“Are you okay?”
Bill didn’t dare say. There was too much work hanging on this.
The bare, black door stood between him and his future. 40 minutes from now, a hundred people could have work enough to last a decade. He could already see their smiles and their joy. He could already feel their relief.
Bill clutched his shoulder and winced, shaking out his arm as his head swam and his chest tightened. He raised his hand to knock. He was so close. So close.
“I’m fine,” he spat, striking his knuckle to the door.
Just 40 minutes,…
It’s about time,…..
Yup, I’ve started writing OWOS stories again! After a period of Burnout, I feel able to get back into the swing of these again – maybe not every day but I’ll try at least every week.
It’s good to be back 🙂
Suggest a word in the comments below!
Hattie held the leaf high, watching as the blackened surface melted and crumbled, the wind snapping the stem and sending the remains twisting to oblivion. Her eyes focused beyond it: to the greenhouse stretching high above, its precious cargo of rare species now writhing beneath a sea of tiny black beetles. Hattie remembered the first watering of each plant trapped inside: her tears gave final succour to the earth below.
(c) Tim Austin 2016. Image by Sandis Helvigs via Unsplash.
A bit of a departure, here – I came across this https://only100words.xyz/2016/11/24/three-line-tales-week-forty-three/ on my travels and it sparked my imagination. Do visit Sonya’s blog – there’s plenty to enjoy!
Isaac looked down at his sleeping daughter, his fingers stroking gently at the edge of her crib. A shard of moonlight bathed the child and, in the quiet serenity of the nursery, Isaac couldn’t imagine any sight more beautiful.
“I,…” He swallowed the words down. He knew she couldn’t hear him but the pain was too raw. “One day you’ll understand”
“You must wake her.”
His wife was rushing, their suitcases clutched tight in her hands.
“Isaac! We don’t have time!”
Angry shouts and breaking glass split the air. Isaac’s daughter smiled, dreaming.
“Give me this one moment,… please.”
(c) Tim Austin 2016. Image by Jilbert Ebrahimi via Unsplash.
Though it seems we already have.
Tomorrow brings my 100th story! What will it be? Visit tomorrow morning to find out!
“Hey, Gramps! This ain’t your skate park, bro!”
The old man brushed his jacket sleeves and sat. He smiled as the gang slowly circled around him.
“This ain’t no tea shop, old timer” the largest boy snarled. “Can you hear me?!”
The boy reached out to flick the stereo off but the old man raised his palm. His head was nodding to the beat.
Fingers padded at the keys of a trumpet. The gang shifted on their heels as the old man lifted the instrument to his lips.
A knife gleamed.
A knife fell.
The party lasted all night.
(c) Tim Austin 2016. Image by Matteo Paganelli.
Today’s story title was suggested by the wonderful Ian Sutherland, author of the bestselling thriller Invasion of Privacy. You can follow him on Twitter @ Thanks Ian!
As ever, if you’ve a title idea, pop it in the comments to this story or tweet it to me @.
See you tomorrow for “Election”!
“All the chicks are, like, “Whoa! Is that really,….?!””
“And I bet you’re all “Yeah, baby – It’s me!””
Their chirping laughs rang loud around the curved walls.
“I’m telling you; if you have the right bling they’ll let you do anything.”
Legs bent and muscles stretched. The cool morning air shook with squawking jeers.
“Just gotta show them what you got. And remember the breath mints.”
A young girl pressed her face to the bars. “Hey Mommy, look at the pwetty birdies!”
“They’re Peacocks, dear,” her Mother replied, watching on.
She whispered beneath her breath.
“Emphasis on Cock. Small C.”
(c) Tim Austin 2016. Image by Anthony Delanoix via Unsplash.
Well, would you look at that: it’s election day in the US of A! I’m a Brit so I couldn’t possibly comment. It’s important to get out and vote, though: you can never complain about the result if you didn’t take your stand and be counted.
Got a word you’d like to suggest as the next story title for One Word One Story? Pop it in the comments or tweet it to me @.
Explore your favourite genre using the tabs to the left and share your favourite stories far and wide!
Learn more about Tim and his work at https://www.amazon.co.uk/Tim-Austin/e/B00JI0LM7I/ref=dp_byline_cont_pop_book_1
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.
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!
Say hello, pop comments and like the OWOS Facebook page. I’ll see you tomorrow for “Inform”!
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 🙂
Blinding green light pulsed through heavy black air, fixing faces like photographs – caught in their euphoria. Jermain Wallace watched arms and mouths melt together in sexual abandon – tiny slivers of lust matched to music.
The bass trembled in his chest and rode through the floor: the pill dissolved on his tongue. The faces rippled to blackness and he rose his hands high to worship.
The empty Ibiza desert echoed around him as he opened his eyes.
His shirt was blood-stained. The blood was not his.
Jermain didn’t care.
The bass was all he needed. The bass was God.
(c) Tim Austin 2016. Image by Melissa Askew via Unsplash.
An interesting image to form a story from this – quite wonderful that I didn’t know precisely where it was going to end up!
Great thanks to supernatural romance author extraordinaire Rebecca Pollard for donating the word. You can find her on twitter @. Say I sent you 🙂
Enjoy more stories by clicking the links above and to the side. You can also support One Word One Story by clicking here.
Suggest your own words by tweeting me @ or popping a note in the comments of this post. See you tomorrow for “Corner”!
The flames lapped at the wood and circled in the thinning air. A large crowd was watching as the fire danced and swelled, entranced by the hypnotic sweep of the blaze.
Music was playing loud and children were dancing. Cold boxes filled with beer gleamed in the firelight. The field was full of people talking and laughing together as the last rays of the day sank below the horizon.
The sheriff stepped forward, his hand lifting a microphone to continue his speech.
“Black Lives Matter, they say,…..” The crowd was laughing.
The children played and watched the white crosses burn.
(c) Tim Austin 2016. Image by Thomas Shellberg via Unsplash.
The first image that came to mind with this word was the KKK. It is a stain on humanity that this group still exists and that any group like this still exists. But it does and it’s worth remembering that, in these dark times. Humanity still has a long way to go,….
I’m still on the search for new words! If you’re reading this and you want to suggest one, please do! Just pop it in the comments or Tweet it to @ using the hashtag #onewordonestory.
See you tomorrow for “Fragile”.