100-Word Stories

The pen stares at me. It longs for my touch. As it lays on the table, it holds my gaze. Its form seduces me, fills me with textual desire. I pick it up. It rests in my hand. It sighs. We both hunger for expression.

I stroke it across the page. The ink flows freely, letters form. Letters turn to words, words to sentences, sentences to paragraphs. Slowly a creation begins to develop, to grow, to push against the paper and ink that contain it.

Screaming, uncovered, unsure, pushed forth from the confines of its origins, another story is born.

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Moment of Terror, by Russell Conover

14/9/2019

Stan gasped as he watched TV coverage of the attacks. Both towers, flaming and smoking. Pandemonium in the crowds. Emergency vehicles everywhere. He’d never seen anything like it.

Then his heart stopped. His wife Yvette was being interviewed today in the towers! His hand almost ripped his pants pocket as he grabbed his phone.

She picked up after two rings. “Hey, honey. What’s up?”

“The attacks! Are you OK? Tell me you’re OK!”

“The interview was rescheduled. I’m sure I told you already!”

Stan sagged with relief. In the chaos, he’d forgotten. Yvette HAD told him yesterday. She was safe.

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Today's Special, by Pamela Kennedy

13/9/2019

As he straightened his tie for the final time, Jack Dale knew this was going to be a special birthday celebration.

Driving along Route 86, he could almost smell and taste the Surf and Turf lunch at Cappie's Tavern, a tradition he shared with his daughter, Sally. Clinking her wine glass against his beer stein, in tandem they'd toast, "May we move on from our troubles and bury our differences".

Jack glanced at Cappie's as he drove by. Today's reservation was elsewhere.

"Sally, I would have preferred our usual place," Jack whispered tearfully at her graveside.

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Grandma's Bench, by Kim Favors

13/9/2019

We used to walk home from school through a park.

One day, on a bench, we found a crocheted coin purse, handkerchief and eyeglasses. Grandmother-type things. We left them there.

We began visiting “Grandma’s Bench” after school, checking on our discovery. We shared stories about our grandmothers. Most true, some wishful.

“Mine makes slumgullion on Sundays.”

“Mine helps girls who don’t want babies.”

“Mine lets me drive her car.”

We stopped visiting after the items disappeared.

In my backyard today is seating where I invite guests to remember important people in their lives.

I call it Grandma’s Bench.

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Knights of the Realm, by Bex Gooding

13/9/2019

‘Congratulations gentlemen.’

The three very rich and privileged men smiled full of their own self importance as the medals were pinned on their puffed up chests.

‘Sir Jed Haggar and Sir Milton Ross, fifty years of service to music and Sir Den McMillan forty years of service to the Arts. Here are your new orders.’

‘Orders?’ the three chorused looking confused.

‘These are not honorary titles. When you accepted the knighthood, you agreed to lead troops into battle as did the knights of old.’

All three looked at the King mortified.

‘Prepare for battle. You’re off to the front line.’

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The Tale of the Bully and the Wannabe, by Gordon Lawrie

13/9/2019

Once, there were two boys. One was a big self-important bully, the other was a smaller boy who wanted to copy the big bully.

The bully taught his little wannabe friend to tell lies, because the more they lied, the more people would believe them. After all, there are many stupid people in the world.

Then one day, the little boy found himself in court where you have to tell the truth. The judges told the little boy that he was a liar. The little boy cried and asked the bully for help.

The bully said nothing. He was hiding.

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Help, by Marjan Sierhuis

13/9/2019

I check my watch. I rub my eyes. After one hour, I still have no signal from my cell phone or the phone on the wall. I am hungry, and I can't remember the last time I ate. I am living my worst nightmare. I wipe the sweat from my brow. I take a few deep breaths to fill my lungs and calm my nerves. "Help, I shout for the umpteenth time. Can anyone hear me?" I detect muffled voices through the elevator door. It suddenly opens. I run for the nearest stairs.

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Poetry or Prose, by Sandra James

13/9/2019

“I’m running late,” she told her husband, “would you print out my writing competition entry, pop it in the envelope and post it for me?”

“Of course,” he said.

Six weeks later she opened her mail to find a letter saying her poem won, and a copy of the anthology with the winning entries.

