Welcome to Carrot Ranch Literary Community where creative writers from around the world and across genres gather to write 99-word stories. A collection of prompted 99-word stories reads like literary anthropology. Diverse perspectives become part of a collaboration.
We welcome encouraging comments. You can follow writers who link their blogs or social media.
Those published at Carrot Ranch are The Congress of Rough Writers.
The Poet Wayne Kerr Laments by Scott Bailey
My pain was intense when you left me,
a shot to the gut from your left knee,
thought we had something,
but turned into nothing,
your anger is all that my eyes see.
You ripped out my feelings like fish guts,
treated them like old cigarette butts,
and when you were done,
with your sick hearted fun,
you laughed as you slammed the door shut.
I’d chew off my leg so you could see,
I’d sacrifice all just for your glee,
all that I would do,
the least you could do,
is to fake a broken arm for me.
The Eye of the Storm by Reena Saxena
“What’s happening out here? All the employees with broken arms in a cast? Accidents cannot cause similar injuries.”
“I’m instituting an inquiry”, the Human Resources Head’s voice quivers as the CEO’s roar echoes across corridors.
The smiles on faces with injured limbs belie a different truth. Journalists gather outside the office to cover the event.
“Amco’s employees stage a novel form of protest against arm-twisting by bosses….”
News channels have enough content for a week.
“Firing employees En-masse is not advisable, Sir. We are in the eye of the storm.”
The HR Head stands fired for letting this precipitate.
Broken Arm by Pete Fanning
My broken arm will heal, eventually. It’s set in a cast, in a sling, with pins and screws to keep it in place. The doctor says time is the best medicine.
I’m told I’m lucky. I could’ve hit my head, broken my hip. I will be able to go home soon.
Home. Where the long bouts of sleep and the groggy gray in-between meld night and day. Time has no meaning as my brain works against me. My arm will heal but my soul is fractured. There’s no cast, no sling, no crutch to set it back in place.
Hero Work by Kerry E.B. Black
She didn’t think. When her daughter stumbled into danger, she acted.
Cocooned in a maternal embrace, the girl escaped injury. Firefighters and ambulance drivers commented with incredulity.
The church ladies proclaimed, “It’s a miracle!”
The mother handed her daughter into their care. She paled, forced a smile that wavered into a wince. “I’ll see you in a bit.”
Flashing lights and an urgent siren rushed her to the hospital. Xrays revealed the extent of the damage. Repositioned, crushed bone. Doctors inserted metal, casted. OT’s designed rehabiliitating exercises.
The mother considered the injuries and pain worth her daughter’s precious life.
“Hunting” Trip by Sue Spitulnik
Kurt sat in his deer-hunting tree stand armed with his new I-phone. He couldn’t shoulder a gun because of his broken arm, but he could use his fingers, so he decided to “shoot” with the much-hyped camera. Climbing the ladder to the stand had been a chore, but he loved the woods when the air was brisk and the colorful leaves floated in silence. Noting each sound, he focused on it and snapped photos of chipmunks, birds, squirrels, and two deer that walked by. He learned “hunting” with a camera was peaceful and reverent, unlike being an Army sniper.
Author’s Note: Kurt is “the quiet one” in the Band of Brothers and plays guitar and steel.
Shop Therapy (Part I) by D. Avery
“It’s shop therapy day,” my sister said, “We’re going to the thrift store.”
Maybe because it was chilly and gray out, my sister gravitated towards a colorful cloak. But another woman, eyeing the racks like a cat, tail twitching, snatched it up first. “Early bird gets the worm,’ she said.
After a quick detour through bedding, I appeared with my arm wrapped and hanging in a sling. “She wants the cloak for me. Because of my broken arm.”
The appeal did not work. “Eh. She looks like a lone gunman in that cloak,” I said. “Let’s look at earrings.”
Shop Therapy (Part II) by D. Avery
“I’m relieved you paid for it, but I’d rather you’d left it.” Over the steaming mug of tea my sister’s eyes said she thought I was crazy for still wearing my improvised sling.
