Month: November 2016
She was looking at me.
I couldn’t place the look. It was sadness and,… desperation. Her green eyes seemed lost.
I stepped closer without realising, my instinct taking over. I didn’t breathe again until I felt her hand on my chest. She was trembling.
She drew back and opened the phone booth door, stepping inside and turning, her hands pressing white against the glass. I didn’t understand. Not until I saw the photograph crushed in her palm.
The picture showed a booth identical to this, steamed from within – a wet hand print on the glass.
She lifted her skirt.
(c) Tim Austin 2016. Image by Joe deSousa via Unsplash.
Another decidedly NSFW story today. No, I don’t know where the image came from. But if you want to throw me another title that piques an erotic image in your head, go ahead: pop the word in the comments section or tweet it to me @ using the hashtag #OWOS.
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Shards of crystal shook with each thundering crack of feet on the marble floor below: a hundred shoes raining to the ground as hands met, palm on palm. The chandelier swayed. Wax dripped.
At each turn of the music a sighing hiss filled the air. Silk skirts brushed the thighs of men, teasing them as their wives looked on.
Jenny watched the dance from the corridor, the golds and blues of the scene reflected in the young maid’s gaze. Behind her, others carried chamberpots from the room.
“Remember, girl,” called the housekeeper. “Their piss smells just as sweet as ours.”
(c) Tim Austin 2016. Image by Peter Oswald via Unsplash.
Thanks to aspiring novelist and blogger extraordinaire Roderick Wills for suggesting today’s story title! You can follow him @ or on his website at https://roderickwills.com/.
Suggest your own title and I’ll write the first image that springs to mind – just pop a single word in the comments below or Tweet it to me @.
White droplets patted against damp straw, soaking through and pooling against frozen concrete beneath. Billowing steam span through the air and glimmered in the breaking dawn.
Two dozen cows mooed and lowed as their teeth ground in a grumbling, champing chorus.
Still the milk spilled from the machines, streams gathering together amid the red mud that caked each beast’s hooves.
Four dozen eyes saw the black truck arrive. Four dozen eyes saw the man wash his boots with disinfectant.
White streams became red as the man handed papers to the farmer. The cow shed door closed for the last time.
(c) Tim Austin 2016. Image via Freestocks.org
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I’m nearly at 100 stories – let’s boost this into 200. Explore your favourite genre using the tabs to the left and share your favourite stories far and wide! I can’t do it without you 🙂
“Hey man, do I need to be wearing these?!”
Michael rose his arms to display thin plastic strips digging into his wrists.
“Pipe down, Jones. You got a time out and you take it – or do you want to go back to your cell?”
Michael Jones blew in frustration, dropping his hands to his lap and thudding the back of his head to the wall. Through the thick glass of the door he watched as orange-clad men fed metal strips into presses, their heads bent low.
The lines were long: the penance unending.
“No Sir,” Michael sighed. “I do not.”
(c) Tim Austin. Image by Miguel A Ramirez via Unsplash.
Not being political, not being political, not being political,………
My generous thanks to long-time follower and supporter of the OWOS project Sarah Doughty of Heartstring Eulogies. Check out her poetry here – I can’t recommend it highly enough.
If you enjoyed this or any other OWOS stories, be sure to like and share!
Marbled streams of fire shifted and wound through hissing clouds of acrid smoke. Fissures broke open like wounds, finding each other and melting into flickering rivers before swollen dams of black rock rolled across and cut them from the night sky.
A maelstrom swirled high above, peppering the shifting rock with ashen pumice as forks of lightning shruck at the ground.
The old man looked on, fingers tightening in his palms. Tears fell at the beauty of it. His heart broke as children screamed.
One last toll of the church bell broke the air.
Fire leapt. The screams stopped.
(c) Tim Austin 2016. Image by Yosh Ginsu via Unsplash.
Pompeii sprang to mind when I read “Intense”. There was a man who witnessed it and survived – Plinny the Younger. It’s hard to imagine how terrible it was for him to see.
Today’s story title was donated by fellow blogger and author Angelica Kidd, who is just beginning her submission for NanoWrimo as of yesterday! Follow her progress at https://angelicakidd.wordpress.com/.
See you tomorrow for “Enslavement”.
The tyres weren’t going to take it. James could already feel the grip yielding against the tarmac. He could see them in his mind – the rubber twisting and giving way.
“Don’t be afraid to brake.”
He whispered the phrase over and over, patting the break line as he stared down the opening straight. The first turn was taunting him: daring him. Take it right and the race was his.
James gripped the wheel as the crowd hushed. The timer on the board reset.
He patted the plywood of the soapbox racer and his Dad got ready to push,….
(c) Tim Austin 2016. Image by Pascal Richier via Unsplash.
Well I hope you all had a lovely Halloween!
Today’s story title was donated by the wonderful K.M. Joshi – graphic designer and musician. You can find him and follow him (you stalkers, you!) over on Twitter @. Suggest your own one word title by popping a comment below or tweeting me @ and the next story could be yours!
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