100 words – Darkness Exploded

The darkness exploded with silence. All the insect noises stopped at once. Jacob could hear his heart pounding. He could feel the blood rushing through his veins. The harder he listened the more silent the woods became. All was dead. Not even a breeze blowing the quiet from the trees. A flash of lightning cracked the empty night. Something moved in the bushes. Something small and quick. A hungry blue jay chirped. One by one all the comforting noises of darkness returned to the woods. Bugs and frogs chorused their relief. A lonely coyote howled. The Summer rain poured down. Photo by daniel.stark

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Living in a tool shed

What's wrong with a tool shed?

Sometimes I want to live in a tool shed in someone's back yard. A sturdy plastic one so I never have to do any work on it. All I want inside is a bed and a desk. Some place to sleep and some place to write. I know, not practical, but sometimes being a writer takes precedence in my mind over everything including bodily functions. All right, I should probably add some sort of plumbing. And while I'm at it a fridge and microwave might be nice. I can watch TV and DVDs on my laptop so I have that covered. As long as the landlord has good wifi and doesn't mind sharing. A couch might be nice. How quickly the trappings of "normal" life encumber existence. I've considered other kinds of confined spaces. Like a monk's cell, or a prison cell, or a shack in the woods. Those choices have too many rules or too many things that can eat you. Maybe metal would be better than plastic. That would stand up to weather better. Maybe put the shed on wheels in case the landlord gets tired of me. Maybe even put a motor in it so it can move by itself. So my simple little shed has now become a motorhome. Oh wait, I already have one of those. Never mind.

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100 words – new car

The new car was not the same as the old car. Every nook and cranny of the pavement made its way up Al's spine. The old car would glide down the roughest road. Al hit the on-ramp. The little car did not respond well the suggestions Al's foot made through the gas pedal. It whimpered up through the gears till it was time for fourth. Al pushed in the clutch and pulled back on the stick. Nothing. No fourth gear. He prayed for an off-ramp as he was assaulted by beeps and birds at a frightening 35 miles an hour. Photo by altotemi

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