100 Words - Not My Knife

 

“Whose knife is in my glove compartment?” My friends seemed as confused as I was. They’re terrible liars, so I knew they didn’t know. I called the last person who was in my car alone, my current flirtation Carol. She said it wasn’t hers, but suggested I find a dumpster for it. So, that’s what I did.

The hard part now is deciding Carol’s status on my affection scale. I am stupidly attracted to danger, so that’s a plus. However, I have trust issues, and someone who would plant evidence of a crime in my car is a definite minus.

100 Words - Detached

Clyde’s early work in the slasher genre was rather shoddy. Even with a completely incompetent constabulary he was nearly caught several times. As time passed his technique improved to the point where his victims no longer even showed up in the papers.

Clyde was, at first, amazed at how many detached people there are in the world. People so insignificant that when they stop showing up for work their coworkers shrug their shoulders and move on. So many people show up out of nowhere, no one notices or cares when they’re gone. Assuming it was time to go somewhere else.

100 Words - Death Road

 

He told her there were a thousand ways to die on the road. She guessed there were just as many ways to die at home, so she stuck out her thumb and started her life. So far there have been 845 near misses. 155 to go.

You’d think car crashes would be high up on the list, but they’re so mundane. Nothing like steak knives falling from the sky. She wore a hard hat for a month after that. Some of the scars never healed. Every bump and bruise on her body is a story that only she can tell.