100-Word Fiction: ‘This Waiting’

A feeling. Grips you how, if, you don’t know. No I cannot eat. She sits down, scrapes the chair across the floor. Time. The clock presses forward a dreaded minute. She should eat. Oh just to stop the thoughts. It won’t be over until it is. Hard as granite. Cold as metal. Steely stone. Bad. She should focus on it, use it. Anger. But it is not anger. It is the mountain of hurt looming. If I heard a song I would… no. Waiting for news. What if? No. That one day if everything just collapsed. It is now, now…

100-Word Fiction: ‘The Julian Calendar’

The Julian calendar. That antiquated thing? Was it so imprecise? Is it so outmoded? It is reckoned that its faults caused our horological measurements to be incorrect by about three days every four centuries. But no calendar is precise. We divide up time as best we can and then continue to tell our stories, filling the hours while the world spins off through the solar system. I hear the Julian calendar is still used by the Berber people of North Africa, and on Mount Athos, and maybe by occasional journalists who have not forgotten the fables of yesteryear – or yesterday.