Sunday, December 10, 2017


Forgotten City

At the strike of 1am, the majestic structure imploded neatly.
Perplexed eyes witnessed the destruction of the oldest building in town, home to wise men, advisors to many generations.
Suddenly, a voice asked “Why was this done at 1am? I need my beauty sleep.”
The crowd turned to see who had broken the sacred silence. 
An old man holding a crutch waved a crooked walking-stick.
“So, are we done? Lesson number one, life goes on. Get used to it.” And he walked away.The “Welcome” sign slid slowly to the ground, a shy cloud of dust lingering in the air.
100 Word Stories

Wednesday, December 6, 2017

2017 in a Nutshell

The more I write long fiction, the less visible my writing becomes. If you read my blog, it looks like I am writing less and less when, in fact, it's quite the opposite.

It seems that a lengthy learning path is still ahead of me. At the moment, I have great fun improving my writing and focusing on the process rather than on the end results.

A lot changed in my writing routine. Throughout the year, I had to remove myself from a few events. I didn't like some people's intellectual arrogance. It was sad because I did like most of the people. Others, not so much. But that's life. When we don't feel comfortable somewhere, we move away.

As to what was done, I:

* continued to take part in the Weekly Challenge

* tried my hand at plotting and writing an erotica thriller (unfinished) during Camp NaNoWriMo (April and July, 10k each)

* wrote a few bits and pieces about Second Life (published in this blog), among which A Merry Band of Losers

* wrote my Myasthenia Gravis story  (non-fiction) which was published in a book called Hope organized by Donna Whittaker

* and took part in the NaNoWriMo, writing an autobiography of sorts by using the stream-of-consciousness technique.

To the nay-sayers, the hypocrites, the self-centered know-it-alls, why don't you... No, I won't say it. They'll eventually choke on their own venom.

To those who supported me with their care, their attention and their love, thank you from the bottom of my heart.

More in 2018.

Sunday, December 3, 2017


Milk Wood

Love is such a complicated matter.
It all started back in Virginia. A few furtive meetings in someone's vine lead up to a number of wild hops, and the obligatory puff, Woodbine, in this case.
Woodbine was discontinued in the 1980s, but then again we are not placing a timestamp on this story, are we?
The problem with love is that it becomes a complete nightmare rather quickly.
As he fled Virginia, all he could recall was her rage. She screamed at him furiously while she held a branch of devil's darning needles that she had plucked in sheer fury.

Wednesday, November 29, 2017

NaNoWriMo 2017

And here we are, at the end of NaNoWriMo 2017.

This year, as I stated before, I did something different. I wrote a biography of sorts using the stream-of-consciousness technique.

Most of what was written will go directly to the garbage. However, there's a considerable chunk that turned out to be very interesting. I believe it has the potential to become a story in itself. I am not sure whether it'll be a novel or something shorter, but I like the main character a lot (and no, it's not me).

The tentative title of my work was The Darkest Corners. I think I did justice to that title, fortunately or unfortunately, I am not sure.

I still have to work on a cover. I'm hopeless, I know. My design skills are very basic, I'm afraid.

On a positive note, my word count is 52,182 at the moment with two more days to go. I will keep adding words till November 30. I want to complete the plan I drafted at the beginning of this race. The plan had 30 stops, and that's when I will stop, when the 30 stops are done.

I aimed for 1700 words per day, but I did manage an average of 1,799 words. I think this is very positive, considering I had to stop for a few days.

Despite the fact that I didn't write fiction, which is my comfort zone, I enjoyed remembering parts of my life and creating new pieces of this puzzle I have been trying to put together.

And I will do it my way.

Last but not least, thank you for your support. You know who you are. Without your gentle pushing for timed writing, your unconditional support through very difficult struggles, and your grounded comforting presence, I would have never completed this task.

 "In my end is my beginning."

Sunday, November 26, 2017


Collins Land

"The bicycle ride is too expensive, he said. He wanted it for free. The nerve! He even questioned my ability to make decisions about my own business. Who does he think he is? Never again! I will sell everything and go to the big city." And Ronnie continued to grumble until the client came back and smiled.
"I'll give you one million dollars for the bike business. Accept?"
"Hell, yeah!"
The next day, Ronnie saw on the news that an oil company had found oil in his old property. And Ronnie continued to grumble for the rest of his life.
(Prompt: PICK TWO: Shed, Sale, Rancor, Vellum, Slope, Zip, Kale, Bane)

Sunday, November 19, 2017



There used to be a place where cats roamed freely. It had lots of hidden corners where the sun shone in late afternoons. And they lingered lazily, stretching their lean furriness.

