100 WORD SKITTLE // Plantocracy in Action

Tasha Quatro’s head was ready to burst. She’d spent the last few hours trying to find something unambiguous to write about, but every attempt brought only further disappointment. Pineapples weren’t fruits. Tomatoes weren’t vegetables. And now she wasn’t even sure if she was Tasha or a big, fat potato-head.

This homework was killing her. Botany was her least favourite subject, and it hung above her head like the sword of Damocles. She looked over at the nearest table where students from the law faculty worked casually on their own homework. They were laughing like crazy, discussing Nix v. Hedden and sharing sips from a flask of what she imagined was alcohol. Tasha felt a bad attack of envy.

The next day, Tasha went to the Dean’s office and handed in an application to change faculties. Botany was too vague a science for her taste. The world of law seemed much more exciting, more stable and reliable with its facts. It couldn’t be misinterpreted or distorted.

[Though this has 165 words, the case of T&T v. Common Sense decrees that it must be classified as a 100 Word Story. The court records cannot be shown because much of their contents have been redacted, but you can bet your sweet bippy that our arguments were watertight and completely valid. Ergo, this is a 100 Word Story. We’re the ones with the big wigs, fancy gowns and gavel, so what we say goes! Dixi.]

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2019

Broken Poem (Fragment #16)

I knocked at the door.

“Come in!”

The professor was sitting on the window sill without his shoes. It looked a bit strange, but I had gotten used to his little quirks. Generally speaking, our entire magistral staff is a strange sort of panopticon—a freak show if you will—and so sitting barefoot on a window sill looks like kid’s stuff in comparison with the other teachers’ habits.

“What are you staring at? Give me your scribbles!”

I had gotten used to his bad manners too. With impassiveness I offered my worn down notebook to him. The professor opened it, read some lines and screwed up his face.

“What the crap?”

“It’s my homework.”

“Are you sure?”

“It seems so…”

“Quite so. It only seems like homework.”

He tossed the notebook against the wall. It bumped into a shelf of softbound texts, opened and came apart. Lines that I had written with diligence and care crumbled. Words and punctuation marks were scattered higgledy-piggledy in every corner like pieces of a shattered cup. I sniffled and bit my bottom lip.

Gather up this trash. And don’t spoil such precious words with your glamorous bullshit.”

I stood and looked at his bare feet, at those claws clutching over the floor. They were long and crooked with an unpleasant yellow hue…

“Look sharp! I’m not going to hang around for another aeon!”

I started to gather my unhappy poem from the dirty floor. Resentment was slowly turning into fury. Plucked peacock! I will sort you! I will show you anti-glamour!

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2017