100-word fiction: ‘He Rides Bicycles’

He was a machine, that’s what people said. So powerful – and everything tested, tuned, synchronised. They said he was in perfect shape. He said it was all about the timing: it was in the mind, not the legs.

You looked at him and wondered what thoughts went through his head as he crossed the line, arms outstretched. Could you still feel joy? Or was winning the only possible conclusion? He would feel pain. You could see the anguish just before the grin. The years of training. Family pressure. Money. Perhaps people were right: maybe being machine was the only way.

100-word fiction: ‘Breaking News’

He’s dead.

On a business trip and just out of the shower, a dark haired man stopped drying himself. A newsreader squinted into the autocue and stumbled over some words. At a music festival, a hungover girl sat up quickly and poked her head out of her tent. In his bedroom, a teenage boy doing homework at his computer altered what he was searching for on the internet. A man turned to the screen on the back wall of the pub and took another sip. On a five-a-side pitch, one of the lads pulled out of a tackle.

He’s dead.

100-word fiction: ‘Those Eyes’

It was for the country, not any individual. He was a friend not an enemy. He was on holiday not business. She did not want money she wanted help for a personal project. He was a political ally not a friend. It was not a closed enquiry, it was open and transparent. It was not uproar it was debate. They were escort girls not prostitutes. She was 18 not 17.

He could feel the other man’s eyes on him. He felt so tired.

You know what has to be done, said the other man: Hey, you can trust in me.

100-word fiction: ‘They Came From China’

It was hot in the sun and there was no shade. Seven years passed while unspeakable horrors continued to occur. The men were interrogated, brutalised and brainwashed, caged half way round the world from their families whom they would never be able to see again. They had become a problem for the authorities. No country would take them in. Eventually, the government of a small island humanely offered them the right of residence. The decision sparked a diplomatic row that crossed continents. How were these people to live? They were innocent. They had done no wrong. Weren’t they now free?

100-word fiction: ‘What People Want’

“People are scared. This is what I know. People are scared for so many different reasons. People think they deserve so much. They tell you so, saying they are good people and hard-working. People want to feel protected. They will confide this. They say they need protecting from all kinds of enemy and hardship. People want to be left alone. They are proud of their independence. They want people in authority to leave them alone. They say they don’t want to be interfered with or judged or have experts tell them how to live. People want to ignore the world.”

100-word fiction: ’34 Years’

The radio said the missile tests were a direct threat. There was rhetoric too: the nations of the free world would not stand idly by. In the street, a man shouted to neighbours that the sunshine was set to last. A couple were watering the pot plants in their garden. They’d now been married for 34 years. It was hot on their wedding day too – and on the day they met. Her blue dress with the pink flowers, her hair up like she used to have it and her eyes bright and dazzling: the most beautiful girl in the world.

100-word fiction: ‘On the Attack’

They were on the attack; shots rained in. Soon each side would assess the casualties, know who was defeated. It had all been going on too long; it felt senseless, stupid. Days ago he had felt optimistic but now reports were coming through on the radio about yet another loss. He wanted it to be over: for the whole thing to end. He might turn his back and try to forget. Was that what people did? There was a deafening roar. Elsewhere, a boy closed his eyes and started to cry, not able to watch as the final whistle blew.

100-word fiction: ‘Criminals’

Ah they can ahl ga an fuck emselves eh. They wuz ahlwez on the mayk anywez an if ye believed they wuz in it fer you then ye wuz an idiot eh cuz they’re ahl fuckn cunts. Divvent matter which wun uv em ye fuckn shout for cuz they’re ahl the fuckn same. They sit torkn their shite on TV eh an nut answerin questions an there’s a game where th’interviewer pritends they’re bein ard and interupptin but it nivver matters eh cuz it’s ahl sorted and wrapped up. Wuss thn criminals eh the fuckn lorra thm. Wuss thn criminals.

100-word fiction: ‘Out to lunch’

Don’t worry, it’s on me, said the middle-aged man in the blue suit as the waiter came with the bill. I haven’t been out for a long lunch in ages. I’m breaking no rules and I should take advantage of my privileges: after all, they’re there to be made use of. My boss says that this year one of his big worries is that if we don’t spend the money they’ll think we don’t need it – and take it away. So keep your wallet in your pocket. Should we get down to business? Or would you like some more Champagne?

100-word fiction: ‘She smiled’

She was sat two seats to his left and he could tell she was doing that self-satisfied smile. She wouldn’t say anything more now; everything had already been said. First had come the sly criticisms, tempered with a few jokey remarks. A day later she said that nothing was meant, that they were still a team: he had her support as always. It was supposed to put an end to the matter but there was no way it could be forgotten. He wanted to tell her to leave but it was impossible. Either way, they both knew it was over.