Micro fiction - the challenge of writing a
story in under 100 words was a resounding success, with some
writers penning a second offering.
The Gift stories
are presented below.
The Gift
by Beverley Asmus
I'm taking inventory:
"Ten perfect fingers, ditto the
toes. Your daddy's fair skin, brown hair, Aunty Nic's
upturned
nose."
I adjust the wrap. She wriggles, grunting
unbecomingly.
"Hush, baby, don't cry! Don't you like your
mummy's poetry?"
She nuzzles my breast.
"There, that's
better," I croon.
Proud as punch, Jordon leans across.
Kisses
my brow. Lightly strokes her cheek. Tickles her ears.
"Nicole?" he says. It's a question.
I meet his gaze.
"Yes. We owe her that."
"And more," Jordon
says, glassy eyed.
Thank you, my sister, for this gift.
Your eggs.
My womb. This precious child.
The Gift
by Eileen Chown
I open my eyes at a rustling noise, by the soft glow of my
night light I see a face with white beard and red hat, its bent
over the bottom of my bed, where my stocking lays, is it Santa, if
he knows I can see him my presents will disappear, I shut my eyes
tight, then open them very slightly to peep, he lifts his head
looks into my eyes, Santa looks a bit like my Daddy, holding out a
square box he gives me my first gift for Christmas with a Ho! Ho!
Ho! He is gone.
My friend pats my hand in sympathy, I take a sip of my coffee,
I know I should be happy but just once I would like him to buy me
a present, every year it is the same old thing for Birthday and
Christmas, he says giving me money, get yourself something nice, a
surprise would be so wonderful, oh! Don't mind me, I am just
feeling very fat and ugly, I double up in pain eyes open in
fright, no it is too early, but I think my greatest gift is about
to arrive without my loving husband.
The Gift
by Debby Raymond
The trouble with her was, she was born gifted. Gifted with a
myriad half-talents yet without the persistence to improve any
enough to become expert at even one of those endowments. Until she
yielded to illness, where she really shone. To be patiently sick
is a skill all-comers admire. It sanctifies you before and after
death. Ability to lend dignity to the business of life whilst
mantling grace to confront its imminent end, is a work of art; the
highest gift one might ever be given.
The Gift
by Sandy Smareglia
"A great gift - a gift of Dharma conquers all gifts",
Manna agreed with Buddha as she aligned her features into the
semblance of benevolence required by her position. So many came to
bestow offerings as downpayment for the fulfilment of their
wishes. If only she could grant them! Manna went back to
collecting the numerous offerings - discarding many she found
unpalatable. "It is not always possible to see why one is
placed on earth" she thought. While she was happy enough with
her present position, Manna felt she was destined for greater
things. Gathering her new possessions and stowing them in her
cheeks, the little temple monkey departed.
The Gift
by Marilyn Whitfield
Leah's footsteps echoed on the wooden floor. Today would be the
most memorable day of her life. The car trip from Sydney to
Tenterfield seemed forever, for a six year old. Her Mother was
excited too, in a quiet sort of way. Her Dad said Mother worried
about everything. Leah was dressed in her prettiest frock. She
reached the door of the special room at the end of the hallway. It
was slightly ajar. A nurse beckoned the family inside. Leah's
mother sobbed. Asleep in the bassinet lay a baby boy. A precious
gift from an unknown mother.
The Gift
by Judy Rostedt
She feels the cool waft of the surgeon's hands as he unwinds
the bandage around her head. Three operations ... three failures
... Please, God ... not this time! "Trust me, Anna" His
calm voice steadies her thumping heart; one sob from her mother
and it races again ... Mother knows ... she knows it will fail
again! The bandage drops like a gentle kiss onto her clenched
hands ... Silence. "Nothing! .... Oh no, mother ... I see
nothing!" Tears first in her useless eyes, then a jagged
flash of light and he's shimmering before her. "Doctor? ...
You're my doctor? ...Oh, God ... I can see again!"
The Gift
by Margarita Escalon
She motioned me with her hand to come near. At 6.30am and after
a 5km walk I was bursting with my standard of wellbeing. I
approached her joyfully and we stood there smiling at each other
with an inquisitive look in our eyes. A beautiful sheath covered
her middle age, small but full figure and hair. Deep black eyes
which seemed to have a language of their own, adorned her cinnamon
brown face. I was invited in by gestures and sat on the carpet as
she brought food and tea delighting me with the gift of Afghan
hospitality.