“Why? You make things up.” I squeezed another honey packet into my tea. “Maybe when you’re a famous author we can shop somewhere besides the thrift store. Go to a real tea shop and not this diner.”
“Never! That stuff has stories! And diners… OMG, maybe she is a lone gunman. It’s the cloak clutcher and she definitely has something underneath it. Shit, here she comes.”
Shop Therapy (Part III) by D. Avery
“Your arm’s really broken? Here, take the cloak. I’m finished with it anyway.”
The woman removed the cloak, handing it to me. She deftly tucked an elegant China teapot onto the seat next to my sister then sat down, shielding it from view. She sat across from me, her cat eyes flashing a challenge.
“Wrap your teapot in this.” I undid my sling and passed it to her. “But the cloak is for my sister. I’d do anything for her. Except steal.”
“I bet you would too steal if you had to.”
My sister sat up, sniffing a story.
Getting the Word Out by Anne Goodwin
The letter written, all she needed now a pillar box, but there wasn’t one within the asylum walls. “They’ll never let us out to post a letter,” said Matilda. “And everything else they think we need is here.”
“If I could leave the ward,” said Doris, “I could climb over the gate.”
“You’d break your neck. An arm, at least.”
“Smart thinking, posh girl.” Doris fingered an enamel badge commemorating the Red Cross. “I’ll have an accident in the laundry. Fake a broken arm.”
“The nurses would know you were bluffing.”
“Then I’d have to break it for real.”
First Aid Love by Kayla Morrill
I enter the room hoping I look casual. I take the closest seat, settle my nerves, and look for David, the First Aid teacher for tonight’s class. He handsomely walks in at 7 and gets right to teaching.
I act interested until finally his eyes meet mine. I raise my hand.
“I was wondering what you would do for a broken arm? I think mine is broke.” I say school girl-ishly.
Everyone laughs and David shushes them.
“I would be happy to look at it after class,” he says slyly and adds a wink.
I smile back.
The Dare by Margaret G. Hanna
“Am not!” John stamped his foot
“Are too!” Bob poked him on the shoulder.
John looked up at the granary roof that towered over his six-year-old head. All he had to do was jump. Bob and his friends had. He didn’t want to jump but neither did he want to be called “chicken.”
Pride won out.
He stood on the granary roof and looked down at the ground. “Jump!” they cried. John closed his eyes and leapt into the void.
“My arm!” he screamed.
Bob’s face turned white. “Dad’ll kill me!” The boys scattered like chaff before the wind.
Would You Break an Arm for Me by Jay at HerNightlyMuses
Doggo barks and triggers other
Dogs all barking, call like flame
Travels the streets
Summons a howling
I drift off
Dream their conversation
Do they share grievance or discovery
Jealous of shared camaraderie
Dreams morph and conjure people
A possible tale of friends
Gone on a date, double
Tend each other
And one was matched with a man most vile
Every attempt to parry was thwart
The better matched dear pretended to fall
Broken her arm
Screaming it hurts
Opening a way
They left post-haste
The camaraderie of friends
And giggling in place
Of synchronised howls
The soundtrack to our teenage love was her album played on my turntable. The stereo’s needle injected bliss into our vinyl veins and it was a hit that never failed to transport us to a world that we owned exclusively, a world of endless revolution and hope for the future. Until the day we argued for the last time and she tore the record of our love from its spindle and, in her haste, she broke my arm and my heart with one fell swoop. All I had left was an empty sleeve and the tracks of my tears.
So You’ve Broken Your Arm by Joanne Fisher
“You’ve broken your arm?”
“Good observation there, my arm being in a cast and all…”
“Does it still hurt?”
“What do you think?”
“I really don’t know. To be honest I’ve never actually broken a bone before, so I have no idea, no clue whatsoever.”
“How nice for you.”
“I’ve always thought so.”
“You can always Google it. Type in something like: does a broken arm still hurt after being put in a cast?”
“What a great idea. Hang on, I’ll be back in a jiffy…”
“So what did Google say?”
“So yes, it does still hurt.”
