This year I wrote several 101-word stories for the CityBeat Fiction 101 contest, but we were only allowed to submit 3 entries. Here are the ones that didn’t make the cut. Maybe you’ll see the other three in print.
News for Pets
Mr. Meowface was hungover on catnip and passed out in the litterbox when a slobbery ball screamed through the window and nailed his hindquarters. A message from The Rude Dogs – must be close. Meowface was field journalist for News For Pets. Yesterday, before hitting the ‘nip, he linked the murder of a young Chihuahua to underground gangs providing show dogs smack to help them chill out during performances. The champ was on the stuff and this underdog was about to squeal. Meowface took a slug of catnip, rubbed his ass and thought, “this goes all the way to the top.”
B.O.
Their eyes met on the bus when a terrible waft of B.O. arose in their vicinity. Doug gave Amelia a secret smile to exonerate himself from guilt, but she took it as a sheepish apology and recoiled. Doug lifted his collar to his face, sniffed inside his shirt, and realized it really was him. In a flash of confidence, he slid over and put the moves on her, since, what the hell, the embarrassment couldn’t possibly get worse. He was wrong – somehow his balls had been hanging out as well. The police were waiting for him at the next stop.
Online dating
“My stylist calls gel ‘product’. There’s countless ‘products’, how come hair gel gets to be called ‘product’?”
Sarah sighed. Her date only spouted one-liners.
“Must you talk like Twitter?”
Ryan removed his sunglasses. “Listen carefully. These glasses have monitors and a wireless computer. Before I was just a geek messing around, but recently — brace yourself — the Internet became sentient. It studied us through Twitter and YouTube and now it’s invading reality through me. You’re dating … the Internet.” He replaced his sunglasses.
“Oh, for the love of God.”
“I give the new Rambo 5 out of 5 stars!”
Six Seconds on a Parabola
“Why are you doing this?” The wind whistled so loud Dave had to shout. He pulled off his helmet.
“You know why,” Jake shouted.
“Her?”
“Dude,” Jake tore off his helmet and turned around. “I saw her first, then you stole her away just because you can.” He let go with his feet and hovered above the bike.
“Dude, sorry, I didn’t know it would hurt you. But this seems a little, I don’t know, extreme.”
“Love is extreme, dude. Love is totally extreme.”
The motorcycle completed its graceful parabola and landed with a crunch at the bottom of the cliff.
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