100 word stories. Post all you like, maybe we'll dip in and use yours?
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I lie on my back in the bed of the pickup with crushed beer cans and cigarette butts. The vast vault of the sky flows to infinity, black and splashed with stars. My ventral tentacles drift like dark kelp in the midnight breeze. They sing to me, silently, of cold and cow manure, of rain about to break over the prairie. We’d made it at least a half tank out of town before the dead man in the cab put his hand on me and learned my allure was an illusion. I savor the lonely highway, the night, and wait.