Old 100 Words A Day

A writing project wherein we challenged ourselves to write at least 100 words a day and post daily to stay accountable. The authors are Amelia and Cait.

[lousysharkbutt]

can you tell i want these two to meet

patreon | twitter | instagram

[100-wordsaday]

Cait - February 29 2016

As she stood there, barefoot in the mud, she wanted to both laugh and cry at the peppy tune playing over and over in her head. When she blinked, she could see the last time she’d heard the song: wearing a long wine-red dress, standing onstage under the sparkling lights of the concert hall, surrounded by other singers and accompanied by the gleaming instruments of the orchestra. She was a long way from all that now.

Rivulets of water ran down her face, mixing with the tears she could feel but no one else could see. Everyone around her was lost in their own minds. She felt giddy; a manic energy grown from the tune in her brain. Men barked orders that were lost in the wind. All she could hear was her song.

In si ridente ridente suol, si cantiam, cantiam!

In this delightful, delightful land, we sing our songs of love!

What a joke.

[100-wordsaday]

Amelia - November 1, 2015

           I opened my eyes and felt hallow.

           I reached; searching, hoping, dreading.

           It was gone.  My magic, which flowed through my veins and burst from my fingertips, was gone.

           And the bed was too soft.  The room familiar yet strange.  This was not my room in Castle Leaoch.  This was my room back in….

           I sat up and threw off my covers.  It couldn’t be… I couldn’t be…  I pushed aside the curtain over the window.  I was staring into my backyard.

           I was back.

* * *

           It was the twenty-second of October and I was back. I had gone to sleep on the twenty-first and woken up in a different world.  And proceeded to spend three years saving a world that I might never see again.  And now it was like no time had passed, I was still fifteen, still a sophomore in high school.  Still had my whole life ahead of me.

           Except, I didn’t want this life.

           I stared at the mirror in the bathroom.  My eyes were still hazel and my hair was still black but my face was too round, too young, too soft.  This skin had not spent years under blistering sun and frigid wind.  Inge had once said my eyes looked hollow, like I was lost inside.  I looked empty now.  As empty as I felt without the energy zinging through my blood.  I couldn’t even pull a spark from the filament of my reading lamp.

           I brushed a thumb against my lips, they were warm and soft. These lips had never kissed.  I closed my eyes and rested my forehead against the mirror.  Aelis what are you up too, I thought.  Was she back in her world?  The last sight I’d ever have of her would be her smiling as she returned to her room; aqua eyes sparkling, honey orange hair tied into one long braid, her words, “Just think, Edmund, tomorrow you’ll be made a duke,” ringing.

           Just think, Aelis, I get to see my mother again.  Remember talking about them our first week in OtherWorld.  Just think Aelis, we’ll never see each other again. I thought I’d have time to say goodbye.

           I shook my head, now was not the time to be dwelling on what I had lost.  Now was the time to remember what the hell I’d learned in school the day before.  What the names of my teachers were.  What I would wear.  What clothes did I even own?

[100-wordsaday]

Amelia - September 26, 2015

“We can’t all be perfect,” he murmured.

I kicked the toilet lid down and sat.  “I never claimed to be perfect.”

His head lolled back, showing a long expanse of alabaster throat.  I swallowed.  He could be so damn sexy and not realize it.

“You might never claim to be perfect but you definitely prefer it.  Its obvious, in all your choices.  Except for me, apparently.”

“I’m sorry, alright.  I didn’t know you were serious.  You were always joking and flirting and I thought it was just for fun.  I didn’t realize it meant more to you.  I made a mistake.  A big fucking mistake.  And I can’t change that I made it, because you know, time travel doesn’t exist yet.”

“Becca,” he sighed, head falling into his hands.  “Oh Becca.  Of course I was serious.”

“I couldn’t tell, it wasn’t obvious to me.  I swear if I knew I wouldn’t have.  God, I can’t believe I actually slept with Louis.  He’s an a-hole.”

