 [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
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 [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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