She had panda eyes. Huge and dark. They would twinkle when he watched her and they were mournful too. People said she was cute but he thought she was stronger, tougher than that. It was just those moments when suddenly she would lower her head and she looked like the most lost and lovely and sad thing in the world. He could stare at her face for ever. When you found someone you found someone. That was all. It was a rare thing. What would happen if there were no more pandas? Would anyone know how to describe her eyes?
100-Word Fiction: ‘Wild’
As the leaves were ripped from the trees one wild weekend, and a paper cup scuttled down the street, and the clouds were driven by, and the concrete towered high, and the feathers of a hat were bowed, and the sound of drums echoed, and the rifles saluted, and the cannons rolled, and the crowds were seated and cowed, and the carriages rocked all through the city, the house was silent. Did the walls creak? Did the draughts whisper? Did the bells ring? Did the door knock? No. She looked at him and he at her, and all was good.
100-Word Fiction: ‘Berlin’
I have been to the bridge. It was like many bridges. Cars passed over it, old and new. Pedestrians shivered in the cold and made their slow way too. The city is full of gleaming skyscrapers, swish offices and red brick heritage sites. Tourists with rucksacks smile. But the bridge is an iron ghost. The traffic wheezes along with a groaning sound, disappearing away into the rubble and grit outlands of redevelopment. Soon offices will fall into these craters from the heavens. Men in suits will come and fill their lives with plastic, while history echoes like an underground river.
100-Word Fiction: Quote Marks
“Let’s talk. Everyone likes to talk. We want to talk. You want to talk. We must talk. It is important to talk. We will not be being responsible if we do not talk.”
“But we have made our decision. We talked amongst ourselves. You were not invited to talk, but that is not our fault. If you want to talk you will be talking to yourselves.”
“What did we say? Did we say anything certain? We said we might talk, but we might not. Maybe we will talk soon. There is no point talking. We do not want to talk.”
100-Word Fiction: The Last Post
The old man opened the door.
I’ve a parcel for you, said the post lady.
Oh fantastic, said the man in a high, wheezy voice: It’s from my son. He’s away in Australia. Married. I have two granddaughters.
Can you sign here, asked the post lady. Here, I’ve a pen.
The old man signed: You’ve made my day, he said.
No problem.
The post lady took the pen, nodded and headed back to the rusty gate and the road of little houses.
In his living room, sat in his chair, the man unpacked his parcel slowly – and began to sob.
100-Word Fiction: ‘The Bad Man’
Let the man speak, said one.
No, said another. He has nothing to offer us. He should not be here.
Are we afraid of him? asked another.
There is nothing to be afraid of, said another.
There is lots to be afraid of, shouted another.
He is the one who is afraid, intoned another. He who wants to speak. He who wants to spread fear and intolerance. He is the one who is afraid.
Do not pity him, said another.
Expel him, said another, I cannot bear his views.
But the man was smiling. He liked to hear them argue.
100-Word Fiction: ‘It Was Inevitable’
It was just when the light was beginning to fade. He wanted a cup of tea but didn’t have the energy to make it. It felt like everything might fall apart. He wanted to hold it all together but there was nothing to grasp. In his mind, there were years and years of memories: good ones and bad ones. But now it all seemed so like nothing, so ridiculous, so pointless. It was inevitable that things would change. You couldn’t stop it. Things came to pass. Oh it made him sad, so sad. He just wanted to cry and cry.
100-Word Fiction: ‘Life and Soul’
She was laughing. She liked to laugh, to giggle. The world was a funny place. People were funny. People said she was the life and soul. She liked to dance and let her hair down. Alison said she should be a comedian on TV. She would like to be on TV. She would be good at it. A chat show would be best. She liked chatting. She chatted with people at the bus stop and in the supermarket. Her neighbours always said hello. She chatted online too with her new friends. She sent them pictures. Very naughty pictures. Bad pictures.
100-Word Fiction: New Term
Outside the school leaves were on the ground, all green and orange and yellow. A group of adults were talking on the corner by the bench that you could jump from. They had deep, grown-up voices and were saying things about stuff – countries in the world and money and things. Oh, the world is a mess, one said, the world is a mess. He ran off away from them all across the grass to the trees. They didn’t chase him or anything. He put his satchel down on the ground. The park was so big and like an adventure.
100-Word Fiction: ‘The Sky at Night’
The road was quiet and amber in the street light. She could hear the sound of violins and voices from high in one of the office blocks. Someone was playing Verdi. She looked upwards. There were no stars in the sky. Beyond the clouds would only be the vapour trails of aeroplanes streaking across the night. Beyond them, satellites beaming TV shows to nations round the world; satellites distributing information about the location of individuals; rockets testing the limits of technological power; defence shields that cost citizens dear. And what was beyond that? Perhaps it was only daydreams and notions.
MW Bewick 