 [photo courtesy of www.100wordstory.net] 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. Lisa H. Owens Just 100 Words 100-Word Stories - June, 2022
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 [photo courtesy of www.100wordstory.org] 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—using what was called public transportation. “Once upon a time,” she began “before teleportation,” she clarified, “Great-great-great-Gran met Great-great-great-Gramps riding 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…” Lisa H. Owens Just 100 Words 100-Word Stories - May 2022  [photo courtesy of 100wordstory.org] 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 courtesy of 100wordstory.org] The couple considered themselves modern-day nomads. Adventurously, they cracked open a yellowing atlas to blindly dot fingers on random cities, where they'd park outside city limits, then shrug on laden backpacks to fearlessly explore the outskirts. Or, they might point Old Rusty's headlights toward the North Star, clunking along until his gas tank neared empty before stopping to hike whichever way the wind blew. Under a reddening sky, they'd once pitched tents—precariously perched on the edge of a crater—and slurped bitter coffee out of black speckled mugs on Mars. They scanned the night sky, wistfully seeking planet Earth. Lisa H. Owens Just 100 Words 100-Word Stories - March 2022  [photo courtesy of 100wordstory.org] It was rumored, Bob Smith, the newest resident of Pleasant Street, was a mobster-turned-state’s-witness. Attempting to blend in, he traded his Cadillac for a Prius, wore Sansabelt slacks, pastel Polo Shirts and Sperry boat shoes. Upon meeting the neighbors, Bob talked about pleasant things like golf and the weather. Shortly after move-in day, Vinny’s Fences and Watches showed up with a team of goons who erected an impenetrable wall, neatly enclosing the three-bedroom suburban home on its postage-stamp sized lot while Vinny sold new Rolexes that had “fallen off a truck” out of the back of a windowless panel van. By Lisa H. Owens Just 100 Words 100 Word Stories - February, 2022 First Publication: The World of Myth Magazine March/April 2022 Edition  [photo courtesy of 100wordstory.org] The view of the Ferris Wheel was spectacular from the rooftop, especially when watching through his telescope. Sometimes it was quick and sometimes it could take months; but one thing was certain, he’d always find his next love interest. He’d focused on the girl with the yellow braids for a while. She was terrified of heights, it was evident, yet there she was again—white-knuckling the safety bar—screaming as her friend laughingly kicked her feet, causing the car to rock maniacally. He enjoyed her silent screams. Mime-trapped-on-a-hellish-wheel screams. Soon, he would bring her home where she would truly understand fear. Lisa H. Owens Just 100 Words 100-Word Stories - January, 2022  [photo courtesy of 100wordstory.org] It was a fucking travesty. A race to see who would finish first. There was never enough deliciousness to go around. One per person with that oddball roll left hanging in the balance. It was survival of the fittest at its finest—a game she played with them once a month—twice if she was feeling extra vicious. Mother nibbled slowly waiting for the showdown. Father versus daughter, choking like savages. Daughter’s hand shot in like a rocket. She was quick but couldn’t hide the conflict on her face. Father wondered why they didn’t just split the roll into thirds. By Lisa H. Owens Just 100 Words 100 Word Stories - December, 2021  [photo courtesy of 100wordstory.org] It was Come-to-Jesus time. Pastor Bob shouted salvation while The Lamb of God dutifully pounded out a head-banging version of Rock of Ages—strobe lights pulsing. The congregation cried, "Hallelujah! Praise the Lord! Glory! Get thee behind me Satan!" James Satan complied. He crept up behind distracted worshipers, helping himself to fat Gucci wallets and skinny Chanel handbags. Souls would be saved, and the evangelical team would share the wealth. Satan tearfully made his way to the altar where he fell to his knees, giving his dad, Pastor Bob, a covert victory sign. The choir joyfully pealed, "There's Victory in Jesus." Lisa H. Owens Just 100 Words 100 Word Stories - November, 2021  [photo courtesy of 100wordstory.org] There's a saying that goes something like this: Give a man an egg, and he'll eat breakfast. Give a man a hen, and he'll build a chicken-coop, nurture his hen’s hatchlings—fending off predators with his new shotgun. Incubate the baby chicks with heat lamps, ensuring they have high-end feed and spring-water. Repair the coop, keep the run spotless—naming the hens