I stared up at the sky, wondering why it always seemed so far away. Why couldn’t I reach out and touch it, wrap it around me like a cloak? But when the eagle soared down, I wondered if it could even reach the sky anyway. How far away…   He was dead. That was the mark of her first day on earth. When she looked back, she wondered if it was an omen of her future. After all, everyone who loved her seemed to die in tragic ways, as if she was only a character in the story of sadistic writer. And maybe it was so, for nothing in her life was out of the ordinary until that one day…   If he ever loved her, she never knew it. Not until it was too late to say goodbye. His love was quiet, like snow falling on the old dead grass to cover it with a cloak of white crystals. But her heart was ice, and she never could understand his actions. He brought her coffee when she couldn’t move.   If I had known that every word I wrote I would have to live in my own body, I wouldn’t have written a massacre in first person. It just wouldn’t have been worth the joy of seeing plots come to life with every death. Or maybe I would have resurrections. What are a hundred wounds to one with a hundred lives, like Arthur and Excalibur? Do characters die every time you read their death? But I do.   He grabbed his sword and ran out to meet the foe. His lady had proved false, there was nothing left for him but to perish valiantly on the field of battle. If only he had seen the last words of her letter to him.     Kindergarten was the best days of his life. The smell of rainbow crayons and the slightly stinky smell of the fish tank, the voice of his teacher calling him up to the front when he had done a good job on something. There he was himself. But one day, an older child came and shoved him against the wall. “What are you doing here? Trying to get us sick?” His teacher came to the rescue then, but the day came when he left the cancer ward       in a hearse.   The gremlins were at it again. They ate up his thesis for college and left him banging his head on the desktop. “Agh!” He screamed. But when he went to the computer shop, they could fix it.   Dandelions blew in the breeze. His words were like that, soft and meaningless against the whisper of his tickly breath in her small, delicate ears like silk.

 

A collection of stories under 100 words written for the NaNoWriMo facebook page challenge.