100 Miles

Mare Serenitatis

The bright orange sun hid in the horizon as a light breeze unsettled the weary soul foretelling the storm. Politicians, millionaires, artists, common people looking for oil or peace all tried to buy their land. “Why do you need it? It’s just sand.” They didn’t know about the trap door behind the house, the tunnel, and the living thing in there. One day, it would travel the 100 mile long tunnel back to the surface and rule the world. They just had to feed it till then. They always wondered why no one ever noticed all those missing nosey visitors.

100 Word Stories

Ravenous

Highlands

Ravenous for words, for feelings

And thoughts.

Ravenous for moments, for stars

And thoughts.

Ravenous for mimes, for plays

And thoughts.

Eager for food.

Writer's Dash

On The Outside

Retropolis

We are on the outside while the party is being prepared inside. We are on the outside with our gifts, the ones we had brought for the party. We are on the outside holding the bottle of champagne watching everyone fuss about the decorations. “Yes,” they said, “there is a chance that we may let you come in.” But it won’t be the same now, will it? That bitter taste in the mouth ... Even if we are invited in, it won’t be the same. “Don’t fret about it,” they say.  We nod. “Next year,” they say. We nod and echo “next year.” Or perhaps next year, we’ll be shoved to the “looked ok but we didn't have room for” pile again. And then, will it be the year after that? And the thing is, we have worked so hard this year, tirelessly letting everyone know there would be a party, enthusiastically preparing our own decorations and gifts. Now, we cannot but wonder. Had we kept shut… We shake these thoughts away. Well, the party will take place. We can go in and visit around, of course. We can even talk to the people. We may even still be able to bring our decorations in. But, who likes to be a second choice? Who can be a good sport and press on merrily as if nothing had happened? In reality, we will always be on the outside while the party takes place inside.

Topic

ImagiLearning Highlands

Creative Writing Workshop, she read. That was the right place. The room was covered by posters all saying the same thing “Stick to the topic”. For some reason, that didn’t sound like a good way to trigger creativity. It felt a bit claustrophobic too. As everyone sat down to start, the instructor (yes that is how they called him in the course plan) moved everyone to sit on the left side of the room. He explained that the seats on the right side would be attributed according to a merit scale he had defined. When asked to share that scale, he bluntly refused. Everyone shrugged and the course started. It was hour after hour of a painful path through things that had absolutely nothing to do with creativity and far less with writing. There had to be a reason for all this, there had to be a lesson behind it, they thought. But the instructor continued on and on. The seats on the right had been filling up with people who smiled a lot, who said the course was very interesting and the instructor so well informed. The ones still sitting on the left side after 2 days of workshop started to leave. They thought it was ridiculous. It felt like they were being brainwashed. Who was this man? What was the point? Would there be a moment when everyone would sigh of relief and think ah, that is why all this happened. On the third and last day, she was the only one sitting on the left side. She raised her hand. “I was sitting outside looking at the blue sea and wondering which was the creative part of this workshop.” The instructor took a few steps in her direction. “This workshop has a lesson for you. Stick to the point.” She looked at the brochure of the course titled Creative Writing Workshop. “I am. Which was the creative part of this course? Here it clearly says creative.” And she pointed at the word written in capital letters and in bold. The instructor sneered. “I am.” No one reacted; they didn’t want to lose their privileges on the right side of the room. “You?! How?” she asked completely puzzled. “I made you think,” he said. She shook her head. “You made me want to leave. Only because of my stubbornness am I still here. As you can see, most have left, except those few who got a ridiculous seat on the right side of the room.” He smiled. “Class dismissed.” The next day, she went back to check the results of the course. She was pretty sure she would see her name in red with a big “F” of failed to complete the course, right there. Much to her amazement, all the others had an “F”, even those who had been sitting on the right side of the room. She was the only one who didn’t. After her name was written “Course completed with success”. The instructor walked up to her “You were the only one who dared to speak up. That was the point of this whole course. Creativity is, among other things and believe it or not, having the guts to speak up when others don’t.”

Writer's Dash

Phallic

The Western Front

Of war and men and bombs,

Of powers, losses and emblems,

Of fears unspoken,

Of tears hurt and bled.

Phallic emotions.

