Before he left the house, after kissing his wife goodbye, he turned to the mirror and smiled, stretching his lips wide so that he showed his teeth. He liked to set off for work confident and, seeing for himself that satisfying glint in his eye, felt rather proud. When he was convinced that the world needed him – loved him – then everything would go his way. Of course, his hair was now whiter by the week, his spectacles prescription stronger and the palms of his cold worn hands looked like raw flesh. But always, always, his faith in himself would prevail.
100-Word Fiction: ‘Snap’
There had been arguments, but girls and boys always fall out if they live in each other’s pockets for six weeks. Rome was the worst – that morning with hash paranoia. Now, in their last week, their last country, they were giggling at the policeman in his smart blue clothes and funny hat. Stefan said the hat looked just like a woman’s breast. He rummaged in the pocket of his combats and got his camera to take a photo. The policeman stepped forward and stamped his feet:
Never! he shouted – and grabbed the camera with such force that Stefan winced.
100-Word Fiction: ‘I Do Not Wish’
I do not wish to speak ill of life while I see her drying her hair and the coffee tastes so good. Outside the sky is winter-cold but clear and the buildings go up and up, all across the city. Last night, when we left the cinema and crossed the river, watching the tourist barges and all the lights along the banks, we knew we were lucky. I do not wish to speak ill. But then the radio scared us – and the heavens shuddered and the earth cracked and fell away. I do not wish, I do not wish.
100-Word Fiction: ‘We Will/Not’
We will prevail
We will not back down
We will be judged
We will not judge
We will be hated
We will not hate
We will tolerate
We will not be tolerated
We will watch as others take up arms
We will not lift a finger
We will love others
While others will not love us
We will sympathise
We will never be afforded sympathy
We will have lies told about us
We will not tell lies
We will respect
We will not be respected
Will we march?
We shall not march
Will we meet?
We shall never, never meet
100-Word Fiction: ‘See You!’
They can see through your clothes.
Christ.
They see your bollocks and everything – all beamed to security in high definition. Every pimple, every crease of your kecks. And your lass, they’ll look at her too. Long and lingering. And the kiddies. It’s not right.
There’s nothing we can do though.
They want to know everything. They can trace your whereabouts through mobile phones and Tweets.
Ah’ve done nothin – have I though?
They’re not bothered about you. They want you to get the fuck away, keep quiet. They want you to feel scared.
Sometimes I do. Does that mean they’ve won?
100-Word Fiction: My Name Is Tony
My name is Tony. I come from a family of actors, shipyard workers and grocers. My father worked as a tax inspector and became a law lecturer at one of the country’s most esteemed universities. I studied law too and graduated with a second class degree. But I always had higher ambitions. I have faith, but that is a private matter: I only know that God will judge me. I have done terrible, terrible things. Like my alibis, I am no longer anywhere to be seen. I exist. I make vast amounts of money. And I am still settling scores.
100-Word Fiction: A Change of Climate
Version 1:
As soon as the show was over the room rose as one and began to applaud. Looking around, he could see all the delegates were smiling. He was smiling too, though his thoughts needed to settle. It had been a highly charged drama but worth it.
Version 2:
At the end, when their time was up, they stood wearily and, not knowing what should be done, began a slow handclap. All the delegates were fixing their grins. He knew they would come to pay for all the drama. Nothing whatsoever had been settled – but the show was over.
100-Word Fiction: Soon
He lit a cigarette, pressed up against the wall, sheltering from the freezing air. The cigarette would warm him. Taxis and buses clattered along the street, which was still wet from the rain. There were voices and laughter from inside the pub. It was packed. Always was at this time of year. So tiring. So much food and drinking.
Aeroplane lights crossed the starless sky. Where were they flying to? In the future no one would fly any more. And no one would eat or drink. People were scared. They talked fearfully as if it all, soon, had to end.
100-Word Fiction: ‘Dust to Dust’
It never got dark any more. At night, streetlight would filter through the blinds and cast shadows on the walls. You lay awake, wondering how long it would be before you would fall asleep. You remembered nights of total darkness but they were gone. Now everything was fuzzy and grey. People didn’t sleep much. They lay awake and worried about the planet and about the apartment, how it needed cleaning. All the surfaces were covered with dust. No matter how much you cleaned, within a day or so it was back. Dust to dust. Awake with things on your mind.
100-Word Fiction: ‘Round the Table’
The men had gathered round a table so shiny that, had they wanted to see themselves, they would need only to have looked at its polished surface. But they didn’t. Instead they looked at each other warily. One frowned. Another blushed. Another grinned.
We are not here to judge, said one: We are here to consider possibilities and facts. The possibilities and facts are of prime importance. What are the possibilities? Where are the facts? First, we shall discuss the possibilities, which we shall find endless. Facts are considered more problematic – and should remain out of reach of us all.
MW Bewick 