Just Ask Alexa by Miss Judy
Fall approaches, Mr. Beer Connoisseur abandons the fruity, light beers of summer and embarks on a quest to find The Great Octoberfest Beer. Marzen is his beer of choice, a medium to full bodied brew with colors from pale to dark brown, he prefers the darker full bodied brews.
Searches of market shelves, craft breweries, bars and pubs, nothing satisfies his discerning palate. Too light, having no body, and a lingering after taste, he resorts to a local favorite.
A new brewery catches his eye, “Alexa, where is Broken Arm Brewery?”
“Broken Arm Brewery is in America,” Alexa answers.
The Die is Cast by Nancy Brady
People often post all their bumps and bruises on Facebook, but I kept the embarrassment of my broken arm a secret. What sixty-five-year old falls off a bicycle, breaking a wrist?
I chose a slimming black cast, avoiding photographs.
My class reunion was that year, and I went. My classmates teased me about it; in the class photo, I was busted—there it was.
Finally, one friend asked how I had broken it. When I told the truth, he didn’t believe me so I changed my story to falling off the trapeze bar at the circus. That, he believed!
(Spot On?) What Sophie Told Jane by JulesPaige
No ones’ lyin’
Bones heal easier
Than sad hearts
For years on end without clues
Be brave and search on
Jane was getting on well with Sophie – they had only known each other briefly as Nannies. Shopie had broken her arm at the zoo. The girl had fallen hard onto the concrete barrier of the lion enclosure while saving one of her reckless charges. Her ‘Family’ disclaimed her as damaged goods. Then after having the cook make an inadequate cast because they wouldn’t take her to the hospital, the family dismissed her, showing her the back door.
Drugged by Simon
A body with broken arm. It was Arjeet.
Sherloq made a deal to trick Arjeet, his Ego was not convinced about billion dollar deal, he tried to kill Sherloq.
Sherloq left with no choice but to kill him.
He knew he invited more trouble on his way, but he left with no choice and killed him.
Dalia, carefully shadowed Sherloq. She wanted to kill him on her own hands, she drugged Arjeet. She regretted it when she realised Arjeet was too powerful, eventually he died.
She waited for the right moment. This time she partnered with someone more dangerous.
Would You? by Jenny Logan
“Will you do it? Take the points and say it was you driving?”
“Lend me money again?”
“Buy me a car?”
“Pay for my new teeth?”
“Rent an apartment so I can escape the staff house?”
Sarah’s concluded women will exchange anything for a hint of love. Money, certainly, but often their happiness and integrity. She’d thought she was impervious, but not anymore. She stopped judging a long time ago.
She sips chamomile tea, nurses her broken arm and wonders if she’ll exchange her safety for a chance he might mean it this time and not do it again.
Close Call by Charli Mills
Howling like a banshee caught in barbed wire, Eliza cradled her arm. Dust rose from where she’d tumbled off her horse during the ambush. Ignoring the gunman, several men–rifles pulled from saddle scabbards—dismounted to assist her. Eliza writhed, but her green eyes never left the would-be robber’s golden ones. She’d have recognized her younger sister anywhere even outside a far-flung Nevada mining camp. Even in a mask, wearing boy’s clothing. One man remained mounted, regarding them both. Eliza’s skin prickled. He wasn’t one to part with company funds. Wailing again, the men fussed, and her sister fled.
Disappeared 56 by Liz Husebye Hartmann
The sign over the door read “Deliveries Only.” The Mage lifted his fist to pound, then cursed in pain; his arm refused to obey. Somehow, it’d broken, likely during that final, explosive spell he’d cast.
He swore again, realizing it was, indeed, his final magic, an exchange for reentering from spirit to mortal existence.
The door opened, and a man with a spatula looked out. “Hey fella, what’s going on?”
“I’m a bit lost, at present,” the mage looked up, tears in his eyes. He’d not shed tears since long before he’d left Scotland, for family in North Carolina.
Surprise Broken Arm by Tessa Dean
Sally balanced on the 4×4 length of wood as if it were a tightrope. She didn’t want to take a turn, but they would all laugh at her if she didn’t and it wasn’t a real tightrope as it was lying flat on the ground. What could possibly happen?
