The day the border was crossed he drank sweet coffee. He had been waiting to hear a cuckoo. His father railed “Let them in!” and waved his handkerchief. The fields were yellow with rape. Vasily had his toys all over the carpet. His mother made soup. Later he would meet friends at the corner bar but make sure he returned home before dusk. The main roads were all busy with heavily laden cars and trucks. They were all headed in one direction. How quick things move, he thought. And how predictable this unpredictability. Oh she danced so well last night.
100-Word Fiction: ‘Faces and Names’
To S___ on High Street it would be the time when the names were erased. She counted them up, window-shopping in the spring sun. The names that were now gone, in such a brief spell of time. Sam T and Granny F. Uncle, suddenly. The fit guy in the year above. And now they disappeared off the TV and magazines. Icons, faces she loved and cared about. Time had been luscious and now it was cheap. The summer ahead was loose change. Comes to nothing. And who to turn to? Who would go the distance with her, in her life?
100-Word Fiction: ‘The Red Dust’
The red dust came from desert skies
sanded the paper and screens of the press
caught in the eyes of conspiracy freaks
piled up the stress of Western dreams
grazed the feet of measured prose
stormed the sounds of drum and song
covered the rows of memorial crosses
and all their long-remembered losses
tickled the wings of the watching hawks
scratched the surveillance camera’s lens
scuffed the talk of the innocent doves
rendered pretend what might have prevailed
as it landed deep on these shores, here –
striking home to avenge what we began before
striving vainly to settle foreign scores
100-Word Fiction: ‘In the Night’
I waded to the middle of the river and was swept along, searching, searching. I was high in the air but tumbling downward trying to catch you. I stared at the screen until my eyes were dry and sore. I ran down the street pushing past shoppers, over and over. I shouted, screamed, shouted. I turned the key in the lock but the lock fell to the ground so I picked it up and it fell to the ground again and again. Every time I asked for peace a clock clanged the hour. Every time I saw you I awoke.
100-Word Fiction: ‘You Inspire Me So Much, And You Make Me Want To Just Take Everything And, Y’Know…’
Must work harder
be better
see clearer
longer
straighter
closer
must be fairer
cooler
more even
leaner
stronger
fitter
must take more time
drink less tea
and beer
or more tea
and must be
more sociable
and read more
read quicker
think smarter
think deeper
have ideas
react better
don’t worry so much
just do it
fear less
dash the consequences
look ahead
predict more
aim true
keep focused
know more
or less
love truly
care honestly
think of others
think of myself
take myself seriously
and lightly
and be good
and so on
and so on
and so on
100-Word Fiction: ‘The Silence of the Sea’
No matter how hard I search, the internet will not uncloud my memory. How many secrets are trapped there, out of reach? I have been searching for a specific edition of a small and rather famous book by the French resistance writer, Vercors. In my mind its cover is blue, but nothing I find confirms my thoughts. The harder I think, the longer I search, the more frayed my thought gets, and the more afraid I am that the truth is not there. It is gone. I am waiting a response from the sky regarding the silence of the sea.
100-Word Fiction: ‘The Old Woman and the Bear’
The bear wandered far and wide until it came to the hut of an old woman, which was raised off the ground by a single chicken claw. The old woman hit the bear about its head then bade it sleep. The next day an eagle descended and the bear tore it apart. The old woman told the bear to bring her the water of death and the water of life. With the water of death she brought the eagle’s body back together and with the water of life she made it breathe again. There is no moral in this story.
100-Word Fiction: ‘Some of us woke’
It was meant to be a different story but the call came late, at 21:51. Fifty-nine children had been shot or burned to death by a terrorist group in Nigeria. The words on the wire… bodies… ashes… discovered… bullet wounds… students… more than 300 this month.
In Venice it was carnival. In New York photographers clamoured for a shot of a new smartphone. Manchester United were trounced. Some couple discovered a stash of gold coins. We drank wine.
By morning the Nigerian report had dropped to the bottom of the page. The story was slept on. Some of us woke.
100-Word Fiction: ‘A Thesis’
His thesis, written in the 1960s, argued that any embodiment of the word ‘refugee’ struck terror into human hearts and minds. Whether a refugee fled persecution on account of race, religion, nationality or political opinion did not matter. To understand the predicament, examples of geography could be avoided: in fact, any person who sought refuge in any ‘other’ presented a conundrum for humans who liked to keep things in their place. Refugees from ideology, food groups or popular culture, for example, also aroused suspicion. Soon, he too sought refuge – from academia – and his thesis was buried until he had died.
100-Word Fiction: ‘Nowhere’s Flood’
Lord Jesus, think on me well, for I built a shippe for your animals. Yet those people did not come aboard. They stayed wretched and drunk even as the storm approached and I was left alone with the beasts. When all was still I let your raven fly in search of some dry haven. It brought me back an olive branch that I held tearfully to my breast. At that moment I saw a rainbow and all was well. How blessed and safe we felt. But I see clouds building on the horizon.
MW Bewick 