Hundred Word Tales #5 & 6

I'd meant to share one of these last week and forgot to write it. Now that it's here, I managed to get the current segment set up as well. These are both connected to the fourth installment, so please check it out as well.

5:

A nun cradled her habit as she swept the foyer outside the sanctuary, gathering jagged chunks of colorful glass into a single pile. Lara said nothing as the woman worked, carving deeper wrinkles with every stroke of the broom. After a minute, the shards all sat in a pile while gentle rain pattered against the ruined window.

“Oh.” The nun folded her hands together before nodding with reverence. “Don’t step on the glass, dearie. You wouldn’t want to cut yourself.”

Lara sniffed with amusement. It was the closest she’d come to laughing in ages. “That won’t be a problem.”

“All the same, please be careful. I’ve tended enough wounds in my days.”

No wound mattered to Lara, aside from a puncture she’d make in the mind of one who fed her. An old woman wouldn’t do for that, especially not a nun.

The hole in the window shattered one of the myriad images the Chapel erected to beg for Lara’s favor. On the opposite side of the room, a rock lay on the floor. The stone curdled with steam, as it was still hot from the impact.

Someone assaulted the Chapel of Eternal Offering while its patron goddess happened to be inside.

Lara picked her teeth for a moment, while the nun finished her ambushed chore. Immortality left Lara stagnant for too long. Her ambient curiosity stirred her into motion.

6:

Lara’s feet clomped like hooves as she raced down the street. Tire treads smeared on the wet streets where someone had sped away. Catching up with a car was nothing for Lara, even if she starved for stimulation or a proper meal. She’d endured ages of human innovation, she’d endure the ache of hunger for a few moments longer.

A rust-weathered truck carried four blue flags with an obscene amount of pride. The white coin-shaped emblem in the heart of each banner revealed a deeper depth to the owner’s stupidity. They were Cents, an idiotic movement to use the notion of sense as a call to violence and vandalism.

For being devoted to clarity, whoever was in this truck hadn’t considered the depths of their malice. Cruelty to a window and the labors of nuns meant nothing to such miscreants. Their platitudes of hate were beneath Lara’s notice.

Still, she grinned as her hand crumpled the tailgate, sending half of the blue flags fluttering away. The truck screeched to a stop. A pair of plaid-shirted men hopped out, both brandishing shotguns and stained caps.

“I guess you believe that garbage slogan on the bottom of your flags.” Lara reeled back with the tailgate, holding it like an oversized baseball bat. Before she swung, the foolish motto whipped behind the driver’s trembling stare.

Never let a lack of knowledge hold you back.

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