100-Word Fiction: ‘1 September 2015’

1 September 2015.

Global share prices tumble as visa checks are waived and bodies are washed up on a continent’s beaches. Dead. The stations and sports halls are full of refugees. We are learning new names and new vocabulary. There was no vocabulary for this. Old words are not sufficient. Very old words might just be. The images pile across front pages, television screens and media streams. They are not past or future, they are now. We are history and horror. A corner is turned. We plead for hope. Barbed wire barricades are to come.

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100-Word Fiction: ‘Dialogue Q [Contemporary]’

Q:

I do feel unhappy, yes, although it shouldn’t be unexpected.

Q:

Maybe the darker mornings. And television, maybe.

Q:

Hell, and it’s not even over yet, there’s next week. Tis the season.

Q:

Well they’re setting us back years. The general polemic across all of them just appals me. I don’t know what’s to be done.

Q:

Don’t start me. It’s not opting out. I’m a full participating citizen. I couldn’t escape them if I wanted to. And I do want to.

Q:

I haven’t done for years. Is it any wonder? You’ve seen them. They’re all the same.