“But I wrote a story,” she said. In the anthology her story was written down the page in short lines.

Ginger, their new kitten, yawned, then climbed onto her desk and walked across the keyboard and back again.

Enter. Enter. Enter.

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Tea Break, by Helen Watson

13/9/2019

The builders have put up a shack in next-door’s garden. Somewhere to have a cuppa out of the rain.

‘It’s not like in Calais’, says one.

‘Nah, we’re all legal here’, says another. ‘Even him.’ He grins and points at the odd-jobs guy.

The Albanian. When he’s alone on the site, he listens to Albanian radio. Pelting songs in minor keys. He sings to the North London chimney pots. He dances arms aloft on the new flat roof. He sips a mug of muddy tea beneath the plastic shelter. Drizzle falls. No, he thinks, it’s not like Calais here.

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The Litter Picker, by Guy Fletcher

13/9/2019

"That poor man's just been hit by a car!" exclaimed a horrified woman at the bus-stop.

I recognised the fallen figure, now like a rag doll. Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday he picked litter from the streets in the same area, always shaking his head with disgust.

He was a small ageing little man, doing a fine job. However, when speaking to him realised he was quite mad, still it's good to have characters out and about.

I peered at the pathetic figure again as a crowd gathered, wondering if he would ever pick up litter again.

1 Comment

Why, by Mary Wallace

13/9/2019

I can't believe I'm reading this. Everyone goes away on holidays and finds a special place. Everyone sends postcards saying I may never come home. Everyone COMES HOME! Especially if you're a mum. How can a mum go away for a quick trip without the hubby and kids and NEVER RETURN. Why did this happen? How could you just walk away? The family are falling apart. What will we do without you mum? Who will make breakfast!

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A Place for Everything, by Krystyna Fedosejevs

13/9/2019

Allen was intrigued. Something missing appeared before him. Unrecognizable. Unfitting its surroundings. He blamed a sibling for pushing other people’s items out of her way.

Father too had a mishap. He mistook cat food for tuna because it wasn’t in its usual place. Mother scolded. Nothing changed.

Earlier in the day, Allen noticed a plant bursting foliage through a sidewalk crack. Wrong place, but it made him smile.

He took out his sister’s favorites from the fridge to remove his sandwich. Her stuff went to the back.

Unlike the outdoor plant, greenish mold didn’t have a place in his life.

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Mum, by K. J. Watson

13/9/2019

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I burst my football when I was three-years-old.

’What’ve you done, Paul?’ Mum asked.

‘Don’t fuss,’ I told her. ‘You can buy me a new one.’

Years later, Mum lost her job.

‘Cheer up,’ I said. ‘Your redundancy money’s enough to cover the cost of my wedding.’

Time passed. Mum died.

‘Who’s going to pay for our holidays now?’ I asked my wife.

‘And Christmas … and the children’s birthday parties,’ my wife rejoined.

The day of Mum’s cremation, a parcel arrived.

‘It’s from Mum’s solicitor,’ I said. ‘Let’s see what I’ve inherited.’

The parcel held a burst football.

4 Comments

The Passing, by Fliss Zakaszewska

13/9/2019

They were still in shock a week later. “Can’t believe she’s gone,” whispered Matilda as the girls huddled over their morning coffee.

“I know,” agreed Jean, “Emily was the life and soul of everything. “We won’t forget her.”

“Yeah, she was special.”

The Great Unknown’s a scary place and most people don’t want to go there even though it’s inevitable.

But let’s take a peek at Emily. How’s she doing in the terrifying ‘Unknown’?

“So, Ms Johnston, you can start next month? She nods, shakes hands and walks away from the interview, higher salary, shorter hours. “Redundancy’s cool,” she grins.

1 Comment

Love's Descent, by Mir-Yashar Seyedbagheri

6/9/2019

A woman has jumped from the movie theater roof.

She wears a lavender dress, flame-colored hair in a pageboy. She looks so young, early thirties.

We gather like flies on shit, pretend to express sympathy. We love darkness, don shocked masks.

There’s something in this woman’s eyes. Distant. As if she lived in unreachable places. Did anyone love her? Speak that basic word?

