99 word stories.

Natalie
She sat, small on the threadbare couch. Water leaked down peeling yellow wallpaper, and a chandelier hung above her head, rusted and fragile. A square of grey light lit the creases of her skin, as it filtered through the dust on the window pane.
Sharp elbows jutted from the holes in her sleeves and a pen lay limp between her long, dirty fingers. She stared at the notebook in her lap, at the black scrawl and coffee stains. She coughed, the grate of air spitting dark red across the pages, and seeping, with black ink, into the paper veins.

Sorry, Lucy
The cat sat atop the red brick wall, licking her paws with relaxed arrogance. She eyed a blue bird behind this pretence, her tail flicking. The bird, blind behind the branches of the cherry tree, hopped closer, pecking at plump fruit. The cat bent her front legs, and, low on her haunches, crept along the wall as red juice dripped before her. She stalked her bright prey and positioned herself, hind legs tight, ready for the release.
The branches shook and the bird took flight. Blonde pigtails bounced above the wall, and a child’s bubblegum voice sang,
“Sorry, Lucy.”

Lullaby
We sit at a piano, in a corner between doors. In a wedge of soft light his fingers find beauty, and draw it from the air, low and smooth. I listen, wait, then play. A lullaby seeps from my fingers. It glows in streams.
His glasses rest on the stand, and reflect the light of our music, floating in the dark. It drips from our hands, leaving a shine on the keys.
We bump in harmony, and, tranquil, the streams fall, accidently beautiful. As the silence rings and trickles down the walls, warmth holds us here, where we rest.

Under A Leaky Roof
The moisture on my stockings leaves a trail on the deck. His hands are cool and smooth on my arms, a slow friction. He shifts and I’m enclosed in warmth, breathing in fresh rain and the scent of his skin.
The rain is heavy, laughing on the roof. A dollop of water breaks on my forehead and we are laughing too. I slide my hands up to the warmth of his neck and feel goodebumps rise. Headlights sparkle on wedges of road, and splinters of light touch us through the dripping trees.
My wet feet curl in on themselves.