There used to be a place where the birds chirped a song and water was a magical backdrop.
There used to be a place with butterflies and pelicans, and lions and ferrets, dogs and roosters, chickens and bears.
And I used to go for a walk amongst the strangeness of the mixture of animals and the familiarity of their peacefulness.
There used to be a place I called home.

Sunday, November 12, 2017

Chasing Your Tail


The whole event became a disaster when a stubborn sponsor decided not to give the organization the agreed amount.
Nine of the models chose to leave while the other five were unsure.
The designer couldn't do the show with five models only.
Everyone was in a frenzy, debating the same issues over and over again when a woman came up from behind and laughed hysterically. She pulled out an automatic and took the money from the sponsor.
"No money. No show. No debate. There, solved. By the way, do you need a free model?" And she struck a pose, smiling.

Sunday, November 5, 2017



Mark and Ron placed their oil lanterns down and waited for a long time. The horizon was a flat line and the darkness extended as far as the eye could see. A few bright stars twinkled in the cloudy sky.
Mark traced an imaginary line from the tip of Ron's finger to its destiny over the water.
"Can you see it?"
Mark squinted his eyes.
"We'll have to go there."
Mark nodded.
By the end of that long night, they'd be richer, but not happier. There was a baby in the wreckage, and they couldn't do anything about it.

Sunday, October 29, 2017


Milk Wood

He put his glasses down. The letter had arrived. He half-expected it to be what it was. He didn't expect it to be that bitter though. What hurt him the most was when she wrote she felt like yelling to the world he was trafficking women into the colony. He was, true, but still... it hurt to see it written down on paper. The lawyer told him she was trouble. But he loved her so much, he didn't have the heart to kill her. He trafficked her to L-028. It cost him a fortune, because they don't like humans there.
(Prompt: PICK TWO: Meter, Bash, Yell, Iridescent, Goon, Opulent, Mango, Traffic)

Sunday, October 22, 2017


Salt Water

The idea of going back was unbearable. Summer had been wonderful. Work was a distant place. She had forgotten about David, the pervert, John, the sloth, and Lewis, the hippie who didn't bathe enough. She stared at a few seashells, tokens of moments she would cherish forever. David said she would get bored by herself. He was so wrong. John advised her not to get a sunburn, and Lewis just smiled, stoned. Everyone thought she was too fragile. Perhaps she was, yes. But she decided she wasn't going back. And she held that small rock in her hand and smiled.

Sunday, October 15, 2017



He pressed the button and a nurse appeared.
She turned around and walked away. He waited. Nothing.
He pressed the button again. Another nurse appeared.
“I'm hungry.”
She turned around and left.
For the third time, he pressed the button, and a third nurse appeared.
“I'm really hungry.”
She tilted her head.
“Haven't you figured it out yet?”
He frowned.
“The code.”
“What code?”
“The one they gave you with your patient card.”
He flipped the card back and forth. In small letters, the code.
And food was provided, abundantly.

Sunday, October 8, 2017


Land of Glory

Lean forward and read the words, she thought, one after the other, one after the other, paragraph following paragraph, obediently covering the pages of a blank book. For the others, the pages were blank, and had nothing written on them. Yet, she saw words, one after the other, strings of paragraphs covering the desert of whiteness. She forgot the ban. And the world became warm.
Lean back, she thought, place the mask back on. No one will see how you can travel away. The book went back on the shelf of empty books, and no one knew she could read.

Saturday, October 7, 2017

NaNoWriMo Prep is in Motion

I have created the novel at the NaNoWriMo website for the 2017 November challenge. 
And hence we begin.

Tentative Title: The Darkest Corners

Excerpt (of the Intro, since we haven't started writing yet):

"A book is a book is a book, and the idea was to write a book. 

However, when I threw the knife in the air and it fell down the stairs (the knife is for dramatic effect, don't alarm yourselves), the idea changed to writing a crime novel. Then I thought, I have done that already. Perhaps I could write a thriller. Done. Some erotica? Done. Well, it's unfinished and I can't look at it right now, for some reason. I'm sick of it. And this went on and on for days until I was asked this question. Why don't you write a sort of auto-biography? 

