In my creative writing course we had to write a short story in exactly 100 words. Here it is:
With a quick flex of the muscles, the iron releases in her grip. Soft curls crumple down her face. She is already distracted by the promise of him. Dangerous, even in blue jeans. Squeezing into a red dress, angry and sexy all at once, she closes her eyes and daydreams of motorbikes, swing music and…him. Touch of mascara and in ten seconds, she’s ready. She opens the door seductively. The single bed, once a top bunk, beckons. Tell me about your day sweetheart. On her wall, the tall black and white image of her beloved, Mr. James Dean, yawning.
Tags: james dean, microfictionMarch 6th, 2009Literary musingsRead More >No Comments