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Mackie

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i thought i could start it - we can always change the name of the thread if somebody comes up with a better one :yes:

 

edited to add

 

The Rules (as taken from the other thread):

 

Stories of exactly 100 words, with a start, a middle and an end...

 

titles should be no more than 15 words (not part of the 100 word count), and hyphenated words argued about. *

 

(I suggest we apply the same rules as the 4-word story, but are a bit more strict about noises!)

 

it can be any kind of story.

 

* i think hyphenated words can be used in a "normal" amount.

 

comments go into the comments thread. :manic:

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Barbecue

 

The smoke is annoying. The curtains are going to smell. I do not like the music. Young neighbours are a pain – I knew right away how it would be, when they moved in.

 

They are partying in the garden now. The plots are so narrow that I could snatch the meat off their plates. I have a better plan, though.

 

I have filled a waste paper basket with rags and poured lamp oil over them. It is standing under a bush, and I am holding the match.

 

Five minutes ago I called the fire department. I can hear the siren.

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Argument.

 

He’s looking at me again, that look that says – forgive me, I didn’t mean it.

 

I fold my arms, and turn my back, still annoyed. He comes up close, and nudges my elbow, but I refuse to notice him. I don’t speak.

 

He stands there, looking miserable. Why does he do this, every time? Gets me so mad I could shoot him, then looks at me in that way that he knows I can’t resist, until I give in and forgive him.

 

I sigh, and reach out to touch him. ‘OK’, I say, ‘Fetch’, throwing the stick for him again.

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Business meeting

 

She hadn’t expected to see him again, and it came as a small surprise. Naturally, he’d changed his name - another cover story - and his deep tan indicated that he’d been abroad. She watched him work the crowd, pressing the flesh, smiling the old, sincere smile that never quite reached his eyes.

Ironic, really, that it would be him she was here to do business with. She’d always considered him unfinished business. However, she thought, I’m a professional, and one doesn’t let emotions get in the way of work.

She breathed out slowly, took aim, and pulled the trigger.

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......................................DEMONS......................

 

It was late. She had read the first page of Dracula about five times without any of it registering.

 

Then.....was that a car?....YES! Finally! She drew her first deep breathe in hours. Boy, was she going to give him an earful for not calling.

The dog, hearing the car, was barking histerically. Silly beast.

 

There was knock on the unlocked kitchen door. Odd.

Suddenly chilled, she headed to the door. Through the window she saw the man on the porch: his hat, his badge....beyond him the white car.

 

Their eyes met through the window. The world stopped.

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Writer's Block

 

They are leaving me, one by one.

First to go was - damn, I keep forgetting I can't use it ... the last one in the list.

I can substitute words, but it makes things harde...hell. What's next? How do I tell tales with no voice?

No way to even spell my own name... how long can I go on?

No way to tell ad from good -can't ecsplain meself, whi hang on?

 

Tastes of ashes. Feel so odd. Fallin' into deep wate...wetness.. need to - what? How? No, can't use.. less and less stop. Nnnn.

 

Can I? phadin' int..spce...

 

Hlp...

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Pumped

 

At the gas pumps, I stopped behind the one other car, as it was accelerating to exit. The driver misjudged re-entry to the road, backed up slightly, confidently halted an oncoming car with a wave, then eased her sleak black car a perfect left against traffic. I had noticed the plates, California. The number was fleetingly like a cell error in my spreadsheet this morning. It had had number (# ) signs. I paid for my fuel – “and diesel?” “No,” I said. “Shoot,” muttered the clerk. “Shoot,” her assistant repeated. I wonder if the driver from California had bought diesel.

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Neighbourhood Watch.

 

We were here long before you came

You crawled from your caves and we were there. We made things easy for you, helped you along, showed you music and poetry, mystery and wonder. You loved us, feared us, worshipped us.

 

For a while.

 

Then you grew cold.

 

Your new religion shunned us. We faded into our hills. Turned sideways to the sun.

Now we hide in the mists of legend. You see us from the corner of your eye, in the shadows falling late and blue, in the patterns of the leaves.