as they mature—the roosters becoming roasted Sunday Suppers. He’ll jump for joy once the hens start laying—rising early to gingerly collect the eggs. By then, he'll be broke, exhausted—sick of eggs—choosing cereal for breakfast. By Lisa H. Owens Just 100 Words 100 Word Stories - October 2021 Photo Prompt  [photo courtesy of 100wordstory.org] The squealing of hogs was enough to make his ears bleed. He’d driven all night...Rig’s Full’O Pigs. He liked the sound of that. What he didn’t like the sound of was 130 decibels, second only to the roar of a jet engine, bouncing around inside his brain. He needed a cup of coffee. He’d take a break at the next rest stop. Get out and stretch his legs and give his ears a rest. Else he might drive this bitch right off the bridge, pigs and all. Leave em Achin’ for Some Bacon. He liked the sound of that. By Lisa H. Owens Just 100 Words 100 Word Stories - September 2021 Photo Prompt Published December 27, 2021 on www.100wordstory.org  [photo courtesy of 100wordstory.org] Aah…the dog days of summer! Playing Marco Polo and screaming “FISH OUTTA WATER!” Hearing, “NEVER,” while a cheating brother tiptoed across the deck to spring off the diving board, landing a graceless belly-flop. The surprise attack half-drowning whoever was “it.” “It” getting mad at the sneaky belly-flopper, accusing, “You were outta water, you big fat liar!” “Am not!” “Am so! MOM!” The childish game ending too soon when the tattler caught Mom being belly-flopped by the pool boy. Dad taking the kids to the Howard-Johnson Motel, where they learned the perfect cannonball while Mom packed and moved out. Aaaaah… By Lisa H. Owens Just 100 Words 100-Word Stories - August 2021 Photo Prompt  [photo courtesy of 100wordstory.org] I caught a glimpse of her flowing white nightgown—sheer—not really covering glossy brown skin. Easily recognizable, as she haunted my every move. “Revenge,” she’d promised with her dying breath. She’d find me anywhere. A flowing white nightgown and brown skin, swollen with the tell-tale bloat of death. A shallow grave and those finger-shaped bruises, a hideous blemish on her delicate throat. I sat on a mossy boulder, visiting her final resting place, hidden deep in a forest of pine trees and twisted vines. She floated in front of me with icy fingers gripping my neck. I never knew her name. By Lisa H. Owens Just 100 Words 100 Word Stories - July 2021 Photo Prompt  [photo courtesy of 100wordstory.org] It’s a girl! It’s a girl! We’d been born seconds apart. We shared everything: clothes, books, boys... Boys never knew the difference. Besides a heart shaped mole, we were identical—the mole a mirror image. Mine on the right shoulder, her’s on the left. In the mirror, I saw a weaker version of my sister. She destroyed boys, chewing them up and spitting them out. I envied her callousness. I changed my fate. One hour in Ray’s Tattoos. A heart on my left shoulder, a dap of concealer on my right. When I left Ray, he was chewed and broken. By Lisa H. Owens Just 100 Words 100 Word Stories - June 2021 Photo Prompt  [photo courtesy of 100wordstory.org] I remember, as a child, using a rusty trowel to dig down to China. It was on the exact opposite side of the world from my weed-laden backyard. I'd shovel my way through dirt and rocks, pausing to say "Hellooooo" in passing to the Chinese kid, who like me, was digging to the opposite side of the world to escape. Digging side by side for a while. Casting an echoey "Goooodbyeeee / 再见 " over shoulders. I thought how fun it'd be to stand upside-down on the earth's bottom, looking up (which was really down) at the sky from that kid's weed-laden backyard. By Lisa H. Owens Just 100 Words 100 Word Stories - May 2021 Photo Prompt Publication in "Journeys Anthology" available on Amazon  [photo courtesy of 100wordstory.org] A slew of disappearances around Pleasantville-Children's Park had local police scratching their heads. Unusual cases, indeed. Cadaver-dogs along with their handlers searched the premises with little to no success, periodically turning up scraps of clothing and various items belonging to the victims. A gold Rolex, a leather purse strap, a paisley sock (just the one sock), and a set of keys. Oddly enough, children were not targeted. The strange little girl with the Mona Lisa smile had a secret. The clumsy children who had a habit of bumping into things, those with blackened eyes and bruises, paid her in Sweetarts. By Lisa H. Owens Just 100 Words 100 Word Stories - April 2021 Photo Prompt  [photo courtesy of 100wordstory.org] The neighbors call us White Trash. They judge us by our cover, something society should never do. Sure, we collect cars (for parts) and store troves of treasures—knee-deep—around