Thursday, March 08, 2007


Scheherazade was pleased.

She was still alive, after all. One thousand nights ago, she had fully expected to be beheaded come morning, the fate of three thousand women before her. The Shah was not only randy, but paranoid: Ever since his first wife betrayed him, it was a fatal honor to join his hareem.

The stories had kept her alive.

For a thousand nights, she had entertained the Shah with her hundred-word stories. For a thousand days, he had postponed her execution so he could hear the next tale.

Today was their wedding day. Helluva time to get writer’s block.

[Written to commemmorate the thousandth post at the 100 Word Stories Podcast. Click the Pupu Player icon on the sidebar to hear it!]

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