The woman stares, mouth agape. She’s waiting. As if she wants peace from the whirl of doom.

“I love you,” I whisper.

I whisper it again, as masks of sympathy fall, coroners and cops carrying her away.

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Into the Alley, by Zane Castillo

6/9/2019

He ran into the alley and pressed himself against a doorway then took his gun out of his waistband. The sound of running footsteps came closer. His heart was beating fast and sweat ran down his face. He prayed that they didn't kill Alice as he left the money with her.

He cocked his gun as the footsteps entered the alley and moved towards his location. He braced himself then lept out of the doorway and aimed the gun at the figure.

The homeless man screamed and ran out of the alley. He let out a long sigh of relief.

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The Unlikeable Character, by Penny Kohn

6/9/2019

A story I wrote for a creative writing class I took this summer was 100% autobiographical. Let's hope my classmate didn't realize that when she told me she didn't like the character! Maybe it's a good thing it was an online class so my classmate couldn't see my face when I read her feedback.

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Flower Girl, by Mary Daurio

6/9/2019

My summer vacation was brief because Nursing training started in July.
Mom didn’t have much to say as I got ready to depart. She sat staring pensively out the kitchen window— down our long lane.

“Are you all right, Mom?”
“I’m going to miss my flower girl, that’s all.”

When younger I’d bring her daisy bouquets from our lane, not so many now. I kissed her cheek and tried not to slam the screen door leaving.

My return brought a sweet smile to her face, my arms laden with daisies.

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Spring, by Mary Wallace

6/9/2019

Gloom still hugs the horizon as feathery clouds scuttle across an azure sky. Currents of air tumble and skip, teasing both tall trees and small grasses. Shadows chase sunlight through branches and leaves stirred by warm breezes, small insects exposed by the flutter of stalks scurry for safety.

Warmth, moisture and the scent of Eucalyptus is all pervading. Dappled light entices and encourages new small shoots as the fecundity of dropped leaf litter stimulates germination. Small Greenhood Orchids raise their nodding heads towards the sky seeking light and life.

We welcome glorious Spring in Australia.

2 Comments

View With a Room, by Kim Favors

6/9/2019

“Checking in?”

“Um…. yeah.”

“No luggage?”

“Does that matter?”

“Well, most folks who stay with us awhile bring some baggage with them.”

“Not me.”

“Then I guess you’re good to go. Upstairs or down, or elevator, will get you where you want to be.”

“Room key?”

“You won’t need one — unless you plan on returning.”

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Demise, by Sandra James

6/9/2019

He is dying. A soft moan escapes his lips as he falls back onto his pillows. He is weak and can barely keep his eyes open. He is in agony; surely no one has ever suffered like this before. The sun is slowly going down and he wonders if he will see it rise again.

I don’t have a medical degree but I’ve made a diagnosis… yes, my husband has man-flu. He will survive but it is going to be a looooong few days!

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Carousel, by Don Tassone

6/9/2019

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I found myself standing on a spinning carousel, holding a twisted brass pole. A panoply of images encircled me, people and experiences from throughout my life. I watched them all pass by: every friend and enemy, every success and failure, every joy and sorrow. They all blended together. I wanted to stop and behold my daughter being born again. I wanted to unsee my mother dying. But I couldn’t stop or close my eyes or pick and choose. It was all my life, every part indispensable, and as I looked out, I felt grateful for the whole of it.

6 Comments

The Household Tasks I’ve Neglected, by K. J. Watson

6/9/2019

8 Comments

The sideboard was uncompromising.

‘You’re barred from the living room, Harry,’ it told me, ‘until you dust and polish.’

I went to the kitchen.

‘Go away,’ the oven hissed. ‘Unless you’re going to degrease me.’

In the bathroom, the sink was equally combative.

‘Out. Come back only when you’re ready to fix my tap.’

I took a walk to consider the situation. When I returned, the front door wouldn't open.

‘Ready to address our concerns?’ the door asked.

‘At the weekend.’

‘OK,’ the door continued, ‘we’re not unreasonable. Meantime, you can stay in the shed.’

‘What?’

‘Once you’ve painted it.’

8 Comments

Funding Will, by Mark Tulin

6/9/2019