“Well, at least we agree on that.”

_______________________

excerpt from: “Party for Empty Souls”

[100-wordsaday]

Cait - June 10 2015

She hadn’t been able to keep her eyes off him while he was building the fire. The little line between his brows as he piled up the tinder sticks to his liking; the way he stuck just the tip of his tongue between his teeth when he was concentrating and didn’t think anyone noticed.

Madalyn noticed everything about him.

Looking up at the stars, she found her familiar constellations, and the ones everyone else knew, the ones Oliver had taught her. She remembered cool nights like these around the fire, with mom and grandpa and sometimes grandma, talking, laughing, singing all the old folk songs grandpa knew.

Madalyn started humming under her breath, and then looking at the stars, quietly sang:

How often at night,

When the heavens are bright

With the light of the glittering stars

Have I stood there amazed,

And asked as I gazed

If their glory exceeds that of ours

Oliver was staring at her, and she ducked her head, blushing. She didn’t have a very good singing voice.

“No, don’t stop!! Sing it again!”

Oliver grabbed his guitar. Self-conscious now, but a little louder, Madalyn started:

Oh give me a home,

Where the buffalo roam…

It took him a few lines, but soon Oliver was playing the chords right along with her. He was picking up the words too, and they came in together on the chorus, voices and guitar rising into the stars with the sparks from the fire.

[100-wordsaday]

Cait - June 8 2015

I can hear revolting sucking sounds coming from the stall next to me. We don’t have any cows, and I have never milked one, but I am pretty certain that is not the normal sound of milking cows. I can see the woman’s feet underneath the stall. Dusty and flecked with hay, there doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with them. I must’ve been imagining the limp. But what of the sound? It’s horrible, like the sound of your guts turning inside-out. I can’t stand it any longer, and I decide to risk looking under the stall. I edge toward the next stall, trying not to disturb the hay. I am still in the shadows near the back, so hopefully the farmer’s wife won’t hear me. Taking a deep breath to steady myself, some hay and dust particles tickle my nose and I fight to keep from sneezing. My palms on the rough wooden wall of the barn steady me, and I work up the courage to look underneath.

The contents of my stomach almost make a reappearance, before I can even process what I’m seeing. The woman has her skirt pulled up, nearly to her waist, and there is some…thing attached to her leg. With a long and bulgy body, it has one mouth on each end, sucking frantically and making its black hair ripple. Each face is the raw red of a new wound, and the beady eyes fix on the cow’s udder. The other head seems to be sucking on a nipple growing out of the woman’s thigh. I squeeze my eyes shut. This can’t be possible, what I’m seeing. This is magic.

[100-wordsaday]

Cait - May 3 2015

That 3 am feeling 

When you can still taste the wine on your tongue 

Even though you drank it hours and hours ago 

And your mind is brimming with untold stories 

And your fingers are itching to write 

So you open up your notebook 

and bleed ink onto the page 

Words flowing like torrents of rushing water

Too fast for you to keep up 

And there's a solitude 

of being alone, being awake 

at this desolate 

but electrifying hour 

The night seems to hum and the world outside your dark window seems so full of possibilities that you just write and write and write 

and write 

And then you slow 

The words coming more like molasses 

The ink from your pen now 

seems like ordinary ink 

The burst of inspiration is gone, and you're back to 

That 3 am feeling 

of tiredness

[100-wordsaday]

Cait - April 30 2015

I sit on the end of the dock, watching the dark water reflect the light from the sun as it descends behind me. My shoes dangle mere inches above the water. I know it’s risky, but I am hoping that the waves will be small tonight, and I won’t get wet. My hands feel damp and sticky from the salt in the air, slipping against the edge of the dock they rest on. I lean my head back, brushing my long straggly hair on the ground, and letting the sun hit my face. I close my eyes, enjoying the peacefulness.