My brain twirled like that knife (for dramatic effect again). The idea was interesting. I had never written anything like that. It would be easy to do and it wouldn't need much preparation, something vital at this point in time. 

Then I started boycotting the idea. Yes, what's an idea without its archnemesis? Who would be interested in reading such a crazy, boring, piece of garbage? No one, of course. 

Coming to this obvious conclusion was in no way disappointing. Quite the opposite. It gagged my inner-editor, wrapped him up in generous amounts of transparent wrapping film, and kicked his butt into a dark corner of the wardrobe where purses are lost forever, socks get hopelessly divorced and the sun never shines. 

No one would be interested in reading this crap meant that I could write whatever I wanted. I could hammer my fury, my despair, my gut, my soul and my tears on this keyboard and no one would even look at the end result. 


Cover: None yet.
Word Goal: 50.000
Wordcount per day: Aiming for 1700 words
Panic Period, I mean writing time: 30 days

"I had the sense when I looked back over my life I would actually see a mess of decisions, a few of which I had thought about, some of which I had sort of stumbled on and many that I had no control over whatsoever."
Kazuo Ishiguro
Nobel Prize for Literature 2017

Sunday, October 1, 2017


Milk Wood

“Fresh,” said the farmer, his voice reaching an annoying pitch. “Check the pumpkins, miss. Fresh. Not that plastic-tasting garbage.”
The lady nodded and moved on. Everyone walked away quickly.
Only he knew how difficult it was to grow these darn things. The seeds became purple if he stored them for too long, the water made them blue, and painting each one with a natural food-coloring substance was hard work. Plus, after cooked, his pumpkins made people immortal, surely a bonus.
“Umm... Perhaps I should work on my marketing strategies,” he said, adjusting his voice to the perfect octave.
100 Word Stories

Sunday, September 24, 2017

Candlestick and Brush


Candlestick and Brush sat side by side. They looked quite innocent, I must admit. However, the mess in the kitchen was the proof that they had been busy all night. As I stood there, my index finger pointing at them, their big round eyes staring at me, I couldn't help wondering how they had managed to drag a whole cabbage from inside the fridge onto the counter. When I finished admonishing them, they simply stood up and walked away, as if nothing had happened, their tails swaying in the air. I'm sure they were thinking “the slave will clean it”.
(Prompt: PICK TWO: Funk, Double-jointed, Ulcer, Mast, Mahogany, Candlestick, Brush, Sherman)

Sunday, September 17, 2017


Tim's Dreams by Romy Nayar

They didn't like us. The strings hurt on the wrists. The redness would never go away. They played us like puppets. They manipulated us with a smile. Then, they forced us. “You'll see it,” they said. We didn't know what they meant. Then we saw it, the grand scheme of things, and we were just a tiny fleck of nothingness. They took the children. The candles burned till the end, but they didn't know. We had our own strings. The day we pulled them, they fell. And we took off to get our children back. Arrogance can make empires fall.
100 Word Stories

Thursday, September 14, 2017


Salt Water

Elspeth was a dreamer. The old iron-wrought bed hung from the sturdiest branches of the old tree in the garden. She would lie under the cover and snuggle against the pillows, reading. She read stories about imaginary places and wonderfully unusual people.
A plank also hung from a branch of the same tree. It had some books on it and also a lamp that didn't light anything, but that wasn't important because Elspeth was a dreamer.
The river flew by, its soft rippling waves flapping against the chores of her small beach.
And she read on.
Elspeth, the dreamer, hanging from a tree.

Wednesday, September 13, 2017

Ten Days to Go

BWC Village

Ten days to go till the end of today. I'm counting the days, one finger at a time. The neighbors don't know yet. Life will change. I sold the house and told no one. In a way, it's sad. I have been living here for over thirty years. I know everyone. I have seen them get married, have children. I have met the boyfriends and girlfriends of their kids. I have been to the christening of so many babies I lost count. And when they walk by, they wave and stay on, leaning against my fence, chatting a few minutes away before heading off back to their lives.
Now, I have ten days, only ten days to go till the end of today, my today that will never come back.

Tuesday, September 12, 2017

Tell me

Pixel Dreams

Tell me, is it morning yet? Tell me.
When will we look at the sun and smile?
When will we tread the narrow path of tomorrow and, at least, pretend we have a future?
When will we look at the seagulls and watch them circle the dark sky?
When will we believe? I wonder.
And my soul wanders away in my thoughts, my arms stretched, embracing the world, at least in my mind.
Anyone looking at me would only see me, sitting by the window and staring outside while the rain falls, the wind whispers secrets of the past, and the present is a cat sleeping on my lap.

