Tag: 100 word prose

On Repeat

The music crackles and he takes my hand for the very first time. The record spins, he spins me with it. We laugh. We dance. We kiss. His song is on repeat.

It becomes our song.

It plays at our wedding.

It plays our daughter to sleep. She plays it herself when she is sad. When she leaves home the house feels empty so we fill the rooms with music.

It plays as we grow old.

It plays when he is ill.

It plays at his funeral.

It plays when I get sick too.

The music crackles and he takes my hand for the very last time.

via Daily Prompt: Record

Before and After Me

A stack of photographs lie on the floor. I pick one up. A girl. She is smiling and she is happy. There is laughter in her eyes. She is loud and bold. She is bright and colourful. Vibrant.

She is me, but I hardly recognise her.

She is me.

Before.

I pick up the next one. There is a smile, but the eyes are different. She holds a knowledge in them now, a certainty that the world is little bit worse than she feared. Her light has tapered off.

She is me as I am now.

She is me.

After.

via Daily Prompt: Taper

Birdwatcher

Her first word was “bird.” Then came “beak” and “wings” and, most impressively, “feathers”.

As she grew she became an avid birdwatcher. She didn’t know them by their Latin names or type, but by personality and movement. She learned which ones she would see at night and which ones came during the day. There were many she would only see during certain months of the year and she wondered where they went for the rest.

She wished to go with them and fly away from her humdrum life. She watched them from her cage and envied their freedom.

 

via Daily Prompt: Avid

No Man’s Land

An old soldier stands in a poppy field, unsettled by the peace.

Who’s territory is this now?

The source and sight of so much conflict lies dormant. Tourists pass through and somebody tends to the poppies, but nobody stays.

He wonders why. Was this empty field worth the blood spilt if it was only ever going to be a home for the dead? Why did they fight so hard for this empty space? Do friendships grow amongst the friends and foes buried beneath the poppies?

The old soldier touches a medal on his chest. This land belongs to the fallen.

via Daily Prompt: Territory