Texas State Fair [original painting on display in the office of Scott Zashin, M.D. in Dallas, Texas - circa 1970s]
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Featured Stories and Narratives
Video Narratives
The Haunting of a Cracked Window [paranormal]
Happy Halloween!
Day-Six of Creepy Pod Podcast's 31 Days of Horror
Day-Six of Creepy Pod Podcast's 31 Days of Horror
Christmas in Four Parts [horror]
The Poets Lounge
Production, Narration and Music by: Alan Johnson
Written by: Lisa H. Owens
First publication: "Journeys: the Writers' Journey Blog Anthology"
Read this story along with two others by author Lisa H. Owens in "Journeys"
Till Death Do Us Part
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Her Chair
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A Lover's Kiss
The Poets Lounge
Production, Narration and Music by: Alan Johnson
Written by: Lisa H. Owens
Read Story
The Eyes Have It
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The Gatekeeper
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Twelve Months of 100-Word Photo Prompts
See All 100-Word Prompts here.
County Drive-Thru Testing Site [March, 2023 100-Words]
The line of cars started alongside the makeshift tents. It snaked through abandoned fair ground concessions—dotted with wayward cups and haphazard propane tanks—and ended miles later beyond the stockyards.
Ben fidgeted in the driver's seat. “This is fuckin’ madness,” he grumbled, “and you hacking up a lung.” I lifted my mask to pop another flavorless lozenge, choking back a cough as dry as the Sahara, and cracked my window. “Roll it up. Smells like shit out there,” Ben shifted his eyes to the adjacent cattle barn. Another cough. Another tear soaking my mask. I hadn’t smelled a thing in days. Lisa H. Owens Just 100 Words 100-Word Stories - March 2023 Photo Prompt |
The Things She Wanted to Say [February, 2023 100-Words]
“A penny for your thoughts,” his voice was insistent. The edgy tone he used when he was on the brink.
She thought about the things she wanted to say. How he was too controlling and turned every conversation into a monologue. What was wrong with the world. Wrong with her. How for years she’d dreamt of ways to end his reign of terror. How last month she started adding a special ingredient to his morning coffee—him contemplating why it was this particular brand tasted of almonds. Instead, she said, “I don’t deserve you, darling,” focusing on her cracked teacup. By Lisa H. Owens Just 100 Words 100 Word Stories - February 2023 Photo Prompt |
A Cozy Blanket of Snow [January, 2023 - 100-Words]
She prayed each night before laying her head upon her makeshift pillow, thanking the good Lord above for her blessings.
It was the little things. A new start—free from the terror of physical abuse. Food in her belly, a bottle of water in the center console. A crisp new library card and a stack of books by her side. A rare parking space in a No-Tow-Zone and adjacent to a streetlight, to boot, where she could read until her eyelids grew heavy. The soft blanket of snow insulating her temporary home. Kindness of strangers. A new job on Monday. By Lisa H. Owens Just 100 Words 100 Word Stories - January 2023 Photo Prompt |
The Penny-Candy Man [December, 2022 - 100-Words]
He pulled a Chick-O-Stick wagon and wore a Necco Wafer suit. He was the traveling candy salesman, and like the Pied Piper, hordes of children clamored around him.
He took their pennies. Then they fought to pinch off strands of his Licorice Whip hair and raided his Raisinette pockets. They devoured his Zagnut boots with Red Vine laces, then turned towards the wagon with drooling passion. Swedish Fish and Conversation Hearts. Tootsie Rolls and Chuckles. Every candy imaginable included. When his wares began to dwindle, he flew away on BB Bat wings, while satisfied parents waved goodbye, smoking Candy Cigarettes. By Lisa H. Owens Just 100 Words 100 Word Stories - December 2022 Photo Prompt |
Leftover Dirt [November, 2022 - 100-Words]
True to his word, Uncle Joe took the key to his grave. One stormy night of the cousins working together, grunting, taking turns sharing shovels and the casket revealed itself. The hole was dank and cavernous.
We drew straws. Which unlucky bastard would do the deed? Open the lid and run hands over old Joe’s decaying corpse, digging through gore encrusted pockets. I was the loser; but also, the winner. I launched out of that hole, smelling of death—key in my pocket—guns ablazing. The conundrum? What to do with the soil displaced by four dead cousins haphazardly astride Uncle Joe? By Lisa H. Owens Just 100 Words 100 Word Stories - November 2022 Photo Prompt |
The Evidence [October, 2022 - 100-Words]
Bob's apartment looked like an explosion. The couch cushions were shredded, the twin mattress stripped and flipped. Every drawer dumped to form one haphazard pile in the center of dank wall-to-wall carpet. This had Gianelli Thugs written all over it. Bob’s apartment, smaller than his recently vacated prison cell, tossed. He opened the freezer and pulled out a Tony’s Pizza box and felt inside—beneath the shrink-wrapped pepperoni pie. They were still there, sealed in the baggie. He didn’t give two shits about anything else in this wretched hellhole. The hidden negatives were his way out. His ticket to Easy Street.
