

This was going to suck.

“Guys..”

Here goes.

“I’ve got leukaemia.”

Ashen faces, frozen. Amanda buried her face in her hands, her body jerking almost rhythmically.

I knew it.

2) As caretaker, Frank always enjoyed having the school to himself at night. Teachers and students had all gone home. Frank switched off the last light in the art room and made for the door. It was then he heard a muffled cough coming from the supplies cupboard.

He walked over.

“You know what they say about curiosity?” said a woman’s voice.

He turned to face a woman, dressed all in black and holding a knife. She smiled.

“Two’s company.”

George Le Pard sent in an explosion of the senses:

The red hat

Many things triggered Felicity’s tears. Grief is like that. A flash of a Blue Iris. The snatch of coffee and cinnamon. A waft of net curtains. The tang of lemon drizzle cake. A scratchy Moon River. Two years gone and they wouldn’t stop. Then, one day, in the cable car out of Wellington, to meet Colin at the Botanical Gardens, she saw the lady in the red cloche hat. Her mother, stooping as she walked. And this time Felicity smiled.

Ayo Oboro‘s story will draw you in:

Nadine sat on the beach looking at the waves. They were small compared to the size of the waves tossing and turning in her head. Her brown eyes stared into the distance. There was nothing to see but the waves, no surfer, no swimmer; she was alone on the beach.

“Why? Why?”

And the waves inside Nadine rolled and frothed. Her feet itched to walk so she got up and walked; walking to the water’s edge she stopped.

“Come! Come!”

Jasdeep Kaur‘s story will have you feeling for this poor child:

Waylaid

I could not help whining, even though Mom told a million times not to, but it feels horrifying to be lost.

Exhausted of running and screaming, I threw myself on the ground when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

“O’ lil one…you look hungry. Want freshly baked cakes?”

Hungry…yes, I was.

I held her finger as she took me to a big oven, where her smile turned into a growl.

“Gretel thought she finished me, but she was wrong…”

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14 Responses to My Weekly Writing Challenge

  1. Just for a change, a poem. With a nod to Lewis Carrol.

    ’Twas late at night in the monastery;
    And the monks were all in bed.
    At half past twelve, when doctor came,
    His mind was filled with dread
    Because, you see, it was all so quiet
    He thought that they were dead

    He opened up the medic’s bag
    He’d left there for safe keeping
    He had to do it silently
    To stop the thing from beeping
    He hoped and prayed that he would find
    They all were simply sleeping

    But now my ninety words are done
    To bed, myself, I’m creeping.

  2. Ayo Oboro says:

    Petra clapped her hands and the maid ran into the room. She knelt before Petra,”Your Highness?”
    “Take that fabric to the King’s tailor for alteration. Wait and bring it back.”
    “Yes,your Highness.”
    As she made to leave,Petra said over her shoulder, “Call me Joseph.”
    “Your Highness?” The maid asked quizzically.
    “Are you deaf?”
    The maid picked the fabric and scurried out the door.
    “Joseph,have you given any further thought to my request?”
    “Your highness,I am unable to grant the request.”
    “Unable?” Petra laughed.
    “Then you will go to the gallows.”

  3. TanGental says:

    Burn victim
    Blank. Like a canvas. Needing some other medium to give it – him? her? character. Not flat, not devoid of contours. A bare hillside, scraped by storms. And not smooth but rutted, ploughed by life. Pitted as if by incessant hail. And over it all a seared rawness, a newness that both deterred and gave hope. A place to start with no preconceptions, nothing requiring compromise. He stood back, the artist, a glinting scalpel in one hand. A tragedy to be turned to triumph. ‘Let’s start with the nose, shall we?’

  4. Jasdeep Kaur says:

    Unshakable Roots

    Life changes with every minute, day, and year; so do we!

    My innocent eyes once used to look at the torrent in the grown-up eyes, the silent grudges, the devious words, scornful snigger, and wonder, “Why,” only till I started following the same path. I never realized when I scuppered my soul and stood in unison with iniquity.

    But as I sit in my present, turning the pages of my life, I realize the importance of the roots; the unshakable roots that make us stand upright in the blustery tempests.

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