100-word story: control

Dearest Readers and Roses,

Every week I post a 100-word (more or less 5) story. Here is this week’s:

She dropped her shirt on the floor, and its soft whoosh was the only sound in the room. He sat on the edge of the bed, legs open, chest bare. She studied the fuzz in the middle of his chest. They had been together for a year, teasing each other, only enough that it hurt him because she couldn’t go all the way. It had taken seven boys and fist-throwing breakups for her to learn that her body was hers and she was in control. She stepped forward and put her hand on his chest. Warm. Finally, she was ready.

Your feedback is the only way I can improve. Throw whatever you have at me in the comments.

Many thanks,

-ck

100-word story: snowflakes

Dearest Readers and Roses,

Every week I post a 100-word (more or less 5) story. Here it is:

She looked into the white sky and watched her breath evaporate. It evaporated like he did the day he found out she was pregnant. He wasn’t ready to search for the ranch-style house where they planned to build a tree house in the oak tree and a gazebo in the center of an overgrown rose garden. He wasn’t ready to relinquish his other girl and commit to changing diapers. He wasn’t ready to coo comforting words to her growing midsection. He wasn’t ready to stay. Fingertips brushing her swollen tummy, she closed her eyes, and the snowflakes kissed her eyes.

Your feedback helps me improve. Throw whatever you have at me in the comments.

Many thanks,

-ck

100-word story: wind

Dearest Readers and Roses,

Each week I post a 100-word (more or less 5) story. Here’s this week’s adventure:

A woman stepped out onto the balcony, letting the wind sweep through her hair, around her hips, and into the apartment. The wind danced around boxes with stuffed animal puppies and hoodies poking through tears in the edges. The wind glanced at the cracked frames and bent wedding photos squished into a shallow box and knocked the divorce papers onto the kitchen tile. The wind slowed to examine a wall picture of the couple’s names traced in a heart in the sand, and she scrawled her name in the dust to match theirs before she tapered away with the closing door.

The only way I can improve is with your feedback. Throw whatever you have at me in the comments below.

Forever grateful,

-ck

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