our single-wide; but we have something else. Kindness and empathy in spades. Just ask Smooch, the three-legged dog, saved from certain death at the kill shelter. Or Edgar, an injured crow, set free once he healed. He still pays a visit each morning, leaving trinkets on the back stoop. It’s lucky that Lucky-the-Bunny, starving in a hutch as Papa weed-eated The Rich Folks' yards, made it to the wrong-side of the tracks. By Lisa H. Owens Just 100 Words 100 Word Stories - March 2021 Photo Prompt  [photo courtesy of 100wordstory.org] What I remember that day: Riding in his Ford pick-up with the heat blasting. My Girl playing on the radio. An egress into a cattle lease—not really a road, but two tire-tracks of compressed grass—the feeling of anticipation as we neared an ice-cube pond, parking on a slope near the marsh. Him shifting to neutral and stamping down the parking brake, the engine still running. Be My Baby playing with intermittent bursts of static as his fingers tweaked the tuner to hone the station. Us laughing at grackles sharing an ice-bath with ducks. Our hands intertwined and a first kiss. By Lisa H. Owens Just 100 Words 100 Word Stories - February 2021 Photo Prompt  [photo courtesy of 100wordstory.org] I have a reoccurring dream of flying. I glide above a lifeless landscape—sunrise above a destitute city. Morning traffic gridlocked, the cars haphazardly abandoned and silence only pierced by a blaring horn. Coffee cups on a bench. A lone glove on the ground. Two dogs sniffing an oily sack turning on each other with a vengeance in anticipation of a morsel. A campus lawn. A rolling tumbleweed of masks propelled by wind and laptops left open on scattered blankets. I hover over a glass-topped building spying a face—illuminated—as fingers fly over a keyboard searching for an answer. By Lisa H. Owens Just 100 Words 100 Word Stories - January 2021 Photo Prompt  [photo courtesy of 100wordstory.org] A long day of classes followed by a nightly ritual. Three roommates and one rickety table. We talked of lovers and relationships we wished we’d never had. We spoke of our creepy landlord—rumored to be a peeping-tom—the balding carpet he wouldn't replace. Him dropping by at odd hours never quite meeting our eyes, instead, gazing longingly at our nubile bodies. Candice's habit of biting fingernails way past the quick and how her mother promised an heirloom ring, bribing her to stop. She sucked hard—embers glowing—before deformed fingertips passed it on. Sharing that last Virginia Slim before calling it a night. By Lisa H. Owens Just 100 Words 100 Word Stories - November 2020 Photo Prompt  [photo courtesy of 100wordstory.org] Motel 6. If there’d been a Motel 1, I’m sure that’s where we would have spent Christmas. No home. No tree. No gifts. No frills, even though Daddy’d finally hit the “Big-Time” in the stock market. He’d listened to the Lord’s Voice, and as usual, was paralyzed by not having to struggle to juggle bills. We suffered more when he made-then-lost money. The reality of a daddy with schizophrenia. The Voice said he would strike it rich—Oil Wells in Tulsa. We moved. That never happened. We spent the holiday in Motel 6, where they don’t really leave the light on. By Lisa H. Owens Just 100 Words 100 Word Stories - October 2020 Photo Prompt  [photo courtesy of 100wordstory.org] Once upon a time, a couple fell in love. Society didn't approve. 'Twas taboo for Fork to love Spoon. The two never mingled, spending their lives segregated by Tray inside Drawer. At dinner parties (Forks on the left—Spoons and Knives on the right) Plate created division. It was fated the young lovers should meet, jostled against each other in the privacy of Dishwasher. It was cleansing and led to the birth of baby Spork. Spork bridged the gap, and the leftist Forks have since coexisted in harmony with the right-wing Spoons and Knives. A melding of cutlery; Kitchen at peace. By Lisa H. Owens Just 100 Words 100-Word Stories - September 2020 Photo Prompt  [photo courtesy of 100wordstory.org] I have to wonder what the glitch was. What caused your hand to slip, one finger marring the view of your subject? Or perhaps it wasn’t you at all. I seem to remember that about you. How you never take responsibility for your actions. It is always the fault of the other guy. You take something so lovely. Something so pure and leave your mark. A sunset, the sea, a kind woman; it is all the same. You take perfection and bend it to your idea of perfect—inventing, instilling, triggering that one imperfection. You create a sunset with a glitch. By Lisa H. Owens Just 100 Words 100 Word Stories - August 2020 Photo Prompt |
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