February / March 100 Word Anonymous Challenge


Easily amused
Feb 21, 2006
Ontario, Canada
This is the thread for the stories.

Theme: A Room With A View

Genre: Speculative Fiction

I (elvet) will be accepting entries until midnight GMT on Sunday March 15. I will post a poll the next day, and voting will continue until midnight Friday March 20 GMT . Please give your entry a title, otherwise it's quite complicated distinguishing between them when it comes to voting.

Please do not post replies here. PM Your entries to @elvet.
Any discussion may be continued in this thread.
The field station

"Did you understand?" The guide asked, checking her list.

"Yes. I can never open the windows. There is no way out."

"Correct, professor. It's observation only."

Both women stared out of the glass front into the canopy. They could not see the ground beneath them, nor the sky above. The professor held her breath. A whole new world, untouched.

"But -- is it real? The outside?" The professor asked.

"Who knows? Is it important for your research?"

The professor shook her head. "No."

When the guide had left and sealed the hatch, she was alone. The work could begin.
Jack of all trades....

Heard about the sorting room, Mr President?

The what room?
More secrets, Lord Chancelor?

No. No! We’ve just started calling it that.
Kind of after a fictitious hat from the future.
We’re really going to have to sort our tenses out one of these days.

OK. Enough grammar naziism, lad! And yes. I know that’s from the future too.
Now tell me what room you mean and why you’re renaming it.

The initiation room. We’ve renamed it, because it’s sorting out the nutters.
Young lad just went in, saw the untempered schism and went completely loopy.
Keeps moaning about drums.
The Tourist

The window of Laura's hotel room overlooked a piazza fallen into disuse. Wind stirred sand in an empty fountain, where Poseidon sported with dolphins. Across the piazza an old woman shuffled home from market, a basket full of bread and cheese dangling from her withered hand. She glanced up at Laura, lifted her empty hand with the first and fourth fingers extended, spat upon the ground, and waddled away. Laura drew the curtain and lay upon the bed. Her head ached and her eyes burned with the power of the gesture. How had the old woman recognized her true nature?
The Outsiders

The social worker watches her trainee force the window and scramble through.

She whispers as he lets her in: "The door was open, understand?"

He nods. "It's clean and tidy. No sign of our shut in."

They wander the house, pushing into empty rooms. Brightness outlines the door of the last. Warm air assails them as they enter.

The trainee stands and gawps.

She pulls her smartphone. "Yeah, we're on the Lane, number 12, the mage with the worried daughter? No, no sign, but he left a note… says he's here, in his conservatory. Problem is, it goes on forever…"
My name is Amy.

My name is Amy, I have been in hospital 6 months now. Today they have moved into a room with a beautiful view. More importantly I can see several different coloured unicorns and several different types of dragons.

Just over 6 months ago I had a terrible accident and fell from my winged pegasus.

Apparently from what people have told me, I'm a great hero after saving our planet from disaster.

So now as I recuperate, I can relax and savour the praise and adoration.

And of course look upon our beautiful world.

"So everything is updated?" asked the woman, her recording drone taking in every detail of the room.

"Yes," replied the servant, "It's mostly been mechanized, but everything else has been preserved, like a palimpsest. Enjoy your stay." He departed.

She looked at the window, which admitted a sunbeam. The suite was too humid for her, so she attempted to open it slightly. Her hands met with nothing, nor did the rest of her. She met her doom thirty feet below. Her drone followed.

Unread was a small sign under the frame, which read, "Warning: Intangible Glass."

The servant barged in.

The woman was crying again. This was becoming a habit. She would spend all day at the window, and when night came the tears would flow. Sometimes gently weeping, other times violent sobs. Once or twice she had thrown things at the walls. Those were the worst. The room longed for a re-plastering and fresh coat of paint. And a new window sill—those gouges were so deep they’d never be smoothed out. Yet all this woman did was sit and watch. And cry.
Why wouldn’t she decorate? It wasn’t like there was anything alive out there to cry about.
The Watcher

The Watcher approached the window. Far beyond the battlements, the black citadel stood stark against the graphite gloom – but far enough… The people were safe. Beneath, a couple walked across the glistening obsidian flagstones with a young child. There was laughter. Hope.
An age he’d silently stood watch, a thankless vigil. The people had evolved beyond his wisdom. His was a language and manner consigned to history. But his perceived idiosyncrasy would not dissuade him from obeying his solemn duty.
Another villager passed below, glancing up… “sod off back inside, you old pervert!”

The Watcher withdrew. A thankless vigil indeed.
Perchance To Dream.

They'd trained us for such eventualities. Don't think they'd ever imagined there'd just be one of us left though.

I look out the view port a lot. Just sit, look and listen. It's beautiful out there. Desolate but beautiful. It never changes but it's always different.

A wind moans in from the east teasing up a swirling, red dust devil. I've dreamt of this place, dreamt of that noise. Always thought I'd get back home though. Always thought I'd see them again.

Time for a walk. Don't think I'll bother with a suit this time.

