The Musical Match

Copyright – Björn Rudberg

Word Count: 104

Alan and Sylvia went to Juilliard together; they hit it off from the very first day in school. Over the years they created some beautiful music, melodies, and eventually 2 beautiful babies. 

Their love for each other was evident in their music, she an uninhibited singer, and he a famous conductor.

On weekends, he would strum his old’ guitar and teach the boys Single String Boogie, and the complexity of rhythm, while she'd sit close by with love in her eyes for her family.

Life was good, till the elder son died.

It stole her voice, his music, and their love!

Ninja Mom

Copyright – Douglas M. MacIlroy

Word Count: 100 Words

“NO, we are not buying sugary cereals, Joe” she said sternly, while pushing on her cart full of groceries.

And the 3 year old started screaming like a banshee. 

The passersby groaned, glared and gawked. But she remained calm and composed. She could bribe him into silence, but she is sticking to her guns.

WHAM!

The kid knocks down a bunch of stuffs on to the floor. I tried to help, but she stops me saying the kiddo should do it. 

Bravo, Madam for not buckling under pressure. 

So, is it good parenting? Or is misbehaving child = bad parenting?

WildernessTrail

Copyright-John Nixon

We wade our jeep back from the silent jungle—disappointed. The guide did show some pug-marks and tiger scrap lying around. But then he is been doing that since last week.

Patience is a virtue, he says. Duh!!

My thought swims through the scattered leaves, the branches of the tree and the echo of deer calls in the distance. Dusk is creeping in. We've gotta get out of here.

Suddenly, the jeep came to a screeching halt. Waking me up from reverie.

I look up to see her standing right in front, prowling in the backdrop of magical sunset—eyeing her dinner.

Gotcha!

Copyright -Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

 

 

 

 

 

 

Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100 Words

I took the stairs with the hope of getting some cues. It’s getting dark outside and dogs are barking in the background. I brushed past some spider webs, broken glasses, and a bevy of creepy crawly critters.

Did someone scream? Or is it the howling wind?

I carefully ascended the creaky steps and bumped into a closed door with broken doorknob. I can feel someone watching me; reluctantly I let go of a breath I didn't know I was holding.

Scared? Hell yeah!

I hold the broken door knob, count to six, and turn it around. 

BANG!

"Olly olly oxen free...."

Déjà Vu

Copyright – Adam Ickes

What would it be like to go back there after so long? How will it feel to walk on the same roads again? Meet the same old people?

Should I pretend to be someone else or should I tell them that no— I’ve not moved on. I am still the same person. Why is it so difficult to leave your past behind? Why is let bygone be bygone easier said than done?

It feels so strange, yet so similar. As if I’ve been through this situation before, faced this same anxiety & unease or is it Déjà vu.