Writer's Dash

Biscuit

Mare Serenitatis

 Life is good now. I was born in the street. We were living at the back of a supermarket. I think my mother thought that was a good place because of all the food that was thrown in the garbage at the end of the day. I was only a few weeks old, still only having milk. But the people who saw us were set on “saving” us, something I didn’t quite understand back then. My mother ran away, leaving me behind. I was caught. Then I was sent to the house of this lady who took really good care of me, feeding me the bottle every few hours, even during the night. I didn’t like the other big cats in the house or the dogs. When I started eating solid food, they would come over and steal my food. I was hungry all the time. After a few weeks, someone called the lady I was with. She put me in a box and took me away. I was so scared. She took me to these two ladies I couldn’t really see, because I had a nasty eye infection and on top of it I had a sort of a cold. These ladies held me close to them. I could feel their hearts. That wasn’t that bad. But I was afraid. Then the ladies took me to a cat doctor. He checked me from top to bottom, much more than I would’ve ever wanted, to be honest. The cat doctor told the ladies to give me these medications and they seemed so worried about me. After all I was really thin, had all those infections and apparently some worms in my intestines. Anyway, the ladies took me to their home. I was so tired that I fell asleep for a few hours in this huge round bed they gave me. I was grateful for the tiny baby cat biscuits they gave me and all the petting and attention. After 5 years, I now cannot imagine living elsewhere. The house is huge and I own it all! My human family is really cool. They play with me; they make sure I have a warm place to sleep during winter and a cool place during summer. They are always worried if I am ok. And I just love nagging them, scratching them, hiding and then jumping out of nowhere! They laugh a lot, and I like that. No one steals my food anymore and I don’t have to hide from people. I have a garden and a huge terrace, plus a veranda to enjoy the sun in the morning. Oh, and we have a ritual with these special biscuits they buy for me every week. Yes, I have my regular cat food. But the biscuits are a big treat! So, every day, I sit in front of the stove and make cute faces. They cannot resist! And they give me those yummy biscuits. Life is good now!

Writer's Dash

It's The End Of The World...

Mare Serenitatis

Note: The text below was written for the Virtual Writers' Word Scrimmage where you type as fast as you can for 10 minutes with the aim of  increasing your writing pace. The text below is the result and only typos have been edited.

It’s the end of the world, she announced looking majestic in the middle of the cathedral. Everyone looked at one another in panic. How could it be the end of the world? They simply couldn’t understand it. She continued, they will come and destroy everything, every man, woman, animal, they will destroy the trees and the fields and everything we consider dear and vital to our survival. But who are they, someone asked in a high pitched voice. She looked at the man at the back of the room. He was the trouble-maker, the man she had dreaded. You very well know who they are, Thomas, they will come with their ships and robots and kill everyone. But where are they from, insisted Thomas, after all it does not seem that normal for them to choose us, yes, why us? Why not any other planet on their path? Does it really matter, she asked? Does it matter that we will be dead in less than a few days? Or should we just focus on the big picture here and start planning a way to defend ourselves? Defend ourselves; a woman yelled from the back of the room, how can we do that? She sneered, she had them, and perhaps Thomas would not be a problem after all. Well, we can gather all the food we can get a hold of and try to reactivate the shelters, remember, those iron doors in the palace? The ones that are all rusted, asked Thomas, the ones we cannot even open because if we do they will disintegrate themselves in our hands? Thomas, she started, you are not helping, and you MUST work with us here. Perhaps setting Thomas aside from all the rest would help her guide this whole situation the way she wanted. We must work together and not create issues. Thomas bowed his head. So be it, fair lady, so be it. I shall do as you wish. And the crowd looked at him amazed. It was not like Thomas to give up so easily. So, get all the food and water, and we will meet at the iron doors in two days. Everyone shook their heads agreeing. She walked down from the improvised stage. It was done. She got her bag and waited. She did not go to the doors, she did not gather any food and water, and she didn’t need it. She just looked at the paper she was holding and read that one single line over and over again: We’ll be there tomorrow. And they would bring the money they promised her, and they would take everyone to be their slaves, and she would be done with that annoying little colony.

Scrimmage

Wild Goose Chase

S.I.C

Hope, he said, Hope. They roamed the world looking for Hope, crossing the seas, traveling the cities and the fields and villages and towns. They talked to people old and young, wise and foolish alike. Everyone knew where Hope was; all had a direction to give, information to share. They pointed North, South, East and West. Scattered throughout the world they spent decades looking for Hope. When the star in the sky turned red, as they were told to, they returned home, to him. Where is Hope, he asked. They looked at one another hoping one of them had found it. Where is Hope, he repeated. No one knew. He smiled. Hope is inside of you. They were confused. Why did you send us to travel the world if Hope was inside of each one of us, one of them asked. Because searching and not finding is often where understanding starts. You roamed the world hoping to find Hope not realizing that you already had it in you, right when you started. They nodded. Sometimes you have to look in all the wrong places before you find something that really matters.

Writer's Dash