100-Word Fiction: ‘A Complaint About the Building of Walls’

There is no good in a wall that only divides;
That only seeks to hinder and stop;
That only aims to split into sides;
That takes rupture and acts as a prop

There is no good in a wall that feigns to protect
While causing obstruction and hurt:
If it camouflages the onslaughts it’s supposed to deflect;
If it’s just a conduit for a hatred built in dirt

Walls provide refuge, but should they only rise
At the expense of freedom, progress and scope,
And cast only shadows, and help cement lies,
Then they leave only a barrier to hope

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.