100-Word Fiction: ‘Nude, Green Leaves and Bust’

I don’t know, said Paul, staring intently at the painting.

Me neither. I don’t get that face in the picture, with its long nose and narrow eyes, gazing down upon the naked, reclining girl. The face is so white, it’s like a ghost. And she is so pink, so fleshy and naked, her arms open, eyes shut. Her yellow angel’s hair. The exotic green plant, with its crevices and tentacle stalks; those two black, shadowy stripes, like arms reaching across her body. The fruit lying beside her. The deep blue draped seclusion. No, it says nothing to me, no, no.

100 Word Fiction: ‘…because we never learn…’

Every year they are sent out and cheered on… leaves fall to the ground… across the grey pavements strewn… the news bulletins roll and call… civilians giving money to young men and women in combat fatigues…

There are dates… 11/11… 9/11… 7/7… 11/11… 11/11… and onwards… to the cenotaphs and the white halls and houses… year after year… so that everyone must know… suit lapels stained with a red wound… sweaters punctured by a crimson splash… so we must know again… and line up… and sing… and bow our heads…

…fall to the dread drumbeat… marched down… trampled… forgotten… again…

100-Word Fiction: ‘Leafspotting’

The warden picked up a leaf. It was perfectly orange but it wasn’t the right one. He looked around, across the park to the woods. The landscape was shades of amber and red. He picked up another leaf. No, perhaps not that one either. He walked down the path and picked up another. Not bad, but still not right. What would the right leaf look like? He should check them all, suspiciously, just in case. He didn’t know why he was looking, only that he’d been told to. He followed orders. And these leaves! They were everywhere this sad autumn.

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.