“Who thought he would make a good judge?”

“What do you mean?”

“Quite apart from the fact that he is a mass-murderer and arsonist, shouldn’t a judge be level-headed, not prone to violent outbursts?”

“Oh, well, it works. Not many people oppose him. Or contradict him. People who have a mind do not want to make him angry.”

“And you put… that there as a reminder?”

“Makes for less violence all around.”

“A huge pile of skulls and one donkey-jawbone.”

“Look, he has obviously been chosen for the position by God, or he wouldn’t have managed ‘…that’.”

I'm attempting the April A to Z challenge, with fiction with at most 100 words. "G is for God Touched" came from Royce Day.
If you have prompts for later in the alphabet, please give them to me.

When Nico turned from the market stall with a bundle of carrots, narrowly avoiding buying a live chicken, she came almost face to face with a man so wide-eyed she could see the whites all around his irises. He seemed to have trouble breathing.

“Hey, you need help?”

“Nico?!”

“Yes?” She drew out the word and leaned back almost imperceptibly, not recognising the man yet.

“But you were in a section of the station that depressurised and exploded. You’re dead!”

That tumbled some old memories into the light. “Martin.” She looked around. “Long story. Let’s talk somewhere more private?”

I'm attempting the April A to Z challenge, with fiction with at most 100 words. "F is for Freaked Out" came from Royce Day.
Drabbles for G and H are written, but if you have prompts for later in the alphabet, please give them to me.

Everybody needed salt, and the further away from the salt pans by the sea you got, the more precious it was. So Karva put together a caravan. One year’s time, and carts, animals, people, cargo. But it would pay off.

It was a long way to the mountain-locked nation of Raaji, and the people had to help push the carts up the pass roads, but it would be worth it.

But no-one wanted to trade anything like Karva had expected. Finally she snapped and asked.

“You want far more than the Goblins.”

“Goblins?”

“They bring salt from underground.”

I'm attempting the April A to Z challenge, with fiction with at most 100 words. "E is for Effort" came from Rix Scaedu.
If you have prompts for later in the alphabet, please give them to me.

Content note: This is more violent than my usual stuff. Proceed with caution. (Violence against animals.)

Pain all over. Want dark-den.

Humans. Want to bite them. Fear. Bite, they hurt.

Chains drag on collar, outside, can’t run.

More humans. Too many. Loud. Smell bad fear, anger.

One comes near. Challenges chain-humans. Snarls, no bites.

Human pack angry at chain-humans. They fear now. Turn tails.

Challenger makes calm noises. Quiet. Touch gentle. Makes chains fall. Pulls me away, to place without other humans.

Want to run, but weak. Afraid.

Challenger takes collar.

Less pain.

Quiet. Safety.

I change. No fur, but hands. This is me, too.

My voice is hoarse with disuse. “Thank you.”

So, I'm attempting the April A to Z challenge, with fiction with at most 100 words. "C is for Chained" came from Royce Day. If you have prompts for later in the alphabet, please give them to me.

“It was your idea!”

“I was kidding! You bought it!”

“You could have said, but you went on about cooking it!”

“You tried to put it in the pot, it’s your fault!”

“I don’t care. You two will clean the octopus ink off the ceiling together while I take the poor dear to the zoo.”

So, I'm attempting the April A to Z challenge, with fiction with at most 100 words. "B is for Blame Game" came from Royce Day. C is written, too, but if you have prompts for later in the alphabet, please give them to me.

Of course I remember that flight.

The change in the headwind when the motor sped up, and the sheer volume of the machinery.

The lurch when the flyer lifted off its rail was more familiar, from the unpowered models I’d piloted.

Over-sensitive controls exaggerated small motions, so the flyer leapt in the air roughly. At least the altitude would mean greater distance.

After the landing, the pride and hope in my mother’s eyes burned. Maybe now we could get a sponsor for a lighter motor, a craft that could carry a grown-up, rather than a twelve yearold girl.

So, I'm attempting the April A to Z challenge, with fiction with at most 100 words. "A is for Aviatrix came from Royce Day. B is written, too, but if you have prompts for later in the alphabet, please give them to me.

“Try to sleep, love.”

“I have tried. I can’t. What if I forgot anything? What if I’m not good enough? I, I, I—”

“You made your case, you did your best, and fretting now won’t help. Guerillas could hide in the shadows under your eyes. At least lie down, and try to relax. I’ll rub your back.”

“I’m afraid of—”

“Shh. I have you, I’ll hold you. If this doesn’t work, you won’t be alone.”

“Thank you.”

*
“How’s the back?”

“Getting better.”

“I thought so.”

“I’m Warm.”

“Good.”

“You smell nice.”

“I’ll be here in the morning, every morning. Promise.”

Yameh snuck through the thicket where the Spirit Wood grew against the walls of the city. Deep in the green she would be safer, because very few people went in there. They were scared. She liked the place. But she had to return home.

When she found the stone and dead wood of an alley, she peered from the shadows to see if the kids who had thrown things at her were waiting, or any other danger. Few people, not watching the wood.

But when she slipped out of hiding, someone said, “Don’t I know you?”

Yameh jumped, and saw the copper-haired storyteller in a doorway nearby. He smiled, and his voice was nice, and he was the only other human with red hair she’d seen, so she hesitated.

“I’m Rann. What’s your name?”

Without as much as shaking her head first, she ran to the mouth of the alley.

Nothing followed her but laughter and the words, “I’ll just call you Sylvie, then.”

Inspired by the prompt "Write a story using an adult and a child as the only characters." by KissOfJudas of Our Pens, Your Pennies

Hala struggled up the mountain step by painful step, hunching her shoulders against the cold, but she would not give up. The Cursed Wisewoman’s advice was her last hope; if she could not find her, she might as well die here.

Sharp edges cut her fingers when she had to climb a steep outcrop.. Icy wind spooled her breath from her lungs - but the sight when she crested the obstacle took it away entirely. An old oak tree, more trunk than branches, huddled in the lee of a boulder. An old, lined face formed of craggy bark was too clearly visible to be a trick of the light.

When Hala approached the Wisewoman of legend, a creak announced the opening of her eyes. Yellow-brown and baleful they regarded the human woman.

Hala swallowed and took a few deep breaths, gathering thin air in her lungs. “Honoured Wisdom, I request your help.”

“Yeeeers, of course you do. And what do you have for me?”

“I…” This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. And the Wisewoman shouldn’t sound so petulant.

“Oh, girl, even a tree needs to live. I’m sure what you’re going to ask about is important, but I’m not gonna tell you a thing if you don’t bring me at least a bucket of dung.”

“And lug it up here?” Indignation was burning away Hala’s confusion.

“You have limbs that move, so stop complaining. Not a word.” The slash in the bark that was her mouth closed and fused, as did her eyes. Her entire face seemed to retract deeper into the tree, turning from a marvel to a bit of chance.

Going numb inside, Hala turned around. Dung. So much for legends.