One Hundred Words – the memory of the day ahead

The air had the scent of summers past; when the morning was spent in anticipation of the day ahead. I remember the light breeze and coolness of the day that lifted my hair as I helped to pack the car for the trip to my aunt’s house. I could capture it for you; a mix of bird song the scent of flowers and the essence of sun starting to warm the day. A calm unfettered feeling with only the movement towards our arrival. I would see my cousins, drink lemonade, eat tiny egg salad sandwiches, and walk in the woods.


One Hundred Words – The Game – Sunday April 28, 2013

IMG_6440“It’s your turn.” I say handing him the small white dice. They make a pleasant sound as he shakes them and land with a plunk on the table. “Six!” He says with glee, obviously not understanding  that a low number is not that desirable. A few more pieces of colored paper move into his meager pile. His turn is played and the dice come to me. I hold them in hand testing their weight and roll them between my fingers thinking of tens and twelves. The roll is disappointing; only an eight. I buy some colored papers and move on.

Through the gate – 100 words – One Hundred Words


The sweet smell of lilac in full bloom hit me long before I touched the cold metal of the gate. The morning was chilly despite the sun’s warmth. A breeze lifted my hair and rustled the branches. I released the latch. The garden was still loved, but plainly far too much work for aging hands. The green burst of spring had consumed the bare spaces left by winter die-back. I put down my basket of tools and laid the blanket near the wildest part. Gathering my well-worn skirt to one side, I settled myself, surveying the smaller world.

The Old Bones – 100 Words – Weekly Writing Challenge – Sunday April 7, 2013

The bones were old, creamy beige with dark brown crevices. You could imagine my surprise to find them so neatly stacked behind the shed. They were gleaming, as if someone had washed and dried them. It was more likely that the rain and wind had done the thorough cleaning. Brushing stray leaves away, I lifted the top bone. It was lighter than I expected and still warm from the sun. I brought the flared lens of the bone analyzer close. There were no fractures in this one. It was long, tapering to a wide end point where it joined something.


100 Words – A Strange Dream in One Hundred Words – Sunday, March 31, 2013

526523_10150971981357895_1354717364_nThe camp was deserted. We picked a random spot to pitch the tent. I head towards the car to get the last pole set and am  surprised that so many people have arrived. An acquaintance asks for help moving; a strange assortment of damaged sports equipment and battered musical instruments. I ask her to teach me guitar tuning. She asks where the next event is. I tell her that it’s over. She asks who won, but I don’t know. We scan the newspaper as we’re waiting for the pedestrian signal to change. Bicycles rush by on the rubble filled street.

100 Words – Sunday March 24, 2013 – Weekly Writing Challenge


My self-imposed Sunday Weekly Writing Challenge: To quickly write exactly one hundred words on whatever topic, theme or idea that wanders through my head that morning. Inspired by to give credit where it is due. Here’s this week’s 100 Words:

The call of “sweetie” over and over again, was creating an auto loop in my head even when the bird was silent. It was slowly driving me insane. I considered some sort of violent extermination and then reconsidered. It was spring after all, and the poor bird had only a few words with which to seduce and nest a mate. Pity consumed me. I should not be judging the evolution of this tiny creature. The solution was to turn up the music to run interference. The rasp of the singer’s voice soothed me and I forgot all about the bird.

Creative Writing Challenge: 2AM Photo – One New Message

Image based on You Have One New Message by bixentro, I couldn’t resist thisCC-BY-2.0

I couldn’t resist this little writing challenge. Here’s my offering!

My phone buzzed, filling the room in an eerie white-blue LED light. I bolted upright and grabbed the Colt Python from under the pillow, scanning the room. I relaxed slightly and picked up the phone. It was 2am and there was nothing new but the phone message. The message was an oddity; there were no words, no explanation, just a photo. A city street scene with a store front and a red door that had the number 53 on it. Who the hell was it from? It rang familiar but I couldn’t place it.

2am and I was drunk with sleep. Crawling from the body-warm bed, I splashed cold water on my face from the tap. The resulting shiver didn’t feel good but made me more awake. I shouldn’t have slept so long. More than forty minutes of sleep at a time messed with me. I was strange that way. Sleep was like submission and something I actively avoided. Tonight had been the exception. The job I was on was wearing me down, making me constantly on edge. I’m pretty resilient but even I start to hallucinate after too many hours alert.

53, it seemed a familiar number. Now who would send me the photo and at the godforsaken hour of 2AM and then not sign the email? My mind wandered down roads it didn’t want to travel. I’ve been set up far too many times to not be cautious. But it couldn’t be related to this job – I mean who even knew I was watching?

Then it hit me. 53. The age of the mug I was tracking. In my line of work, there are no coincidences. I opened the laptop and zoomed the photo.

The door was definitely red, the exact color of his tie in the photo I’d been sent. I could just make out the bottom letters on the awning of the store front. OWED. Strange name for a fruit stand. The mangoes were Manila and the price sign said $1m.

As I said before, there are no coincidences. I could now wrack my brain for hours about who might have sent the photo but I knew that it would get me nowhere. Hitting reply would blow my timing. People with resources paid others well to hide them. The question remained if it was a warning or a threat. I was betting that the price on my target’s head had just gone up. I checked the tracker and cursed aloud.

It was dead. Hopefully my live tracker wasn’t. I had already hit the dial code.



“Do you have visual?”

“Yes, Boss.”

“Is there a gun at your head?”

A pause. “No Boss, should there be?”

Good. It was a tagline. He was actually okay.

“Don’t lose him. I’ll be there in 5 minutes.” I was already shrugging my holster on and grabbing my jacket.