This 100 word story is a continuation of The Escape – Friday Fictioneers. If you want a better idea of what’s going on in this story, I suggest you read that first.
Eric was startled from his slumber thanks to someone pounding on the door to his suite. With a yawn he threw on the silk robe he had taken from a naive tourist. He didn’t normally steal from his victims but it was of his refined taste and he’d hate to see it go to waste.
He opened the door but no one was there, just a letter at his feet. He caught the faint trace of a familiar scent as he bent down to pick up the envelope. It couldn’t be. Eric swallowed hard when he saw the handwriting. Elle?!
Rose felt pretty dressed up until someone oinked at her.
I’m going to share a little, embarrassing tidbit with you. Past cyber stalking events aren’t the only reason I won’t show my face on this blog. While it is true that I came to terms with myself long ago, I’ve never felt pretty a single day in my adult life. I feel like putting my picture up would do nothing other than invite abusive comments from trolls. I don’t see a reason to put that bulls eye on my forehead.
Do you have a story to share about something or someone pretty? Can you write it in ten words? If so, please include it in the comments section for everyone to enjoy!
Some trolls live under bridges and others in mommy’s basement.
This guy’s video sums up how I view internet trolls. It’s actually a pretty interesting subject if you are into psychology at all. Fast forward 45 seconds in to see the start of that subject.
While being a conjoined twin was always difficult, nothing prepared her for this. Born in a small village in Africa, her mother was too destitute to pay a hospital to separate them. It had taken ages for a charity to offer their services to the unfortunate teens.
For weeks they dared to dream of living a normal life. Yet, two days before the surgery, Bahati had awoken to a cold and lifeless sister. She was forced to endure being attached to a corpse. There would be no ‘normal’ for her after this. For the first time, she wept alone.
Timmy knew exactly what to do. He just had to turn the big hand on the clock backwards. Grandpa called it ‘Daylight Savings Time’.
He prodded the clock in the kitchen with a broom, until it fell down. Relief crashed through him when the clock remained intact. He picked it up and slowly spun the big hand. He paused for a moment. Had it worked?
He peered into the living room. His mother was passed out drunk on the sofa. Was she like that before he took the clock? He couldn’t remember. He usually took care not to disturb her as he navigated around the bottles strewn about the floor but today his mind was racing in a million directions.
As he sprinted to the hallway, he let the bottles fall where they may. He didn’t even think twice about how much trouble he was going to be in for letting their mouths drip beer and wet ash all over his grandmother’s oriental rug.