She was balancing carefully on the board and in her anxiety tripped and fell off. Imagine her horror when she broke her arm and started to sob in front of all of her friends who were all watching her and didn’t notice she was actually hurt. Or care one bit!
Cast in a Different Light by Nancy Brady
Before the accident, airline tickets were purchased for a trip to visit my son. I wasn’t canceling the trip just because of a broken arm. Despite the difficulty using my non-dominant hand, I packed, carrying only a backpack.
On the way out, I was assigned a seat with the emergency exit so I had to move.
The time spent with my son and fiancé was great
The same thing happened on the return trip, but having been overheard earlier saying, “Normal people are always seated last,” I turned down a chance to fly first class, choosing another economy seat.
Not Broken by Ann Edall-Robson
“Tell him it’s broken. Then you won’t have to write the test.”
“They don’t know if it’s broken, yet.”
“He won’t know and you’re wearing a sling. Man, that mare can buck.”
They walked towards the classroom discussing the weekend’s event. A horse race challenge that ended elbow first on the dirt road, and a trip to the emergency.
In the classroom, they tried to explain why she couldn’t write the exam. The one she hadn’t studied for.
“This isn’t typing class and you don’t write with the hand sticking out of that sling. Exam starts in five minutes.”
Little Kid by Bill Engleson
My lungs are burstin’.
Damn horses. Damn me. Shouldn’t have trusted them. He’s not strong like he should be.
Light as a sheaf of wheat though. Light as rain.
Suck in some air.
Hang on little kid. We’re almost there. Over that rise.
Over that rise.
Over that rise.
Gotta set you down, brother.
Just for a second.
Catch my breath.
Watch the arm.
You landed hard when those dumb horses bolted.
Hard on that boulder.
Shouldn’t have been there.
Cleared that field.
Sure I did.
Ready to go.
Home’s just over that little rise.
Broken Arm by Sadje
My 3.5 year old granddaughter has just started play school a month ago. Last week they played “doctors” in their class. Mending broken arms and legs of dolls provided by their teacher. The small kids were excited, wearing plastic stethoscopes, putting bandages on the “injured” dolls, and testing their reflexes with plastic hammers.
At home, she demanded a set of doctor’s instruments from us. Her mom got her a toy set and she is running around with a stethoscope and injection. Treating us all and making us “better”.
I wonder if she’ll retain this desire when she grows up?
Teddy’s Broken Arm by Norah Colvin
The waiting room was crowded. As usual, Doctor Amy was running late.
Nurse Lucy looked at the list. “Teddy!” she called.
Teddy was hugging his arm, trying to stifle tears.
“What appears to be the problem?” asked Doctor Amy, looking over her glasses.
“I think my arm’s broken.”
“Nurse Lucy, we need an x-ray,” said Doctor Amy.
The x-ray agreed with Teddy. Doctor and nurse plastered his arm with plasticene and tied it in a handkerchief sling.
“Lunch time,” said Mum. “Oh, what’s wrong with Teddy?”
“He’s got a broken arm,” said Amy.
“Just a fake one,” said Lucy.
Broken Arm by Joanne Fisher
Alcandra had climbed a tree for a better view, but had lost her footing. She landed badly on her left arm and now she could barely move it. The extreme pain suggested that her arm was probably broken. It was not something she could fix herself out here in the wilderness, so she knew she would have to sneak into a nearby town and discreetly find a healer. She gathered her belongings and weapons and looked for a path that led to one of the settlements. Everything was always so much more difficult when you were on the run…
Casting Distinctions by Gary A. Wilson
“Ah, Richard. You’re home. I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Because I was trying to sneak in.”
“Really? Why would that be? Let me guess. Your mom was right?”
“Okay, yes you were. What do you want me to say?”
“Tell me about your poor broken arm and tiny little cast.”
“Fine. I have nothing to complain about compared to cousin Holly. I hadn’t heard about her car accident or being stuck in a full body cast for a thousand weeks. How does she even go to the bathroom in that thing?”