Then, there is a sharp tug on my ankle, and I am freezing. I can’t move, I can’t breathe. The ocean surrounds me, and my bones are ice. I feel myself sinking, and some small warm place inside of me gets the strength to move. I kick my legs, pushing for the surface. My lungs burn; my fingers and toes are numb. My supposedly think coat takes on the weight of a thousand stones, and I fight it to get back to the surface. My hands reach for the light above my head, and, like miracle, someone grabs them and pulls me up.

[100-wordsaday]

Cait - April 19 2015

“What the hell was that about?” demanded Elisa. “We’re never going to find Lilja now!”

“I’m sorry, it’s just…the wife had a limp, which is a sign of a witch with a tilberi, and I read that the tilberi steal milk from cows and sheep, so I asked her…”

“Oh, and you just suddenly believe in magic now? If you actually read the old stories, you’d know that the tilberi are very loyal to their house and will only steal milk from the people who the witch tells it too. So obviously, if the woman was a witch, she would not have the tilberi steal milk from her own cows!”

“I’m sorry,” I say meekly, wringing by brown knit cap in my hands.

“Well, they’ve kicked us out of their house, so now we will never know if the wife was a witch.”

[100-wordsaday]

Cait - April 12 2015

She was walking to work, just like any normal day. The area was filled with people, streaming along the sidewalk like water. Aliya normally cut across the grass in the park to get to work; it was much shorter that way, plus all those who worked for the RDT relished the small sense of rebellion.

She was about to follow some of the others onto the grass, when the wind blew at her long turquoise skirt, tugging her feet back onto the sidewalk. Too tired to fight the wind, she figured today she’d take the long way. Even on the sidewalk, the wind pushed at her, whipping her hair and her saree into the air.

She’d barely taken two steps when the ground rocked with an explosion, and she was thrown into the air. Landing hard on her side, Aliya tried to take a breath, but all she got was ash and dust. Coughing, with eyes watering, she struggled to sit up. She couldn’t really move the arm on the side she’d landed on, and she ached all over. Lifting a shaking hand to her head, it came away wet and sticky, and when she looked at her fingers, they were stained a vibrant, unreal red.

[100-wordsaday]

Cait - April 8 2015

I was incredibly nervous to take my laundry to the laundromat. I knew where it was, I knew what to do – it was just laundry ­– but for some reason, my stomach was filled with butterflies and my heart was beating at a million miles a minute.

As I went out the door, I called to my roommate like it was no big deal:

“I’m going to do laundry, I’ll be back in an hour or so!”

“D’accord!” she answered cheerfully.

Damn. I was hoping she would say,

“Oh, I need to do laundry too! Let me come with you!”

Merde.

I’d been putting off laundry for weeks – I’d been wearing the same pair of jeans for the last five days in a row. It was absolutely necessary to do it now.

I felt like an idiot hauling my huge laundry bag through the streets of Paris, but I tried to ignore the disdainful looks of the polished French people around me. They had to do laundry too, right?

The laundromat wasn’t that crowded, and I closed my eyes and silently thanked God for small miracles as I walked through the door. I chose a washer, put all my clothes in, wrestled with the coins (only dropping a couple in the process, and feeling my face turn bright red as I did) and set it to wash.

Success! I’d put a load of laundry in at a laundromat. There was no way I was going to leave now, so I pulled out the book I had to read for school out of my purse. As I wrestled with the complications of business terms in French, I couldn’t stop thinking about the French test I had tomorrow and how I was probably going to fail. I’d been living in Paris for almost a month, but I still felt like I was struggling in the language department. I shouldn’t have been – I was the top of my class in high school French. But that was high school. In America. Probably not the best indicator of language proficiency.

With every word I didn’t know in my French book, my stomach got a little tighter. I was going to fail out of French college and have to go home to Indiana in disgrace. I was so concerned with learning the French language that when the buzzer for my laundry went off, I jumped about a foot in the air, upset my book and my purse, spilling its contents everywhere.

