100 words After a frantic day and crowded bus the relaxing drink with his mates gave him the needed lift to face an onslaught of kids and pets at home. Enjoying the pleasant evening air as he strolled through the park, he just had the nagging feeling of having forgotten something – but it quickly faded from his mind as he bumped into a friendly neighbour. A short chat ensued about steamy weather and Trump tweets, and he turned the corner to home. Opening the gate he saw an empty carport – and then it hit him. He had driven to work that morning!
Jon Johannsen, Lane Cove
Ahmed sank the bottle into the muddy puddle. Quickly! Others would take advantage of the lull. Brown water splashed as he closed the cap. He straightened and scrambled to the top of the crater. A pit of broken dreams. The heavy bottle and loose rubble made climbing difficult. A shell exploded nearby showering him with dust. He did not delay to thank his god, but ran doubled, to the jagged row of masonry that offered scant protection. A shattered plank, once his school door, concealed entry to a dark sanctuary. The water would satisfy thirst but not wash away despair.
Chris Curtis, Wollstonecraft
8.37am Monday. Hordes of zombies emerge from trains and buses, shuffling along the concrete streets. Lowered heads focus on illuminated squares sucking remaining life force, bobbing along to digital beats feeding into dead brains via skinny white worms slithering from their ears. Herds move along a city block, green, another block, green. Gradually slowing as their bodies actively reject the destination. In hundreds of city buildings the glass sliding doors briefly reflect dragging feet, hanging heads and desperate eyes. Into the foyer and a metal box moving up floors. The zombies arrive and the corporate working week has begun.
Emma Charter
10 I THE VILLAGE OBSERVER I NO. 260 I MARCH 2017
We have been inundated with responses to our new 100-word story competition, reflective of the number of writers we have within the community. Each month we will publish a selection of these stories. We hope that our readers get as much enjoyment from reading them, as our contributors have had in writing them.
"I am leaving son," said Robert, "It’s time to move on." "Are you sure, Dad, have you really thought about this?" Robert hung up. He was engulfed in pain - the physical pain of his tortured body and the mental pain of leaving his family and friends behind.
His mind was still sharp, though, so there was still time - time to plan, time to prepare, time to - what? Suffer more? For a moment or two he reflected on his life - no regrets and much to be thankful for. He had achieved most of his dreams, now it was time.
Roy Lever, Lane Cove
TO ENTER: Email your story with your name, address and phone number to editor@thevillageobserver.com.au.
CONDITIONS: Stories must be exactly 100 words and can be about any subject and in any writing style. They must be original and unpublished. There is no limit to the number of stories that you contribute during the year. Each month, selected entries will be published in TVO. At the end of the year, all entries will be judged based on their originality and creativity. THREE WINNERS WILL BE SELECTED TO RECEIVE A $50 BURNS BAY BOOKERY VOUCHER.
May stood outside the empty, lonely, neglected house. It was not as she remembered it. A development sign had been erected on the fence. Many occupants had lived in the house during the fifty years since her family moved. Fearful of disappointment May walked through the overgrown garden to the back door and found it unlocked. Waves of emotion swept through her as she walked to her old bedroom. Inside the closet was her secret. Her parents nor her sister ever knew about it. Nobody else had ever found out either. Inside the compartment were all her treasures still intact.
Judy Carroll, Lane Cove
The old dog pads slowly after his owners. As he passes a neighbour’s garden, perhaps he remembers the joy of the chase when his tabby friend moved nimbly elsewhere as he passed the gate. Perhaps he relives the hours spent with his neck trapped in wrought iron as his friend slipped agilely ahead of him. It was difficult for his owners to extract him, and the little friend has long gone but still the dog looks hopefully down the drive before struggling on. His joints are aching but his eyes are bright and he pushes determinedly on, weariness momentarily forgotten.
Frances Booth Bannon, Hunters Hill
Big chubby fingers with uneven torn nails. Those were Mum's hands. Ugly to the rest of the world, beautiful to me. They had a handkerchief for my nose when I was sick and for my eyes when I was crying. They had a brush for my hair when I wanted to be beautiful and a needle with cotton when I needed a new dress. But when they were empty, they were the most beautiful. I specially love those hands when they were empty, because they could envelope my face with love, keeping all my body warm and my soul happy.
Conchita GarSantiago
The big day finally arrived. Transition begins. Mixed emotions flooding my soul are not sitting too well at the moment. A teaspoon of joy and a tablespoon of grief will take a while to dissolve completely I decide as I lock the door for the final time. I marvel at how quiet the playground is late in the afternoon as remnants of discarded lunches whip mindlessly in the gentle breeze. How I will be remembered in these corridors of learning, I'll never really know. For now my heart beats a little faster and my steps quicken as I head for...
Karen Aubrey, Lane Cove
