100-Word Fiction: ‘We Danced’

We danced around the Maypole
Decorated trees,
With the ritual midst of faeries crowned
The queens of spring with wreaths
We welcomed up godesses
And all givers of life
And laid amongst the flower folk
Who ended winter strife.
We hoisted up the banners
And marched streets with flags
Scrubbed grub from working shoes
And belted up our rags,
To celebrate time’s rebirth
We sang comradely song
Resounding tunes of season’s worth
For past and suffering long
We pitched tents on heathen squares;
Made concrete just demands
And to swell the city’s purpose
Washed its feet and then its hands.

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100-Word Fiction: ‘He Makes a Cup of Coffee’

He makes a cup of coffee: milk, one sugar. Drinks it in the kitchen, his bathrobe loosely tied. He dresses in front of the mirror, tweaks his tie and collar. He walks through the hallway, steps out to the waiting car. He checks emails in his office, calls meetings, takes lunch. He looks at figures, hires, fires, shouts down the phone. He wines and dines the influential. People, when they speak at him, they say… because there is so much to say, and he is the boss, the whole damn thing… if they say, if he was losing, what, what?