My Weekly Writing Challenge

This is the last opportunity for you to take up the challenge in my latest series. This week, we reach the magical 100-word mark, so please send me your 100-word stories. You’ll have a little longer than usual as my Thursday challenge day falls on Christmas Day and New Year’s Day, so the next challenge will take place on Thursday 8th January. That’s ages away so no excuses for not having a go!

Here are last week’s 90-word stories:

Keith Channing opted for a poem this week, in his words, ‘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.

Ayo Oboro created an intriguing story:

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 up 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.”

Enjoy George Le Pard‘s clever story:

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?’

Jasdeep Kaur‘s storytelling always leaves you with something to think about:

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 sniggers, 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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17 Responses to My Weekly Writing Challenge

  1. A true, and very current, story, entitled “Poor little chap”

    The farmer’s dog, larger than a German Shepherd, hated our small terriers instantly, on first sight, four years ago. Following a few attacks, the farmer shuts his dog in his tractor when he sees us passing.

    Earlier this week he didn’t see us. His dog did. We were on the main road, but his dog found a way out and homed in on one of our terriers. There was no snarling or barking, just a very efficient attack, seizing our dog by the neck.

    A 200€ vet’s bill later, he is mending. His stitches and staples come out on Monday.

  2. Sacha Black says:

    Ahem, noted… Noted stop slacking!

  3. TanGental says:

    Dream Home
    After Pete and Marie bought number 22, we said we’d help. Everything was a mess – they told us it had been a squat. The smell inside was too awful so we opted for the garden.
    When my fork hit the lump I thought ‘broken brick’, but under the plastic and oily cloth was a sawn-off shotgun.
    Marie’s scream called us inside; in the attic she’d found a box of bloodied clothes – both women’s and children’s. Pete stared at the rockery. ‘The neighbours told us they built that last month.’ He looked at me. ‘Whoever heard of squatters building a rockery?’

    The first part is based on fact; when my brother in law moved house my wife and I said we’d do the garden. Digging in an old bed I found a well wrapped sawn off shotgun. We took it to the police who took it without a word – they didn’t even ask our names!

  4. Steve says:

    I just posted my 100 word ‘true Christmas season’ story on Simplicity Lane. Hope you have a wonderful Holiday season the best for the New Year.

  5. Ayo Oboro says:

    The 100 word challenge.

    I knew a man
    Lived by my house
    I used to think that he was sane
    And then one day he danced.
    I craned my neck
    And pulled my ears
    Thinking that something I could hear.
    He changed the steps
    He changed the dance
    And yet his drums were silent to me.
    Butt a-shaking
    Waist a-twisting
    Doing jigs and sometimes tango
    Looking at his face,no expression
    But his feet refused to surrender
    Thinking that he would soon tire
    I waited for him to retire
    The steps changed
    Becoming hip hop
    Arms flying,head rolling
    Now I know not what to think.

  6. No challenge this week, so I’ll have another go at last week’s.

    “What makes you think this year will be any better?” he asked. “Are you still, after all we’ve been through, relying on so-called ‘hope’?”

    “No, my love,” she replied. “Hope has never worked for us. Neither have resolutions, plans or expectations. Every device we have used in the past to better ourselves has failed. Always.”

    “What is going to make this year any different, then?”

    “This year we are going to make decisions. Specific, targeted, focussed decisions. No resolutions, no plans, no hopes, no dreams. Decisions.”

    “And then?”

    “And then, my sweet, we are going to implement those decisions.”

  7. Thank you for sending in another. A positive one, too. I’m not sure what my first writing challenge of the new year will be. My thinking cap is taking a while to warm up!

  8. Jasdeep Kaur says:

    My Colour

    “Carla won’t change, neither would Isla. No one’s like me. Will I ever have a friend?” Elle said stamping her foot.
    Pamela, her mother, picked the brush and water colours, “Come Elle, let’s paint your dolls. What’s your favourite colour?”
    “Red…you know Mum. Don’t you?”
    “Then, what about a red frock for Barbie,” her brush started never to stop, “a red frock for Disney Princess, for Dora…”
    “…and what about red hair…and red cheeks…and red nose…and red eyes…”
    “Eeks…what are you doing, Mum? They’re looking so ugly.”
    “But isn’t it exactly what you want to do…paint everyone in your colour?”

  9. Pat Hemstock says:

    Hi Esther

    Here are my contributions to the 100 word stories:

    A case to answer

    Their eyes met across the railway carriage. Rick smiled, and she smiled back blushing prettily. He passed his biscuits for her to share. She accepted and blushed again.

    ‘Can someone pick this up, I can’t lift it,’ Rick looked up to see an elderly lady struggling with a case. In a show of exaggerated gallantry he picked up the case and followed her. Arriving at a taxi, she turned saying,

    ‘Oh, That’s not my case dear, it was just blocking the passageway.’

    Rick turned and ran back into the station to see the train pulling away.

    A very Nice Man

    Becky dragged herself wearily into the cafe. There was one free table, going over she put down her shopping and handbag. At the next table a man was sitting alone.

    ‘Do you mind keeping an eye on my bags?’ she asked him.

    ‘How could I say no to such a beautiful lady?’ he winked at her.

    ‘Thanks.’ She smiled, it was a long time since anyone had called her beautiful.

    With excitement she bought extra cake to share with him, but on returning to her table the man was gone and so were her bags.

    The Confession

    ‘Father, forgive me for I have sinned.’

    ‘Bless you, my Son.’

    ‘Are you sure you can’t see me, and don’t know who I am?’


    ‘I’ve always been a joker, but recently I’ve done bad things.’

    ‘Go on.’

    ‘I got involved with a street gang, I got into knife crime, I thought nothing of knifing someone, just for fun.’

    ‘Yes … ‘

    ‘It gets worse, I killed someone. The Police are after me. I don’t know what to do. But Father, I have done something worse.’

    ‘Yes, go on.’

    ‘I’ve told a pack of lies to a Priest.’

    Hope these are OK

    Pat Hemstock

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