The Last Battle


This is my entry for this week’s 100-Word Challenge for Adults.  The challenge this week was to use the words:  “LIBERTY, EMPIRE, APPLE, YELLOW, and  ENORMOUS” to create a story of 100-words.

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Elijah Red and Portnoy Yellow stood gazing into the boughs of their creation.  Their efforts had come to fruition.  It was time.

The Kingdom of the Red Apple had forever been at odds with the Yellow Apple Empire.  The feud was threatening to explode again.  The younger generation needed antiquated-reminding there must be difference or both worlds would crumble.  War was imminent.

Elijah  grinned.  “This ought to set them on their ears.”

“Hope so,” Portnoy nodded.

Together the old men reached up and plucked another enormous half-yellow half-red apple from the tree.

“What shall we call them?”  Portnoy asked.

Liberty.”

To see my other 100-Word-Challenge entries go here.  To learn more about the 100-Word Challenge for Adults, and to see what this week’s prompt was, go here.

If you enjoyed this, you may also enjoy Charlie Chaplin and The Great Dictator: The Speech that Resounds Across Time

They Know


This is my entry for this week’s 100-Word Challenge for Adults.

Elsie lay across her cot like a damp rag in the sweltering afternoon heat.  She was trying to digest what she’d seen.  She’d followed the elephant herd  for days, but today was a revelation.  Textbook words long ago had come to life like some ethereal dream in the velvety haze of morning.

The herd had discovered the carcass of another pachyderm.  They gathered around it solemnly, and one by one, each member had caressed the heap of parched old bones.  They fondled pieces of the deceased and carefully set them back, then stood quietly.

“They know they’re elephants,” she whispered.

To see my other 100-Word-Challenge entries go here.  To learn more about the 100-Word Challenge for Adults, and to see what this week’s prompt was, go here.

If you enjoyed this, you may also like Love without Language:  Elephants Pay their Respects to Lawrence Anthony After his Death

Box Knives


Emotions cut like box knives bleeding heart ache from the wounds slowed only briefly by scars like speed bumps.

Perhaps learning from the experience, it slows as it flows over and down, remembering, burning like tear drops that drip on a cold and indifferent floor.

They dry and go the way of dust; unknowingly stuck on shoes or dirty feet, blown away by an errant breeze into nothingness as if they never existed at all.

But there remains a scar, another speed bump, waiting, hoping to be understood.