The Awakening Conscience

I pull on the large rope which hangs flaccidly next to the large oaken doors. Inside, a bell rings My hands shoot to my hair, checking my ribbon is in place, feeling for any strays. A bee floats in the flowers next to me. I watch it languidly drift in the summer air as I wait. A thirst begins to take hold of my throat, is he coming? Has he decided he has better things to do, other people to see? I can feel a light damp patch forming on my brow, the white cotton of my dress begins to itch against my legs. I lightly finger my lip (a habit of mine since my early years) as I think of what to do. Should I go? No, I've come this far. My hand reaches for the rope once more and suddenly the door flies open. A rush of cool air smacks me in the face. I let myself be pulled in. He laughs, muttering to me as he spins me around in his arms, tying a multi-coloured shawl around my waist. As I come to a stop I feel his hands lingering on my thighs. My eyes drift up from his gloved hands, over his jacketed arms and onto his moustachioed face. I notice his eyes flick up to my face, having been angled somewhere south only seconds before. He smiles at me and steps back, the floorboards groan under his feet and the back of his head appears in the mirror behind him. It's one of many in the house. It seems as though he must have had more mirrors than wallpaper when decorating.

I open my mouth to speak but he cuts over me, explaining that he's had the music room set up and I must come through. I nod compliantly as he takes my hand. He guides me past the ornate staircase and through the narrow hall. We enter a small, cluttered room. A large mirror hangs on one wall and a piano takes centre stage. He turns to face me, gently tugging my hair from its ribbon. He drops his gloves to the floor and falls heavily into the chair behind the piano. His hand drifts over the keys, his finger plunging at intervals as he holds his other hand out to me. I walk over and sit in his lap, his breath tickles the nape of my neck. I look down at the floor and see a cat's tail disappear under his chair. I feel his hands reach around my throat, tugging at the pink bow I had worn since I had begun to walk. I shiver as his fingers dart around searching for the clasp that held it. I lift my head and my eyes are met by a vast and colourful garden, stretching out through the open window in front of me. My mouth drops and I try to stand. He laughs, holding on to one of my arms as I try to pull away. I defiantly pull my arm free, whispering no as I walk towards the window and the garden beyond.

One Hundred Word Story

I push open the door of the capsule and we step out. We’ve landed in the centre of a barren field. Before us sits a city, seemingly abandoned.
“So this is the future!” says Felix, laughing nervously.
“Let’s go” I whisper, shivering.
We walk quickly across the dry soil, pulling our hoods over our red ears. Inside is a large courtyard and in the centre stands a statue, one arm stretched out and festooned with nooses. There’s something familiar about it. I see a plaque at the bottom. It says, King David Green. My stomach clenches. The statue is me.

I got it onto EXACTLY one hundred words, although it pained me to get rid of some of it. Some criticism would be lubberly jubberly. See you all on Monday evening!

Oli! :D

The Kissing Tree

A woman climbs to the top of the Kissing Tree, clutching at ripe fruits and fresh leaves. At her flat the carpet is mouldering, the wallpaper is peeling, her daughter is starving. The woman wears a long colourful dress, her hair is in a headscarf and a small basket is strapped to her back. Peach by peach she fills her latticed container, the straps cutting lovingly into her dark shoulders as she does so. The sun stretches itself across the blueberry sky above her, scolding any clouds in its path. Once she has filled her basket she begins her slow climb down the Kissing Tree. When her sandals touch the bottom she breathes in deeply, wiping the sweat from her brow with her wrist.
She turns and screams. She has been caught.

Opposite her sits a blind dog, its mangy coat covered in flies. The woman drops to her knees and howls, begging the dog to forgive her through yelping sobs. The blind dog stares into her eyes, watching her and waiting. The woman begins to crawl towards the dog, hands and knees scraping over the dusty ground. She reaches the blind dog and they are touching, nose to nose. A small tear falls from her face and moistens a spot of ground beneath her. The dog sticks its tongue out and licks her sharply on the lips. A brilliant light fills the orchard and suddenly in the place of the blind dog stands a regal man and in place of the woman sits a dog, surrounded by fuzzy peaches. The man ties a piece of rope around the dog's neck and guides it from the orchard.

A scream is heard in the distance.