100 Word Short Stories

Guest of Honor

This is a writing exercise. It is 100 words exactly:

That beach was different from the soft, silky beaches of the Gulf of my youth. Beneath freshly painted feet were rocks, smooth and gray. The sun shone off nothing.

I watched his fingers press strings against the neck. Calloused fingertips made music for two people he'd give skin for and me. I watched him ignore lapping ocean waters met by startling cliffs and burrow instead into sounds.

He cooked over that fire with such care. He poured wine, equal amounts, into red plastic cups. My invitation suddenly came wrapped in gold, shiny paper and my name became written in cursive.


This is a writing exercise. It is 100 words exactly:

She tried not to say "I miss you." His t-shirt smelled like a meadow, she remembered that. His sideways smile, his mouth a perfect triangle to the right, she remembered that. The way he looked above her, she remembered that. 

When he ran to the corner store as the guy was pulling the grate down over the doorway and shimmied underneath and found the Lemonheads in ten seconds flat and bought two boxes because she said they gave her superpowers she knew.

His crooked smile filled the video chat box in her monitor. She rolled a candy on her tongue.