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Action: Sunbathing
Word: Ball
Word Count: 99

Sandcastles

In a low-slung beach chair, my legs yawned. Toes wriggled the warm, dry liquid. Ankles offered a tasty feast for sand fleas.

The afternoon sun, a potent narcotic, infused me with blissful intoxication. Imagining namaste, I silently greeted the waves.

Half-mast, my languid gaze followed the gulls poking the shoreline’s grit, seeking bounty from the sea.

A drinking bird desk toy floated through my mind.

Groggy in this driftwood state, the nearby volleyball match was a remote din. When their wayward ball rolled to my feet, I made no move to retrieve it.

My sandcastles were too far away.

Action: Walking in the woods
Word: Dog
Word Count: 100

The Fairies Glade

A typical Irish morning, gun-metal gray mist shot a damp chill into my bones, triggering involuntary shivers.

Meandering the nearby wood, I mused about the recent encounter atop Blarney Castle. To kiss The Stone, I lay supine, lowered my head into a crevasse, face upside down, and smooched the slimy surface of the ancient rock.

This bestows the Gift of Eloquence?

I stepped more cautiously. A hush pervaded the tomb of flora and fauna. I imagined the fairies merrily dancing upon a grave.

Not visible, a feral growl pierced my fog. The wild dog lunged.

I couldn’t say a word.

Action: Washing dishes
Word: Laughter
Word Count: 94

Washing Dishes

The moment her hands immersed in the hot sudsy water her thoughts flowed into familiar reverie. Blankly, she stared as multicolored food remnants blended into mud and swirled down the drain.

A voyeur, she peered out the window, spying the next-door neighbor children playing “Tag” in their back yard.

Such joy, the tinkling bells of innocent voices unrestrained. Her sacred music. In perfect harmony, their mirth crescendoed to high pitched shrieks of laughter, just as the kettle on the stove reached its boiling point and wrenched her back to make tea.

Dinner was over.

Action: Walking down the stairs
Word: Dream
Word Count: 89

Jacob’s Ladder

Manacled by cinder blocks, her dragging feet paused at the top landing. Gulping clear air, she fortified herself, knowing the murky sludge would rise to greet her as she descended the stairway. It would become difficult to breathe.

She pondered her next step.

If only she could decode the cryptogram of events that led to this moment. Figure out who the puppeteer was, pulling the strings, choreographing the ups and downs.

Would a different choice at any juncture have altered the trajectory?

Such an ugly nightmare, this beautiful dream.

Action: Building a home
Word: Similar
Word Count: 92

Her New Home

Tap, tap, tap. Bang, bang, bang. Workmen shout, bossy yet collegial. Buzzing saws, a hive of activity.

The foundation is laid; walls arise. Vacant portals await windows to let in the light.

That gaping entranceway feels unprotected, exposed to the wild. Quickly, hitch the door, keep it under lock and key.

A fresh scent of sawdust prickles her nose follicles – an aroma oddly similar to the smell of ash from a dying fire.

The skylight will offer a thrilling gateway to the stars, but what galaxies can she see from enclosed space?

Action: Flying in a plane
Word: Bump
91 words

Take Flight

The soft hum gathered into a deafening roar as engines fired up, preparing for launch.

I braced myself in the upright position. Trembling with foreboding, fearful of flight.

The thrill of gliding mid-air on the wings of angels had shattered in an instant, transformed irrevocably into terror after 9/11. No measure of rational thought budged me from the pathological need to stay planted on terra firma.

But I had to go.

As the aircraft lifted gracefully, riding the jet stream current, I felt something.

A thump. A bump.

What was that?

My friend, Pat, sent me a link to a Facebook writing challenge. Before I sign up for the contest, I figured I should try a dry run, to see if I could write a short story in a quick span of time using only 100 words, or less. Two things are required: The action must reflect “unpacking a suitcase” and the word “light” must be incorporated. The following is my short story. I would love to hear your feedback (Exactly 100 words were used)!

Action: Unpacking a suitcase
Word: Light
Word Count: 100

A Holy Present

Alone in a dark hotel room, I grope through the overnight bag’s contents, beneath the panties, nightgown, socks…digging. I know it is here. Somewhere.

Clasping the crystalline treasure, my hand emerges victoriously from the cavern. The glowing bulb’s light brightly illuminates the gloomy room. Magnificent rays emanate, infusing the space.

It is a dazzling holy presence.

On an archaeological dig in Egypt last fall, I discovered this orb. Its unearthly aura beckoned to me below its heavy shroud of sand. I knew it was wrong, but I slipped the relic into my pocket, undetected.

It was my secret find.

Hi All, I thought I would share a snapshot of a vision board I created for one of my online workshops. It was so much fun. Meant to inspire.

A tsunami of joy washed over me as I walked up to the rental desk and handed in my car key. It was a delicious feeling of freedom, as palpable as any escape from prison, I suspect.

The gentleman on duty cast a swift glance over Clio’s body and matter-of-factly assessed the damage: one dislodged side strip, one missing hubcap. He was unfazed by the booboos. My out-of-pocket cost? Fifty dollars! As I reached into my wallet to pay the piper he said casually, like he was reporting the weather, that I had gotten off easy, that I would not BELIEVE the cars coming back and the extent of their damage.

I was stunned.

Our flight to the States waited on the tarmac as we crowded onto a transport wagon to take us from the terminal to the plane. Hesitantly, people began talking about their trips in hushed voices. A trickle then a tidal wave of stories emerged, recounting the various driving nightmares that had been encountered. All along, I thought it was just me, that I was a bad driver, inadequate, easily spooked, a silly young woman ill-prepared, but all these people, including grown men, as if in confessional, unburdened themselves of their shame, anxiety, trauma, and embarrassment. I boarded the plane marveling at my good fortune: my experiences had not been so bad after all!

Touring Ireland taught me so much. To confront fear, refuse to give up, enjoy the unexpected gifts that appear along the way, and trust that we can make it through anything unscathed, even if slightly ego-battered, to tell the tale.

This was one of the greatest lessons of my life.