By Lisa H. Owens Just 100 Words 100 Word Stories - October 2022 Photo Prompt |
The Cost of Winning [September, 2022 - 100-Words]
Daddy forgot to lock the door to his office / gaming room … again. The first time it happened, Timmy was only three and ingested a half-dozen Jelly Donuts and a crushed cigarette butt. Mommy called poison control but other than a tummy ache and bout of diarrhea, he went unscathed.
The second (and final) incident, Tim was thirteen. He, along with two neighborhood kids—in order to enhance their Call of Duty: Warzone skills—did a three-way split on Dad’s secret stash of Adderall. Five little orange pills apiece, and they played the best, last game of their lives. By Lisa H. Owens Just 100 Words 100 Word Stories - September 2022 Photo Prompt |
Making it in America [August, 2022 - 100-Words]
Camilla left work by 11:30 a.m. on Taco-Tuesdays. She replaced her meticulously ironed Skydeck Tours button-down with a Chuy’s Tacos tee before clocking out to take the glass elevator 103 floors to the ground level of Willis Tower. She stuffed her laminated green card and a few dollars in her fanny-pack, leaving everything else in her employee locker before jogging two blocks to the family food truck.
She could see the line already snaking around the block and smiled. Taco-Tuesdays were the family’s bread and butter, and Camilla was the star. Papa would be happy to see her, La Cocinera. By Lisa H. Owens Just 100 Words 100 Word Stories - August 2022 Photo Prompt |
She Wished She'd Overslept [July, 2022 - 100-Words]
The girl was glad she had a window seat. The lunatic had been storming up and down the aisle with a makeshift bomb strapped to his chest long enough that he was surely tuckering out.
The flight attendants were huddled in the rear galley speaking in hushed whispers while the plane banked right, pitching the lunatic sideways, and the jet left the city in its wake. The explosion and crash that would follow would be less devastating in the burbs. She looked down, her eyes focusing on the bouncy house and kids' party at the end of a winding driveway. By Lisa H. Owens Just 100 Words 100 Word Stories - July 2022 Photo Prompt |
When the Nail Lady is Sketchy AF [June, 2022 - 100 Words]
Sue didn’t know anything about tarot cards or reading tea leaves or crystal balls. She just knew the lady who did her nails was gone and her replacement told Sue she had a dark aura. She added a tiny protection sigil to her pinky saying to visit Old Nan on Blyth Street…immediately.
Upon entering, a bleary-eyed crone beckoned her to the only vacant chair at the lopsided table. Sue sat, joining the ancient one and five youthful women. “Let us now begin,” Old Nan whispered. “Hail Satan…” they chanted and Sue noticed they all shared a black pinky pentagram. By Lisa H. Owens Just 100 Words 100 Word Stories - June 2022 Photo Prompt |
How People Met in the Olden Days [May, 2022 100-Words]
Great-Gran told the story at virtual family gatherings, always when the Young Ones wanted to hear about the ancient ways.
Great-Gran removed the worn family album, an heirloom created centuries earlier when people used Polaroids, from the vault, as real books were priceless. It automatically fell open to a smiling couple—holding hands--while sitting in what was called public transportation. “Once upon a time,” she began “before teleportation,” she clarified, “Great-Great-Great-Gran met Great-Great-Great-Gramps commuting on a train to an office—before holographic workspaces,” further clarification, “when human contact was still allowed, and people still smiled. ‘Twas an instant molecular binding…” By Lisa H. Owens Just 100 Words 100 Word Stories - May 2022 Photo Prompt Published on The Drabble - August 30, 2022 |
The End of a Drought [April, 2022 100-Words]
I could almost feel the rain on my skin. Big bloopy raindrops soaking my dusty hair and quenching a constant deep dark thirst. I stopped the car, turning off the windshield wipers to press parched lips to the droplets as they collected on the glass. It was a tease akin to a desert oasis. Water, so close yet so far away.
Slender pines swayed, bare branches mocking their excesses as they cast off the rain in wide sheets. My need was so intense. I threw open the door and stepped out, head thrown back—mouth open wide—greedily slurping the clouds’ offerings. Lisa H. Owens Just 100 Words 100-Word Stories - April 2022 Photo Prompt Published on The Drabble - November 6, 2022 |
Photography By lisa
[A Whole Lotta Texas]
It's not that we are bad pet owners; it's just that we've had many dogs over the years that led post-rescue lives, long lives, filled with kindness. RIP to those we lost. Till we meet again. Someday.
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