Sunday, September 10, 2017



The painting on the wall flickered, alive with the dancing flames of the gas fireplace. The man sat on a chair. His attention was on the geometric face. He had never intended it to come out like that but he thought it was beautiful. He cleaned his hands with a colorful cloth. She hated that. She hated the smell too. She hated when he sat in the living-room in his “rags”, as she called his painting overalls. When she saw the painting, she wanted to burn it. His nails had red underneath, and the painting was still on the wall.

Sunday, September 3, 2017


The Tower by Rebecca Bashly

The deal was that you'd never scream at me. The deal was that a smile would be a smile and not a sarcastic sneer thrown at my soul. The deal was that I would live today, dream of tomorrow, regret nothing of the past. And now, I live today, dreading tomorrow and desperately trying to forget what happened. The more they told me to walk away, the more I pretended not to listen. I covered my ears, shut my eyes, sheltered my soul, and one day, in darkness, I decided to leave. May my tombstone read “The deal was broken.”

Sunday, August 27, 2017

Lost Hope

Salt Water

Letter to Nobody

My eyes roam the land, the short golden grass dancing in the wind as the purple clouds fly away softly, caressing a bright blue sky. A lonely seagull makes its way out to sea while the waves lap gently on the shoreline. I stand against an ancient tree and try not to blink fearful this picture-perfect moment would fade away too soon. I thought the busy, fast-paced life would suddenly gain some sort of meaning. I thought, one day, things would change. They never did. And a picture-perfect lie ends now at a picture-perfect place.

(Prompt: PICK TWO: Washing, Hope, Downward, Nix, Lie, Thrive, Joy, Rhapsody)

Sunday, August 20, 2017


Il Nido Cafe and Wine Bar "The Nest"

She couldn't walk but she had a very nice bike. It was parked outside the house and it was covered by flowers, violet, red, blue, and white. And she smiled. The bright colors made her smile. And the bicycle rusted away parked outside the house. Every now and then, she’d look at that bike. She’d close her eyes, and ride it, her legs completely paralyzed, but moving freely in her imagination. Whenever she got home and parked the bicycle outside the house, the flowers would sway back and take hold of her bike, becoming the sole guardians of her dreams.

Sunday, August 13, 2017



A comedian added paprika to everything, to the food, the stove, the counter, the walls, even to his co-presenter who tried very hard not to burst out laughing before the cameras.
The day they ran out of paprika, he started using ketchup. It was a commercial nightmare. Shocked viewers complained and advertisers pulled the plug.
When they went back to paprika, everything got back to normal, except for the cameraman whose ketchup company was hoping to make a lot of money.
Why does a cameraman own a ketchup company and work as a cameraman? Rich people are odd… well, sometimes.

Sunday, August 6, 2017



The dark entrance to the tunnel was dimly lit. It was tempting to rush in, grab whatever he could and rush out. On the other hand, the dragon had parked himself in there. He took a deep breath and walked in.
The next greedy bastard found him bored out of his wits in a small cage. Apparently, the dragon had a terrible sense of humor and didn’t believe he was just visiting.
The real problem was that the cage got considerably cramped with the new arrival.
He didn't even want to think what would happen if anyone else showed up.

Sunday, July 30, 2017

Loner Value


“The value of being a loner is difficult to explain, they tell me.”
The conversation went from bra sizes to philosophical states of mind in a heartbeat.
“In this job, we can’t be loners.”
The girls nodded. One sat in the back.
More nodding.
“We have to stick together.”
Emphatic nodding.
Later that day, all dressed up for the graduation gala, each went about their lives, enjoying the moment.
They didn't notice she was outside, watching the fiery sunset. That would be the first of many fiery sunsets she’d go through alone.
The Squad made her an undercover agent.
(PICK TWO: Squad, Value, Callous, Iron, Bunk, Loner, Wispy, Divert)

Sunday, July 23, 2017



The slightly cross-eyed doll sat on the floor, her head rotating while a toy train inexplicably hovered nearby. No child was in sight and no one could tell who the doll belonged to.
They had paid a big chunk of money and everyone was fine with a bit of mystery.
When the monster jumped from behind a door, the guide screamed “Run!” and they all laughed nervously instead.
The guide later told the media that he did try to warn them.
The slightly cross-eyed doll still sits on the floor, her head rotating while a toy train inexplicably hovers nearby.