As I scrabbled on the floor for spare change and tampons, face glowing, I could feel the other patrons staring at me. One was a tired-looking mom with two kids running around, and one was an apparently homeless old guy. The mom looked disapproving, though I had no idea why. Just get your laundry, and get it over with, I told myself. I managed to haul my sopping laundry into its bag, and headed over to the intimidatingly large dryers.

I got all my laundry in, put in a few euros, and pressed the button. Nothing happened. I pressed it again. Still nothing. I looked around, panicked. The homeless man had left, and the mother was folding clothes on the table while her kids played some clapping game on the floor. Should I ask her for help? What would I say? Oh my god, what was the French word for dryer? I wracked my brain, but nothing was coming up. I glanced surreptitiously around the laundromat, hoping there would be a sign somewhere that said dryer. Suddenly, it seemed to me that all the French words I’d know previously were gibberish – like I was looking at Chinese, or some similarly unintelligible language to someone who doesn’t know the alphabet.

I half-sobbed, half-laughed. What was my life? I didn’t even know the damn French word for dryer. What was I even thinking going to a French university? I didn’t know French well enough to even do my own freaking laundry! By this time, the tears were at a full blast, but after every couple of sobs, I hiccupped a ridiculous laugh.

And then – I have no idea why I did this, I guess it just seemed like a good idea at the time – I opened the door to the dryer, and climbed in with all my wet clothes.

The mom must’ve thought I was clinically insane, because she hurried out of there with her kids real fast. I hung my head out of the dryer, hair hanging down to the floor, hands covering my face, half-laughing, half-bawling, in a French laundromat.

I was crying/laughing to loudly to hear the door open, so I jumped (again) when I heard a voice say:

“Est-ce que vous êtes bien?”

I slammed my head on the top of the washer, bringing about another bout of crying, so I didn’t see who the voice even belonged to at first. But when I finally opened my eyes, a young Frenchman held out his hand to help me out of the dryer, and asked what was wrong.

And that’s the story of how I met my husband while having a meltdown and bawling, inside a dryer at a laundromat in France.

So sorry, this is way more than a hundred words, but it is way better/makes more sense all together, so I decided to post the whole thing. Inspired by this picture

[100-wordsaday]

Cait - April 7 2015

I don't care. I can't not date Madalyn." "Oliver, you're talking about her like she's some sort of...prize to be won. She's a person too. She might not like you. Or if you become friends, maybe she won't want to ruin your friendship. You have to consider her feelings." Oliver sat up. "I am considering her feelings." "It doesn't seem like it." * * * Oliver was so annoyed with Cedric that he didn't talk to him for the rest of the day. But laying in bed that night, he thought about the way his father treated his mother, like she belonged to him, like he'd won her. Oliver sat straight up. "Oh my god, I'm turning into my dad." "No you're not mate," came Cedric's muffled voice from across the room. "But I'm glad you've thought about what I said." Oliver told himself then and there that he wouldn't think of Madalyn as a prize, something that he wanted to win. But as he fell asleep, he couldn't escape the chill that had crept over him at the thought that he was like his father.

[100-wordsaday]

Amelia - April 7, 2014

Nacht und Strand und Meer

Das ist die Geschichte, wie wir gestorben sind.

           Siekommen in die Nacht.  Zwischen Nebel und Strand.  Und sie wollen Fleisch.  Unsere Eltern hat uns das erzählt.  Wenn wir Nachts wandern vielleicht würden wir getötet.  Aber wir gehen jede Nacht.  Über die Hügel und in den Wald.  Wir haben keine Angst.  Wir sind jung und voller des Lebens.  Gar Nichts kann passieren.  Wir haben das gemacht seitdem wir fünfzehn waren. In zwei Monate werden wir sechzehn. Meine Schwester und ich.