I gazed through the solid piece of air that separated me from the bipedal creatures who had created it. They were good slaves. Although their telepathy was poorly lacking their thumbs and dexterous hands proved useful.

They drug the large stones for our capital's newest monument. It would be an image of my regal likeness- my luxurious Persian coat represented in abstract perfection. For what would a purebred Persian be without their beautiful coat?

It had taken us nearly twelve millennia to fully domesticate humans but it had been worth our trouble. What a beautiful view it was.

Out here you can see a loong way - some of those photons have come from the edge of the universe.
No pollution, smoke or grime - only the couple of centimetres of atmosphere between you and the viewport - then nothing, to the end of the universe.

Ah, on the edge of the port something curved. That's Earth; means that soon I'll have to close the shutters, as the sun will follow. My photons cry to it, but only a tiny fraction of the omnidirectional energy will go in Earth's direction. Statistically, I'm going to die here.

There are worse places.

I pressed my face against the window, the cool glass soothing against my fevered skin. A light drizzle pattered against the panes. The city sprawled like a dark leviathan over the island, the only illumination amidst the velvety blackness provided by the hellish glow of the massive foundry fires. They were blazing as brightly as they had for the past four months. Even the torrential rains of Autumn had done little to reduce them.

I could feel my eyelids begin to droop. Rather than fighting it, I gave in, grateful for this respite from my duties, however temporary.
The Tower in the Woods

Every year they’d come. I’d watch masons check the stonework, the king’s mages recast their bindings, ensuring the ‘evil sorceress’ was locked away for good.

Time passed, as it is want to do, and the inspections grew less frequent. Every five years, then every ten, then not at all. Only the lost and the curious pass by now. One came the other day – a young man on horseback, of regal bearing and ripe with the stupidity of youth. I sang. He listened, enraptured. He’ll return, I’m certain. Soon I will escape this prison.

You see, I’ve been growing my hair...
A Room With Several Unpleasant Views

"What'll I have to eat?" I asked myself on entering the kitchen.

"You're getting a bit podgy", said the fridge. "You should have a salad."

"Yes, you're definitely overweight", said the cooker. "No more roast dinners for you."

"And those jeans", said the toaster, "Far too tight with a belly like yours."

"Are those blue shoes and green socks?" asked the microwave. "Haven't you any fashion sense?"

"Also, you should get a haircut", said the kettle. "You look like a smelly hippy."

"Smart appliances! Sheesh!" I rolled my eyes. "I don't think I've ever been in such an opinionated room."
Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?

The corridor stretched off, endlessly. On each side were countless doors.
He pushed open the nearest one. A room, five foot square maybe, the opposite wall was all ‘screen’.
Oddly it showed an identical room, viewed from just outside a partially opened door. As Jim turned, the scene shifted. What the hell. He waved a hand in front of his face; the same hand loomed large.
He took a stumbling step back, and noticed a small plaque
[Reed, James G] - me!

As he fled, names flashed past
[Johnson, Alexander B]
[Putin, Vladimir V]
[Trump, Donald J]
A Matter of Perspective

“Aren’t you lucky, having a room with a window!”

The nurse wheels me to the view and props up my paralyzed body, allowing me to see an adjacent roof’s tarred surface blistering under the sun. Stained concrete buildings march away into the distance, utilitarian and weather secure. Plastic debris rises and falls with the drafts from the alleys below. It is the only thing moving in the overheated atmosphere outside.

Every day, I am positioned here to stare at this urban wasteland.

Regrettably, I am unable to communicate. To let them know how much I hate this window.
Home Improvement

Chuck bought the cabin on the slopes of Mt Hood, thinking there no better place to see out his days.

He’d expanded the window the full width of the back room, spending a chunk of his retirement pot on the triple glazed colossus. His brother thought him mad but it afforded him stunning views as far as distant Portland and Chuck called it money well spent.

Until the flash from the nuke that obliterated the city took his retinas. Then he’d wished he’d kept the original.

Unseen, the horrifying, haunting sight of Portland burning might have been described as spectacular.
Views of the Underterra

Miena hit Kiran with her ragdoll and motioned her head. Kiran tried to poke his head out from under the table but she pulled him back. “They said it again.” She whispered. “Listen!”

“…Zamhir thinks it’s culture. He says they were on every wall long ago, in the Uponterra? He says people watched views in them from their nooks.”

“Those weren’t like our nooks. And people put them on walls built where the views were. Views like in the old books? They’re not in those window things…”

Miena and Kiran looked at each other in delighted shock, whispered together: “Winndoww.”
Room 143

Room 143 was empty. Asher stepped inside, shoulders brushing against opposite walls.

The speaker on the wall crackled. "Ready?"


The simulation began.

White walls melted into a strange blue sky. He ran, gliding across grass that tickled his bare feet, into a buzzing orchard where he filled his lungs with apple-sweet air. When night came, he rested under unfamiliar stars and let their light sing him to sleep. Days blurred as he lost himself in this new world.

At week's end, black-clad sanitation workers carried Asher's body to the incinerator. Room 143 was empty.

Similar threads