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”!
You may have noticed an absence of One Word One Stories in recent weeks. Sadly, a family bereavement and personal illness have kept me from finding inspiration or motivation for new stories.
Normal service recommences from tomorrow, however! New stories every day – including some days with multiple stories to make up for lost time – are on their way!
Thanks to everyone who’s shown support and kindness in recent weeks.
See you tomorrow,
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”.
The gentleman brushed his finger over the rim of his glass, a low growl shucked carelessly from his throat.
His voice was smooth beneath the gravel of age. His smile was bright.
The stewardess smiled back, bowing her head a little as she poured another splash of red wine into his glass. With another quick glance, she stood straight and walked back up the isle.
“Old man in 26 D seems nice,” she chirped, stepping through the crew curtain.
“Oh, he’s a regular,” her friend replied. “Check your pocket.”
The old man’s smile widened when he heard her scream.
(c) Tim Austin 2016. Image by Ross Parmly via Unsplash.
Keep your title suggestions coming (drop yours in the comments) and please do share stories you enjoy. You’ll find a list of genres to the left! Enjoy 🙂
Come back tomorrow for another 100 word short story. Remember: it’s one a day for 365 days! Keep following the blog for more.
Ada looked across at the young woman beside her bed, surprised that someone had spoken. Her gaze focused slowly and she smiled.
“My favourite flowers are Chrysanthemums. Do you like Chrysanthemums, dear?”
“Yes, I love them.”
Ada couldn’t understand why the woman was crying. It was such a lovely day and her daughter would be visiting soon. She raised her finger to wipe the tear free from the pretty face and patted her cheek.
“Yes, Chrysanthemums. My Daughter always brings me a bunch.”
“She,…. sounds nice,…..” The woman was trembling as she kissed Ada’s hand.
“Happy birthday, Mom,…”
(c) Tim Austin 2016. Image by Callum Skelton via Unsplash.
Okay, I’m sorry. Some days the image that forms isn’t pleasant. I find degenerative diseases like Alzheimer’s terrifying and so very deeply sad. I have occasion to visit a nursing home frequently and I see similar scenes every visit. The families who deal with it daily are so strong and I admire them immensely.
If you have a word that means something to you and you’d like to see what I make of it, pop it in the comments and I’ll write you a 100 word short story.
The Commodore stood on the balcony, his arms spread wide to the crowd below.
“This, my friends, is the start of a new country! A new hope! A new dawn for you – free from the corruption of the old ways!”
Jubilant cheers echoed from building to building. Horns blared from every street as the Commodore cupped his hands together and shook them in triumph.
Behind him a man in a black suit was inspecting a model of an oil field, lifting a letter from beside it and lighting the corner with a match.
“Thank you, Commodore. That will do nicely.”
(c) Tim Austin 2016.
This story is dedicated to the memory and family of Jo Cox, MP for Batley and Spen in the UK, who was shot and killed earlier today. Jo was a fearless fighter for justice, peace and the good of her constituents. She was a wonderful example to us all. My thoughts are with her family.
A stubby finger pushed a pawn across the board, cigar ash falling around the piece in a halo of smoking debris. Churchill growled and smiled.
“There is no instance of a nation benefiting from prolonged warfare,” the Britain stated, leaning back into his leather armchair.
A rook slid across the board to threaten the pawn. Churchill frowned.
A finger tapped against the board, sweeping away the cigar ash with disdain.
“That is why this war will be short,” came a replay from across the table.
Churchill slipped a knight to checkmate his opponent’s king.
“But it will be won.”
(c) Tim Austin 2016. Promo image by Maarten van den Heuvel via Unsplash.
I’ve no idea why but the first image I had for this word was Churchill sat drinking with Hitler pleasantly. It adapted in the writing but,… what an extraordinary idea,…. I mean, what would they talk about?! There’s a hell of a book in that,….
Hit that follow button and like the OWOS Facebook page for more! Suggest your own one-word titles by popping your word in the comments below.
See you tomorrow for “Manifesto”.