           Wir haben unsere ganzen Leben an diese Insel gewohnt, und unsere Eltern und Großeltern haben auch hier gewohnt. Unsere Familie wird nie diese Insel verlassen.  Nur mit dem Tod wird uns von dieser Insel verlassen.  Unsere Mutter spricht oft von die Hexen und anderen Übeln.  Sie spricht auch über Elfen und Zauberei.  Aber es ist nur Großmutter dass über die Kelpie erzählt.  Und so meine Schwester und ich glaube nicht, dass es echt ist.   Wann Oma über die Kelpie erzählt, hat sie eines Feuer in ihren Augen.

           Sie sagte »sie kommen von das Meer und sie sind wie Pferde.  Aber sie sind kein Pferd.  Sie haben Seetang für Mähne und Schwanz.  Sie würden euch hereingelegt.  Und wenn das passiert würde, dann wäre euch Tot sind.«

           Meine Schwester und ich gehen in den Wald wo der Kelpie geht nicht.  Aber in der Wald gibt die Elfen.  Sie sind voll von Unheil.  Ich habe nur einmal mit Elfen gesprochen.  Es war eine Elfentanz und meine Schwester und ich haben es gefunden. Wir haben viel getanzt und auch viel gegessen und getrunken.  Und als wir zu Hause zurück, hat unsere Mutter mit uns gesprochen.  Sie sagt: »was glauben ihr na den?  Wißt ihr, was der Elfessen kann mit euch machen? Vielleicht ihr konnten nicht in die Haus kommen.  Oder ihr musste mit sie bleiben und tanzen.  Oder vielleicht es würdest euch töten.  Sag mal dass ihr wird das nicht wieder mache.«  Und so haben wir es verspricht, werden wir niemals mit die Elfen tanzen und essen und trinken wieder.

           Das war vor einem Monat.

           Heute Nacht gehen wir nach dem Strand, weil wir möchten etwas neues sehen.  Ich glaube dass der Mond voll ist.  Es sollten eine schönes Nacht sein.  Wir gehen ins Bett und warten für eine Stunde.  Und dann gehen wir nach dem Strand.

           Es ist windig und kalt an den Strand.  Meine Schwester blickt auf das Meer.  Sie sieht aus wie eine Meerhexe.  Ich sehe ein schwarze Form in dem Wasser hinten meinen Schwester.  Und ich weiß, hierher zu kommen war eine schlechte Idee.  »Schwester« ich flüstere »wir müssen schnell von hier gehen.«

           »Warum?« fragt sie.

           »Da gibt eine Kelpie.  Schnell!«

           Aber die Kelpie war vor uns und jetzt könnte ich meine Großmutter verstehen.  Ich möchte auf den Rücken zu bekommen.  Meine Schwester, meine schönes Schwester, macht dass und dann ich war hinten sie. Die Kelpie zurück in das Wasser geht. Und dann meine Schwester und ich war ertrunken.

Night and Beach and Sea

This is the story of how we died.

           They come in the night.  Between fog and beach.  And they want flesh.  Our grandmother told us this.  When we go wandering at night, maybe we’ll be killed.  But we go every night.  Over the hills and in the forest.  We are not afraid.  We are young and full of life.  Nothing can happen.  We have been doing this since we were fifteen.  In two months we will be sixteen.  My sister and I.

           We’ve lived on this island our entire life, and our parents and grandparents have also lived here their whole lives.  Our family will never leave this island.  Only death will part us from this island.  Our mother speaks often about witches and other evils.  She also speaks of elves and magic.  But it is only our grandmother that talks about the Kelpie.  And so my sister and I don’t believe it is real.  When grandmother talks about the Kelpie, she has fire in her eyes.

           She says, “They come from the sea and they are like horses. But they are not horses.  They have kelp for mane and tail.  They will trick you.  And when this happens, then you are dead.”

