The Electric chair

“Grass”.

Willowy, flexible, Spineless.

I mumble,  “Woman”.

“huh?”,eyebrows rise.

Grass. Stands back after being stepped on. Grows strong when mowed down. Woman.

“Woman”, I say loudly, adjusting  hand-cuffs, getting comfortable.

Wife kills husband  for no apparent reason– Newspaper headlines peeks over Dr.Ozster’s notes.

“Woman? Why?”

Dr.Ozster’s supposedly a TED-talking psychology expert, on evil and insanity. I’m his conundrum.

—-

I wait until footsteps recede. We have always been discreet. Except one time…he’s dead though. Killed.

I gloat, ” …stumped Dr.Ozster today…”. I lean on her, sinking into her softness, my head soon touches the cold walls of the solitary confinement cell.

— End —-

This is an exactly  100 word  story. In “bold pink” because I’m proud of editing it down to a 100 from 180. Although it may not be apparent readily , due to the editing, that the Main character is asked to play a word association game by an expert to understand her psyche and discern the motive of her violent crime.

This story  is written in response to the 100 word photo challenge  posted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields each week.  This week’s photo was provided by Dale Rogerson.

Click on the ‘blue frog’  below to read other amazing takes on the same photo prompt:

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The bridge to no where

He told grandpa what he wanted for his 10th birthday.

“A bridge! Why?”, grandpa laughed.

That laugh froze the words in his mouth: “I love the big tree. Playing on it’s branches  makes me feel loved and secure, like being in my mother’s womb”.

Anyway, who spoke of feelings? “Only girls do that!” he remembered father saying often. So he just shrugged feigning nonchalance.

On his birthday he ran out to the meadow and saw the new bridge. His excitement turned to tears. Grandpa had cut his favourite tree to build the wood bridge.

He never once crossed that bridge.

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The above 100 word story is written in response to the 100 word photo challenge posted by Rochelle Wisoff-Field each week. Photo prompt  by Sandra Crook.