Ninety Nine Not Out

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Three stories for you today each one is 99 words long. You can count them if you like, or you can just trust me. 

Economy 7

It started as a dream, a weird dream, one of those dreams that are about nothing, but about everything at the same time. The only memory I have now is that I knew something was shaking and something was wrong. Then I was awake. Wide awake. There was something wrong. The tremors that I’d been dreaming of were real, so real. The whole flat was vibrating like a dancer in a hip-hop video. An earthquake? In Cardiff? On a Tuesday? It took about thirty seconds to realise that was no plate tectonic action, that was my neighbour’s spin cycle.

Biscuits

The biscuits were broken.

Broken, bloody biscuits again.

Broken, bloody, bastard biscuits.

What can’t I ever have whole biscuits?

Why are the bastard biscuits always bloody broken?

Broken!

            bloody!

                        bastard!

                                    biscuits!

What use is a broken bloody biscuit? It’s good for nothing. Biscuits are meant to bring joy, happiness, a break from the mundane. But all these bastard, bloody biscuits bring are frustration.

Broken!

            bloody!

                        bastard!

                                    biscuits!

Good for nothing!

You can’t dunk them! You don’t get the satisfaction of a bloody big bite.

All I wanted was a bloody biscuit, all I got were pieces and crumbs.

Dead Fish 

“This sushi smells like fish,” Daniel said.

Gemma looked at him. Either his deadpan was so dead it was pushing up daisies or he wasn’t joking.

“Funny that,” Gemma said.

“What’s it made out of then?”

He wasn’t joking.

“Well that bit is seaweed,” she pointed her chopstick at the wrap.

“Ah that’ll be it then,” he said. “I thought I could smell fish.”

“Wait!” Gemma continued unperturbed. “That’s rice, and that bit in the middle, that’s tuna.”

This was the blind date from hell. No matter how long the wave was, they’d never be on the same length.

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