           My sister and I go in the forest where the Kelpie doesn’t go.  But in the forest are the elves.  They are full of mischief.  I have only spoken with elves once.  It was an elf dance and my sister and I found it.  We danced a lot and also ate and drank a lot.  And when we came back home, our mother spoke with us.  She said, “What were you thinking, eh?  Do you know what elven food can do to you?  Maybe you cannot come in the house.  Or you must stay with them and dance.  Or maybe it would kill you.  Promise me, that you will not do this again.”  And so we promised that we would never dance or eat or drink with the elves again.

           That was a month ago.

           Tonight we are going to the beach because we want to see something new.  I believe that the moon will be full.  It should be a beautiful night.  We go to bed and wait for an hour.  And then we go to the beach.

           It is windy and cold at the beach.  My sister looks across the sea.  She looks like a sea witch.  I see a black shape in the water behind my sister.  And I know it was a bad idea to come here.  “Sister,” I whisper, “We need to leave here quickly.”

           “Why?” she asks.

           “There is a Kelpie.  Quickly!”

           But the Kelpie is in front of us and now I can understand my grandmother.  I want to get on its back.  My sister, my beautiful sister, does this and then I am behind her.  The Kelpie returns to the water.  And my sister and I are drowned.

I wrote this for my German class.

I have always wanted to try my hand at fiction writing in a foreign language.  I wrote it in German first and then translated it into English, sometimes it is not quite an accurate but I was more concerned with the ideas being conveyed.

I hope it does the job.

[100-wordsaday]

Cait - March 31 2015

Wind

is exhilarating

the blowing

blowing

blowing

makes your heart race

and your blood pound

and you just want to run and run and run

lungs bursting

one with the wind.

Wind

can also be

terrifying

trees bending

in unnatural directions

the building

under you

shifting

and creaking, creaking, creaking.

Mostly

wind

brings the feeling of change

a change

in the weather

a change

in the seasons

a change

you want to make

in your life

and the wind spurs you on

pushing you

(literally and figuratively)

and that thrumming

you feel in your veins

is the power of the wind

powering you

to do great things.

[100-wordsaday]

Cait - March 30 2015

Oliver was falling asleep at his desk. God, he was so tired. He didn't think he would make it through finals week. He'd only had one final so far and he was already longing to be done...to have it be break...when he was going home with Madalyn. His parents (well, his father really) had not invited him home for Christmas. Neither had Jillian, but she was probably going to his parents. So he had very timidly asked Madalyn if he could go home with her for Christmas. She was shyly ecstatic, blushing furiously and giving him an enormous hug. He was incredibly nervous about it. But that was next week, and this was now, and he was supposed to be writing a paper but he just...couldn't...keep.....his eyes.......open............ Oliver woke up to the feeling of Madalyn's fingers in his hair and her voice whispering "I love you" in his ear.

[100-wordsaday]

Amelia - March 30, 2015

           I sat in my grove and thought.  If I decided to use my magik to convince the King of Rynnor not to go to war with Malliatur I saw little hope for my sanity to remain.  Because I would have to use enough magik so he would never change his mind.  I had told Mariele that I would do everything in my power to stop the war and this was within my power.  Easily.  It was just at what price?

           I remembered reading the stories about Euryn and how his death caused Tyrik to kill the Rynnoran King.  But the prince who became King did not seek revenge.  He knew that a steep price had been paid by both countries.  Which made me wonder why he would now amass his army at the border. 

[100-wordsaday]

Amelia - March 29, 2015

           I shifted uncomfortably, not sure how to respond.  Euryn seemed to know this.  “Speak your mind, Jackin.  Do not worry about its presentation.”

           “I find it almost obligatory to ask, but equally I already know the answer.”

           “Ask anyway.  I have never turned a deaf ear to someone in need of guidance.”

           “Can I trust her?  Not just with the secret of my job, but our friendship staying the same after she knows?”

           Euryn looked at me, faint smile playing on his lips.  “You can trust Thea, without a bout.  She keeps secrets of all those who have given her one and never broker her oath not to tell.  She is also very open minded.