 

But you’re messing up.

 

And we’re coming back......

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Boarding Pass for a Woman whose Name wasn't "Goli"

 

She plodded out of the museum with a snort. Naturally, "her" character would have stayed with that friggin ship. She wasn’t the marrying type. But if she’d had a husband, and a bunch of bastards told her to leave him behind . . .

 

She'd never cared for men dictating the terms and conditions of a woman's life.

 

She didn't recycle her damned boarding pass on the way out of the exhibit either.

 

Besides, she'd always loved the feeling of deep, dark, cold, cold water. The deeper and colder the better. And, baby, that was as deep and as cold as it got.

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On the Beach (a true story)

 

‘So what is it?’ I ask.

 

They look at each other, a hurried conference, then the tallest boy grins, and says confidently ‘It’s the Loch Ness Hider’.

 

‘OK. So what does it do?’

 

‘It hides under the sand. You can’t see it, but it can see you – that stone is its eye, sticking up. Then if you walk on it, it reaches out and grabs you and drags you down into its mouth.’

 

‘It’s an ambush predator then?’

 

‘Oh yes. It eats anything, but mostly people. And sharks.’

 

‘So we need to be careful?’

 

‘Very!’

 

We move on, very carefully.

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**************************** 180 ********************************

 

Hell's Bells! Bastard drivers. I wish I had a machine gun on the car hood.

 

Oh......it's lovely and cool in here! I'll get something for dinner, head home and end this hellish day.

 

Hmm....some broccoli, ready made salad and.........Oh! Look at the apples, how beautiful! There must be fifteen varieties: green, red, striped, yellow, speckled, pinkish, shining globes. They look like art!

 

Evocative names too: Rome Beauty, Pink Lady, Cameo, Gala, Honey Crisp.

 

I'm going to get one of each and put them in that big Flow Blue bowl of Grandma's. They'll look stunning!

 

Life is good.

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Evening Drive

 

I read somewhere that serial killers spend endless hours driving, up and down the roads, even when they aren’t really “looking”. I know why, I think – it puts the brain on auto-pilot. Keeps the feet busy slamming on brakes and punching the gas. Keeps those itchy fingers safely on the wheel. Lets you look at humanity, a little, besides the trash dumped alongside the shoulders. Like that guy on the expensive bike, with one of those stupid helmets, and a useless reflector, arrogantly hogging a whole lane of this road, right in my way.

 

It would be so damned easy.

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Would You Mind?

 

“What the fuck?!?” thought The-Woman-whose–Name-was-not-“Goli”.

 

Would she MIND if a stranger took a bite of her goddess-damned food?!?

 

She MINDED a lot when she got sales callers who asked for her by her frickin first name. She always replied , “Do I KNOW you?!?”, and the calls went the hell-downhill from there.

 

Why was it that “Scotland the Brave” was always the frickin mental soundtrack for this sort of occasion?!?

 

She thought of her long-dead father spearing her uncle with a fork when said uncle tried to muscle in on his dessert.

 

“A bite?” she drawled. “You can BITE MY ASS!!!”

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It came out of nowhere. One moment it was black, then there it was. A flesh and blood dream. It snuggled in, pressed against her back, added creases to the sheet.

She woke up. She counted the creases, drawing invisible lines that dreamt up what had just been with her. Then she went to the living room and turned on the tv. It felt as though everyone on television was telling her one thing: It’s over; you’re alone; he’s not coming back. It was a nightmare.

She turned off the tv and went back to bed, waiting for a dream.

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Love story

 

She would come down the steps any minute now – on time, as always. In the mirror in the corner, he could see the reflection of the stairs leading up to the street.

 

He would see her shoes first. What kind today ...?

 

Suddenly there was the noise of an approaching train down in the tunnel. His hands twitched. In a crowd rushing up to the street, he would lose her ...

 

But there she was. Red trainers. Olive pants and jacket. Her old briefcase. Her dark hair in a ponytail. Barely any make-up.

 

She walked past him.

 

Her scent lingered.

 

As always.

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