100-Word Fiction: ‘Mission Creep’

That time
When I asked for a glass
Of wine and you
Brought back two
Bottles.
Or when you went
To town to window shop
And came back with bags of
Clothes.
I call it mission creep.
Things got out of
Hand – you say –
It wasn’t my intention.
But you knew all along.
It’s the same
Everywhere
You claim.
And maybe so.
So
I make the leap
To the streets
These streets
That now
Are always mentioned.
First with a higher police
Presence.
Then with little
Kettles.
Soon unmarked officers and
Baton bruises.
And now come
Plastic bullets.
What
Next?

100-Word Fiction: ‘Horses’

Horses, statuesque and all in line. Black coats, chestnut and white. Lush manes and tails. Snorting horses standing tall. A sight to behold. A historical site. Black riders, yellow vests, black helmets. Fluorescent yellow. A bright flash across a grey street, the muddle of a crowded square, seen from a helicopter, a camera on a crane. A horse’s slow walk forward. Then the rest, following: fifteen. The horses trotting, horses at a canter, into the street, the public throng. Horses at a canter, the crowd divided, falling and crushed. A black and yellow blade to the heart of a hope.