Saturday, July 22, 2017

Camp NaNoWriMo July

The goal was to write 10k. That goal was reached well ahead of time. I knew life would take over eventually, as it ended up happening. Writing as much as possibe in the first two weeks proved to be a smart strategy. I did manage to add 3k+ to the 10k mark.

For the first time in several editions of Camp NaNoWriMo, I ended up being added to a group called Oakwood Palace that had nothing to do with my usual writing community. It was a quiet group, as these tend to be, with a handful of enthusiastic members.

I suppose the lesson learned here is, create your own cabin.

And onwards to November. I just might be a rebel this year.

Monday, July 17, 2017

Thank You


Warning: A bit of a rant follows. If you're not into rants, feel free to skip it.

I don't hate anyone.
I was taught that hating someone is not a very Christian thing to do. I don't know much about all that Christian stuff, but I was a kid. I took their word for it.
However, some people made it to a special list.
It's called “I'll never forget”.
The co-worker who, at a staff meeting, said “it's not our fault you have that thing” while deciding I would teach the largest and most difficult groups of kids the following school year. That thing is a chronic illness called Myasthenia Gravis, something that limits my life every single minute of the day. I was well-considered by my peers and I worked the hardest. My reply was “I wish no one, of those you love the most, ever has this thing”. She started crying. To this day, I don't know why. If anyone should've cried, it should've been me. I was forced to retire that year.
The friend who called me selfish because I wouldn't pick up the phone while I was in hospital undergoing a treatment for that thing. I lost a friend.
The woman who came between me and someone I cared for very much. Looking back, she only did what she was allowed to do. And I didn't do any allowing... She is one of the most insecure people I have ever seen. Her profile updates are textbook examples of a terribly lonely heart. It's actually sad to see. She was an eye-opener.
Finally, someone who said the most unthinkable, harmful things about me. It was a terrible, painful blow.
And every now and then these people come to mind.
I haven't seen them in a long time.
I wonder if they are better off now.
I wonder how their lives have moved on.
I still don't hate them.
Because of what they did and said, better things happened.
I stopped working, and my health improved exponentially.
I left behind a friendship that was destroying me.
I got to see a few things I had been blind to.
I met someone who makes my life sunnier.
Years will go by, but I shall never forget what you did to me and, from the bottom of my heart, I thank you for that.

Note: "Myasthenia gravis (..) is a chronic autoimmune neuromuscular disorder that is characterized by fluctuating weakness of the voluntary muscle groups." Source: Myasthenia Gravis Foundation of America

Sunday, July 16, 2017


IV The Death by Ux Hax and Romy Nayar

She just waited there, wearing this huge hat while sitting between the oversized figures of Death and a Bride.
The display was a performance, they said. All she had to do was sit down and be quiet. And that’s what she did. Well, at least until Death started coughing.
She stood up and peeked in through the eyes of Death, wondering if anyone was inside.
“Are you ok?”
To which Death replied, amidst intense coughing, “Help me.”
Everyone fled. Too creepy, the critics wrote.
Apparently, Death had planned to rob the jewelry-clad celebrities attending the opening, and Death almost died.

Sunday, July 9, 2017


Il Nido Cafe and Wine Bar "The Nest"

He flattened the map on the table.
“This is where we are going.” And he thumped his index finger on the right spot a few times for emphasis.
The gang seemed bored.
“Get in the cars and… try to look inconspicuous so the police don’t stop you, ok?!”
They all nodded.
When he arrived, he saw no one.
“Damn retards… They got caught. When you want something done, do it yourself.”
He walked inside the bank. Empty.
He got caught too.
“One-way ticket to hell,” one of them had the gall to tell him when they met again in jail.

Sunday, July 2, 2017


Bou's Land

A young rabbit looks at an old tree. The tree whispers.
The rabbit hops back and forth near the tree. The tree whispers.
The rabbit perks up two long ears. The tree whispers.
And the rabbit rests.
The tree sways in the wind, its leaves rustling softly.
The tree is wise and the rabbit ponders.
“Big ears don’t make you hear better, do they?” The tree whispers on.
The rabbit ponders, intrigued.
Maybe, just maybe, the rabbit will hop away with a tiny bit of the tree’s wisdom.
Maybe, just maybe, the tree will smile, watching the rabbit hop away.

