So the Readers Digest ‘100 word stories’ contest closed, and as none of my entries made the shortlist I figured I may as well publish them here. Hope you all like them.
Captain Blackguard stood alone upon the deck of the Hearty Cutthroat. It was, as ever, becalmed. The sails soared majestically, but uselessly, over his head, with no wind to blow them and no crew to help sail even if there was. He looked to the side. There they were again. The giant eyes, staring right at him. As usual, a chill ran through bones. What he had done to deserve this life?
A shout drew little Andy Kirk’s attention from the Hearty Cutthroat. He loved his ship in a bottle, but it was time for tea. ‘Coming, Mum!’ he yelled.
Teacher says I’ve no attention span hey a puppy I’d like a puppy maybe I could get one for my birthday to talk to. Dad says I talk too much so I don’t talk around him but I like talking so I talk to you outside school puss but if I talk in school teacher tells me off. I didn’t do my homework but what’s the point of homework dad says I can learn everything from telly. I’m late but I don’t care and teacher’s never bothered either you know he says I’ve no attention span see you later puss
My brother Gus and I ripped off our clothes and raced each other down the road. We ran like the wind, dangly bits flapping freely, waving at the neighbours as we passed. Gus was just behind, desperate to win, but – yes! – I reached the finish line first. I’d won! I raised my arms in victory, giving Mrs Jones a good look at my winkie as she stepped off the bus. It was only then I realised that when dad had said to me and Gus that ‘You two have a competitive streak’, he hadn’t meant it as an instruction.
The cold sore spread across his face like mould on a ten-week-old loaf. It oozed from his nose, around his mouth and over his chin and cheeks, and his attempts to hide it with his beard weren’t working. His lips were bloated. If it kept growing so fast, Darren would be more cold sore than man. He looked in the mirror and sighed.
He left the bathroom, and walked down the corridor. He stopped outside a room, shuddered, then opened the door and stepped inside.
Class 3B erupted in gales of laughter. Darren went red, but you couldn’t really tell.
Each day at the same time, he’d take his seat, raise a drink, and salute the health of those nearby. A creature of habit; day after day, year after year, he’d be there. Until, one day, he wasn’t.
No-one noticed. No-one looked for him. Nobody had ever paid any attention to the man on the park bench, with his cans of cheap lager. After a while, the park litter collector realised that the bin by that particular bench was no longer full of empty cans each day. Funny, he thought to himself, briefly. Then he carried on with his work.