Nicholas Bate

100 Word Story

As she reviewed the texts from him-download more, download more, download more-she saw a whole relationship start, ebb and flow. She saw politeness become flirting. She remembered messages over which she had dwelt. She re-read magical moments and tricky exchanges. It was such a shame it had ended the way it had; but if there was one thing she had decided about 2012: some stuff had ‘to be let go’ in that infamous psycho-babble phrase . She deleted the texts and went out for a walk in the rain. Rain was good for tears; she had learnt that long ago.

100 Word Story

Being an investigator was not all it was cracked up to be. In the stories there was always glamour: not for him, though. Forms, surfing for information and peeing into plastic bottles in dark, cold cars from which you hadn’t moved for  hours. He stretched and threw a square of chocolate into his mouth. Give it another hour until 5am then he would head home, write it up and bill the client. That’s when the garage opened and his suspect stumbled out: the long knife in his left hand glinted in the street light and his vest dripped with blood.

100 Word Story

Fresh coffee, new morning, enter a new character. This was what his novel needed. Somebody who would take control, get things sorted. Too many people in his story had been hanging around: looking out of windows, getting in-and out-of cars, even writing novels. Meeting people in Starbucks, too. But nothing ever happened, even when the cups of coffee were described in intricate, Venti detail. There was never any action. But this new character was going to stir things up. Have an affair, rob a bank, come down with a major illness. That kind of thing. But what kind of thing?

100 Word Story

A man and a dog. The cliffs and sky. The beach and sea. He reflected that there were few greater pairings for a Saturday morning as his companion, no friend,  raised his game and urged him up those undulating slopes not long after dawn. They talked to each other in that totally trusting straightforward language that only man and dog can have; one that comes with trust, with routine and doing what they were both meant to do: walk, explore and know the wind. He had troubles, sure, but they never lasted when you took your dog for a walk.

100 word story

She enjoyed travel. Although it was busy, exhausting and testing of patience, she felt alone and free to think. There were times when nobody knew where she was, which in a micro-scheduled, GPS-driven, 24 by 7 world was refreshing. Meditating in lounges, considering chapter structure on planes and playing with sentences in queues her novel progressed. Snatches of conversation with baristas, fellow travellers even immigration teams pushed the plot. 'So how has your day been?', she asked as she threw her bags into the yellow cab outside Dulles. 'not so good, ma'am, to be honest. It started well...'

100 Word Story

Looking at the ink-blue sky, she manoeuvred her car into the lay-by and stepped into the simple road-side hut. Ordering rillettes, toast and coffee she tuned into the conversation of the men preparing their strategy for that morning's boar hunt.

She was high in the Pyrenees and planned to be even higher as the sun starting striking the ancient rock; she was longing to see the soaring eagles again and then settle down to write in the spiral, squared notebook bought at the 24h petrol station several hours ago; a lot had happened since she had last been here.

100 Word Story

The coffee brewed, the pencil skidded across the page (he was in no mood for his laptop that sunny fall morning) and thoughts compounded.  He remembered Paris: final September days that squeezed out the warmth, a gorgeous, pensive Italian girl and an elusive Notre Dame. He remembered Le Marais and tales of horror and bravery juxtapositioned with the best in notebooks and delis.  And of course Isle St Louis and endless cups of tea. He pressed the plunger and the aroma bit the air. As his novel began to form he realised that all good fiction was in fact reality.

100 Word Story

As she walked the beach-alone-that Saturday morning she knew some things needed to change, had to change and that they were desirous of change. It troubled her that they were inter-connected and it was difficult to know where to start. The breeze was gentle and refreshing, the light perfect as she watched a sea bird dive without fear toward the ocean and return with elegance and simplicity to its nest high on the cliff. The waves were at their most rebellious: tumbling, refusing sequence yet ever energetic.

Enough reflection. Enough analysis. Dive in and feel good. She finally knew it.

100 Word Story

His hands couldn’t have been deeper in his pockets, his heart couldn’t have felt heavier and the rain couldn’t have lashed more heavily through his coat; he would have been smoking but for the elements.  The situation needed thinking through. Promotion, cool job title and more money vs. extra commuting, less time with the kids and the killer stress that stops progress on his book. Then suddenly, there it was: The Beach Café. Weather-beaten, poor service and pretty average tea, but spectacular views and an uncanny ability to help decisions manifest. He pushed open the door and his heart lifted.

100 Word Story

So John said to Sally: “what’s it all about Sally?” They were sitting on a pebbly beach at Brighton, hugging warming cups of tea from the nice transport café. The all-nighter had been fun but now they were exhausted. This was no Californian dawn: it was cool and misty. “What’s it all about, John?” "Yes, Sally. What is the secret to the Universe?”.  “Why I am I here? You know, all that stuff?”.

“It’s all about love, John. When you get that you will be free.” With that Sally headed down to the ocean’s edge to play Ducks and Drakes.