Sunday, June 25, 2017

Camp NaNoWriMo July

Milk Wood

Packing time!

Camp NaNoWriMo is approaching quickly.

*Dust latest chapters written,
*Sharpen a few ideas,
*Grab the notebook where you wrote down all those neat expressions you plan on using,
*Brush up on your grammar and style.

We have 5 days left to decide what to write, how much to write and who to share it with (our cabin). 

My plan is to keep working on the Carnal Masquerade, a story I started at Camp in April, and my goal is to write 10,000 words.

Below you can find the synopsis and an excerpt.

Let the writing begin… in 5 days, in 5 days!! I still have a lot of packing to do till then. ;)


Carnal Masquerade

Carnal lust, secret luxuries, and dangerous games of betrayal and revenge.

Alexandra looked around the living-room, holding her mask between her fingers, while the middle-aged director blabbered on and on about his most recent escapades.
At the back, sinking in a corner sofa, trying to look upbeat but sulking like a pre-teen was a judge of the Supreme Court. At the buffet, the rising star of a new generation of politicians chatted with a half-naked woman, who was wearing what seemed to be a toga type of vest. In the veranda, with a stunning view over the whole city, was a very married Senator who vowed before an inquiry committee he had never had sex with a certain female assistant while in office, and he wasn't lying; he had sex with a male assistant. The room was packed with the country’s crème de la crème.
Present were also several multimillionaires of Arab countries, some of notable royal families, and a few obscure entrepreneurs from Eastern Europe.

A Couple's Life

Wanderstill Ode

When the young couple decided to take a tour of Toon Tooth Park to see the new volcano exhibit, they had no idea that this would change their lives significantly.
They walked side by side, sure of themselves, feeling positive that they’d have an entertaining day.
But a crazy man dressed in a foamy toucan outfit decided to act like an annoying clown and leaped about around them. He was so irritating that the young couple pulled out two shotguns each and put an end to the nonsense.
They are now living near a real volcano in Iceland, the Eyjafjallajökull.

Sunday, June 18, 2017

I Can't Believe That

Il Nido Cafe and Wine Bar "The Nest"

“What are cobalt, fluorine and iron together?”
Everyone looked puzzled by the question.
The café owner grinned.
“Think about it for a bit.”
She walked away, basking in how the tricky question had caught the cheeky young men off-guard. Each day, they would ask her questions she couldn't answer and laughed at her ignorance.
After a few minutes, she went back to their table.
“Well? I can’t believe you couldn't come up with one little answer.”
They shook their heads, baffled.
She poured a cup of coffee slowly.
They still looked puzzled.
“Coffee! Co, plus F, plus Fe. Hah! Gotcha!”

Sunday, June 11, 2017



Marcy was infuriatingly opinionated and wasn't shy about it either.
When the office organized a field trip to an old castle, she blabbered on and on during the whole trip, driving everyone crazy.
The visit to the castle went well. The group went left while Marcy was checking the rooms to the right.
Then, someone found the lighthouse and there was an evil twinkle in their eyes.
She trotted unwarily into the abandoned lighthouse at the edge of the garden.
When they blocked the door, leaving her inside, they knew the days at the office would be far quieter.

Sunday, June 4, 2017



“My cupcake’s gone,” wailed the man when he was arrested. “My sweet wife, you’ll be on that wall, eternal and beautiful.”

The policemen scanned the room. The only thing they could see was an old portrait.

“Is this your wife?”
The man nodded.
A policeman got closer to the portrait.
“Are you sure this is a woman?”
The man was offended, cursed on and on till they removed him from the house.
“Where did you put her body?”
He shrugged.
And no one noticed the disdainful eyes on that painting, moving towards the door as they escorted the man out.

Sunday, May 28, 2017

Mean Orc


Peter and Matt, two friends of the orc, were talking in the hospital corridor.
“No orc should have to go through this. The contusion was serious and now he’s talking funny. Everyone is laughing at him.” Peter rolled his eyes in disgust.
“Well, I suppose,” replied Matt, “but he was always slightly mean. Don’t you remember when…”
“I really don’t care. He should be respected. He’s fragile now.”
Suddenly, the orc died.
Peter waved. Matt got closer.
“I killed him,” whispered Peter.
“What on earth? Why??”
“I was talking to him and, man, did he have a mean bad breath.”
100 Word Stories
(PICK TWO: Track, Jill, Pinkerton, Blasphemous, Contusion, Orc, Zither, Neutral)