100 Word Stories: October 4, 2005 Archives

October 4, 2005

Volume 7, Issue 4

Exactly why were we never supposed to run with scissors?

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D: Release The Pressure

"Rift is stabilizing. Sub-strata tensile strength at 61 kilo-Merkins and holding. I think we've averted disaster Colonel."

Colonel Hardin swore under his breath and nodded curtly at the junior technician. "Good job, son" he said before turning back to his guest.

"As you can see Ms Crespi, your daughter almost opened a dimensional rift through conventional space-time to the Twilight Zone..." He looked down at the little girl huddled around her mother’s legs who shirked back fearfully in response. "All of mankind’s darkest fears and nightmares await on the other side."

"But Colonel... what's holding the rift closed?"

"String theory."

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Michele: Point. Not. Point. Not.

He had to make the bus, or he’d once again be embarrassed by his mother walking him to school in one of her homemade floral housecoats, pins and needles from her latest sewing experiment stuck in the sleeves.

He forgot his lunch. His mother, all blubber and daisies, came running after the bus, Frankie’s lunch in one hand, sewing scissors in the other, her arm fat flapflapflapping as she ran.

The bus pulled away just as Frankie’s mother tripped and fell hard onto the point of the scissors.

“Don’t run with scissors, ma.” Frankie whispered as the bus turned the corner.

*title is an inside joke with myself, though one out of hundreds may understand it.

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Ted: Annual Event

I looked at the rest of the field and thought I was done for. The sprinters took off like rockets, blazing the trail for the long distance runners. Then came me, and a couple of others, in the "differently enabled" category. Me with my prosthetics. SHE was watching, so I tried to have a good race. Since I had gone back up the hill, I only saw her on race day, so I couldn't NOT compete.

I heard her voice through the crowd, "Run, Edward, RUN!" and realized I had taken the lead and was being chased by townies, again.

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Stacy : Passages

Mother always said, 'Don't run with scissors'. They must’ve taught that in school and she dutifully passed it along, never having tried it.

I jogged along the path, breathing easily. Not many runners this early in the morning, just me and the squirrels.

Ahead the path curved behind a copse of trees, and my heart beat faster. I pulled the scissors out of my pouch and held them angled into the wind. A thin keening noise escaped from the tip as they sliced, ribbons of reality streaming behind me. A quick sidestep and I was through to the other side.