Motel - 100 words

Carla opened the motel room curtain. Her car was there. It looked like it was still in one piece. Just as she set her mind to remembering how she got home from the bar there came a voice from the bathroom. A singing voice. A woman's voice.

Carla sat on the still-made bed and tried to assemble her thoughts and feelings. She wasn't alone. She's never been not alone. She's never blacked out before. Always in control. Never drank too much. What went wrong?

The bathroom door opened and a startled maid stepped out. "Oh sorry, did I wake you?"

Waiting - 100 words

Dreaming of thunder. Wanting for power. Sitting in the corner booth of the corner bar sipping a beer. Waiting for a beautiful young woman to buy me a tequila. So far, no luck.

Drunken philosophers mumble their wisdom into half-empty glasses and half-full bottles. Temporary truths are shared. The secrets of life hang always just one more shot away from understanding.

The beer bottle is empty. The rain pours down the greasy window. The booth is sweating. One more beer? Tequila? What drink will keep me dry as I walk home with a broken umbrella? Yes, just one more beer.

Headlights - 100 words

Headlights in the mirror. Who could it be? Anybody, literally anybody.

Well, anybody with a driver's license. Or maybe they don't have a license. Total outlaw scenario. Screw society. Steal a car and hunt down your next victim on the lonely highway. Find some sucker on a lonely late-night journey. Run him off the road. No witnesses. Take his miserable life. Steal his soul and sell it to the highest bidder.

The headlights turn onto a side road. The mirror is empty again. I find myself missing my psychotic road demon. I hope he's OK.

Next rest area twenty-seven miles.

Smiley Watson - 100 words

Smiley Watson picks up the ringing phone. "Al, I can't talk now." Smiley says, glancing at the three thugs standing over him.

Smiley listens.

"I did look into it. There's nothing there."

Smiley listens.

"Because I'm just a stringer. I'm not a detective like Alexander Pope with a fancy office on top of the Landry building. If there's no story, there's no story." Smiley hangs up.

The center thug puts two hundred dollar bills on the desk and the three of them leave.

Smiley takes the bills thinking that spending a couple weeks in Springfield might be a good idea.