My Words, My World

First drafts – A few pages in the large wilderness of the world of writing

Archive for the month “September, 2025”

Sunset

Flames streak across the oil-still sea, and wavelets sigh. A fish jumps.
A couple watches.
The silhouette of a gull glides across the sky; its passing silent.
A molten orange globe slips below the horizon, the sky bursts into a palette of colour and the clouds turn pink, red, then purple.
The sky deepens from blue to black and, with the coming night, the streetlights flare.
Then the sirens begin to wail.
People run for the shelters, but the couple remain.
She reasts her head on his shoulder and they stand, and watch the moonlight shimmer on the sea.

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99-word fiction: The Lighthouse

Another week, another 99-worder and another one for you to work out the what and why.

The lighthouse shakes as spray hurls against the window.

Jake sits with the room dark, save for the great lamp above and a single candle. A low horn moans into the night. Another wave crashes against the wall and booms in the darkness.

A photo lies on the table, its image dances in the flickering candlelight.

Two faces look out from the photo; one is his, the other a memory

Jake gives a thin smile, watching the smoke from his pipe coil up to the ceiling.

Now alone, he thinks about secrets hidden by the cruel and beautiful ocean.

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99-word story: The Empty Chair

This week’s 99-word story is called The Empty Chair. Why? Well, that’s for you to decide.

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You know the worst thing about an empty chair? It rhymes with “no one there”, or worse, “where?”.  

There’s a place at the table where normally there’s a place mat, napkin, cutlery. Maybe a glass for the wine. 

Instead, just a piece of table cloth with nothing on it. 

No sitting down to grace, not that we ever did. No talk about the day, the weekend or whatever. 

The habit of turning my head, forkful of food in mid-air and talking. Now I just stare, straight ahead. And wonder.

You see, it’s not the empty chair. It’s the waiting.

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99-word story: The Last Train

The rain, diagonal in the light, drums on the station roof. 

One man sits apart from the others, suitcase on his lap. The station clock ticks off another minute. He checks his watch and taps his foot. 

A distant horn sounds and a light appears. 

Looking around, he opens the case again, stroking his hand over the contents. He closes his eyes, then the case. 

The tracks hum to the approaching train and the people get up, ignoring him. 

When it departs, only a child looks back. The man sits alone, suitcase still on his lap. Another minute passes.

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