Three 100-Word Stories
THE MIRACLE
Instead of swimming in the sparkling, azure motel pool, the couple argued—about travel plans, choices of motels, the children, the weather. They didn’t notice the massive black storm cloud. They argued. A whirling tornado descended from the cloud. They argued. The storm swept through, churning the water, tossing furniture across the deck into the pool. Afterward, the cloudless, blue sky reappeared bathing them in glowing sunlight.
She was overjoyed. “We’re still alive—that horrible storm didn’t kill us! It’s a miracle!”
“What storm? You stupid, idiot! Crazy bitch! If there’s a fuckin’ miracle, I’d know it.” He argued—alone.
THE WITNESS
Judith, an elderly recluse, had been watching from her tenth floor apartment for a week, her telescope so powerful she could see facial expressions of motel guests sunning by the pool. Last night, through her telescope she watched a group of violent teenage boys gang rape a girl on the deck. Judith took photographs of the scene, but her window reflection and evening darkness spoiled the resolution. She wondered, “Should I call the police? I don’t know them.” Now, at dawn the only evidence of the crime around the deserted concrete deck is a patio table submerged in the pool.
ABANDONMENT
The shattered motel rooms’ windows that had overlooked the pool left a line of glass on the patio. Empty cubicles, open to rains, emit a moldy scent of wet carpet and animal droppings. The pool abyss no longer invites swimmers. Azure paint patches cling to its emptiness. A patio table, a deflated sun raft, and one crimson flower—pushing up through a crack in the concrete—are remnants of the past of this pleasant venue for weddings and graduation parties. How could this happen to a place we’ve cherished? No, not war. It’s a simple matter of neglect—not caring.