“Trust me – you don’t want to know.”
‘Armless…by Geoff Le Pard
Little Tittweaking’s first laureate, appointed to celebrate 1000 years since Daisy Doesit stopped on a conical hill, announced, ‘Yon Tit’s weaking’ (weaking – dialect: dripping, or spouting) and took a drink, before locals chased her away is Stan Tzar, a Stalin-inspired purge-poet. Stan’s speciality is the four line shitter, the first three lines of which fail to prepare the listener for the spite of the fourth. His first iconoclastic peroration included this paean to Daisy and her pursuers:
Who would hurt our Daisy
Or do our Daisy harm
Tread upon her dainty hands
Or break her bleedin’ arm…?
Broken Arm by ladyleemanila
Nemia, the “mani-pedi” lady arrived and my Mom went to her room to get her favourite nail polish. It was on top of her dresser and she stood on top of a chair to reach it. Unfortunately, she fell down. There was a loud bang and we found her on the floor. She said she was fine and we put a bandage around her arm. Towards the evening, she was still in pain. We decided to take her to the hospital and a doctor looked at her. Her arm was broken and had to have a surgery. Poor her.
The Excuse by KL Caley
“Would you fake a broken arm for me?”
“Why?” She asked.
“Well, I had that work thing last week, and you said you didn’t want me to go. So I told them you broke your arm, and I had to look after you.”
“What? You said you didn’t want to go anyway.”
“Yea, I didn’t really, but I couldn’t tell them that, could I?”
“Oh, for crying out loud, Michael.”
“Michael, I am not going to your work with my arm in a fake sling.”
“Okay, well will you stay at home then?”
How Do They Do It? Becoming Right-handed by Nancy Brady
My husband and I went for a bicycle ride, heading to a park with trails, but we never made it.
Along the way, I became unbalanced, over-corrected, putting my hand out to break my fall. My left arm took the brunt of that fall.
Immediately, it swelled. Rob and I started for home. Adrenalin kept me riding briefly, but eventually Rob continued on, retrieving the car, returning to pick up the bicycle and me. We went to urgent care, where the physician determined it was broken.
The following day, a cast was applied; thus beginning six weeks of right-handedness.
A Break In Reality (Part I) by D. Avery
Mebbe Pal’s lookin fer me
I’m a-settin high up in the Poet Tree
Safe on the Ranch, won’t come ta no harm
Jist pond’rin Shorty’s question ‘bout a broke arm
Ma answer is yep, my question is why?
What would cause me ta break ma arm or ta lie?
I’d do it fer ya’ll, but a story I cain’t see
even from up here in the canopy.
Broken limbs here at the Ranch?
I’ll keep pond’rin here on this thin Poet Tree branch.
Aaaaahhhh! Hey Pal. Looks like I’m foun.
Done broke a limb an fell ta the groun.
A Break In Reality (Part II) by D. Avery
Hey Kid, looks like ya fell from a great height
but yer a fictional character, so yer alright
good thing yer fiction, ain’t really real
‘magine the pain ya’d otherwise feel
Gotta tell ya Pal, that ain’t quite true
arm hurts like hell, but for Shorty an you
I did it. Yeah I do what it takes
for the prompt, them’s jist the breaks.
Whut, Kid, it’s broke, ya ain’t jist fakin?
Aw shit Kid, it hurts like hell? It’s really achin?
We’ll fix ya up, do all yer chores
Jist let me know if ya need anythin more.
A Break In Reality (Part III) by D. Avery
Yep, Pal an Shorty they felt really bad
best vacation I ever had
they waited on me hand an foot
chores an cleanin an a course Shorty cooked
Things were goin swimminly, ta coin a phrase
this went on fer a few days
I even told Shorty mebbe she needs
to be more mindful a where prompts might lead
All kinds a characters an Ranchers’ll end up in casts
(unless they’re fakin, fer as long as that lasts)
which fer me was when Pal caught me playin fetch with ma pig
Yep, I was fakin, a pretty good gig.