100-Word Stories

Jimmy's House, by Jeffrey Griffiths

4/4/2020

My son was fifteen when I took him with me to break into a house. It was Jimmy’s house, a guy that had me living in morbid fear during my high school years. That was all thirty years ago, but I found him online. He still lived in our old neighbourhood just around the corner from the house he grew up in.

We went in through the back door. The key was under a fake rock. The house was dark and cluttered. There were kid’s drawings on the fridge and a photograph of Jimmy in a wheelchair.

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No Dot, by Alan Beard

3/4/2020

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Tiny frogs jump over, camouflaged, through hedge and garden. Mowing the lawn, cutting the hedge is a hazard. Once, using secateurs, he cut one in half, its big-eyed head still gasping with half a body and no back legs. His daughter sees it, he explains it was an accident. She takes it in her stride. She buries the half frog, says a prayer to the frog god. The day before she buried the huge wings and head of a dragonfly separated from its abdomen by their mad aggressive cat. The abdomen a yellow and black exclamation mark with no dot.

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Common Denominators, by Cate Lloyd

3/4/2020

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‘We’re all in this together,’ Anna said.

Amanda leaned into her laptop, tucking a loose hank of hair. Her eyebrows wilted: there was food on her t-shirt.

Rosa added, ‘There’s so much more time in my day, without the commute.’

The bedroom door creaked open. Simon peeped in, tear-stained, holding what looked like a sheet of fractions. Pete was thundering distantly.

Amanda turned quickly back to the screen.

‘Of course, this is all familiar for you, Amanda. You’re always home, anyway.’

Did Anna just smirk?

Amanda smiled brightly at her reflected self, longing for the days of texts. Emojis.

Ordinariness.

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Buried Secrets, by Roshna Rusiniya

3/4/2020

2 Comments

Yesterday , Uncle Martin- our neighbour was arrested for stealing. I overheard my parents talking about it. So this is what the yelling and shouting last night all about? It woke me up from sleep, but I was too scared to go near the window and check.

I thought about Sam, his son who is my best friend. I also thought about the blue-eyed doll he gifted me for my birthday. Poor Sam. What will happen now? Will he also be in trouble? That reminds me…

“ Honey, what are you doing with the Barbie in the backyard ?”
“Burying the evidence mom...”

2 Comments

The Raids, by Pamela Kennedy

3/4/2020

4 Comments

Her footsteps were always quiet...her intentions were always conveyed via facial expressions...the power she held over them was incredible.

One by one they disappeared and as winter passed, the whole army was gone.

With spring's arrival a new yearning was taking hold. Out came everything necessary to prepare for a new selection. With efficient movements, she pressed on with her work. At last all tasks were completed.
Pleased with her accomplishment, she established a new goal, "Now that the gingerbread men are all gone, it's time to feast on some buttery bunny cookies."

4 Comments

Gristle, by Steven Bruce

3/4/2020

5 Comments

She rubbed salt into the meat, cooked it in butter, plated it with peas and potatoes.

More than you deserve, you bastard, she thought, and placed it down in front of him.

‘Pinot noir?’

‘No, I’m working tonight,’ he said.

She filled her glass.

‘This looks delicious.’

‘Enjoy,’ she said. ‘You deserve it.’

He wolfed it down, gristle and all.

Eight-years together and he still considered her an idiot, even with the PhD. He left to continue his affair, but tonight his whore wouldn’t show up.

Tomorrow I’ll serve him another part of her, she thought, in a honey glaze.

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Rope Burn, by Jonathan A. Watson

3/4/2020

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"What does it mean to be homo sapien?" the hungry goat thought, while tied to a post behind the darkened yellow seesaws of Kapihan sa Datu. He curiously watched two humans in the dim evening light of the cafe lean over a phone, merrily playing a mobile game at the table while eating. "What's the essence?"

Just then, a few human children appeared and threw rocks at the goat before dashing away. With rope burnt legs, the goat shrunk back in painful envy, jealous of the view from afar. His stomach growled at the happy stuffed faces at the table.

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This Place is No Longer Anyone's Business, by Zach Murphy

3/4/2020

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Morton and Rosa slow-danced in the street as the shoe repair shop that they owned for 31 years went up into flames.

“This probably isn’t the best idea,” said Rosa.

“Nothing is ever the best idea,” answered Morton. “But let’s keep dancing.”

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The Pseudo Chef, by Diane Clark

3/4/2020

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Mother was the best non-professional cook in Tennessee – well known for her fluffy rolls, tangy spaghetti, succulent cornbread, and elegant wedding cakes.

I should have learned to cook at her knee, but I wasn’t interested early on. Later I tried making her delicious rolls, but mine were always tough. “You just need more practice,” she said.

My mother died at 92, and I inherited her big green crockery mixing bowl. The first rolls I made in it turned out perfectly – light as a feather. “Oh, Mother, why didn’t you tell me that all I needed was the magic bowl?”

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STUPID-20, by Gordon Lawrie

3/4/2020

5 Comments

After the plague came the next plague: STUPID-20. It began with one person, but was highly infectious and passed quickly from individual to individual in minutes. Transmission appeared either oral or through the eyes as people excreted and ingested stupid words.

Within days, people were stockpiling toilet paper; within weeks, as the pandemic swept worldwide, they were electing the stupidest people they could find. There was no cure, no hope.

Eventually, of course, enough people recovered to establish herd immunity in society. But as with the common cold, immunity didn't last long. When STUPID-21 appeared, the whole thing started again.

5 Comments

Crossing the Potomac, by Mark Tulin

3/4/2020

2 Comments

John was sure that George Washington crossed the Potomac River.

At dinner, he maintained that Washington stood up in a large ship while crossing the Potomac to make a surprise attack against the British in Virginia.

He was the kind of person you couldn’t question. If he thought the sky was green, you agreed to avoid a nasty argument.

I kept quiet, nodding my head, knowing that George Washington crossed the Delaware in a Durham boat. I was an American History major and a teacher, but it didn’t matter to John. He needed to be right more than I did.

2 Comments

This Angel Brays, by Mary Daurio

3/4/2020

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Juan, a notorious thief, travelled by burro. Mask, poncho and gold, he stashed in Angel’s saddlebags.

Juan left Angel a distance from the bank and returned a circumvent route. No one suspected a fat man and his burro, so the robber guzzled tequila at the cantina than had a siesta.

A Federale fired his gun, signalling his cohorts to gather.

Angel startled, took off in a shot, running—bucking—gold raining from saddlebags—Juan thwarted!

The Federales gave Angel a hero’s parade for hoofing the crook into jail and rewarded him with lush pasture. Angel brayed, loud thanks to heaven.

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Poison, by, Mouad Bozari

3/4/2020

2 Comments

Karen placed two cups of coffee on the table and slid one of them to the other side for Layla. Layla uncrossed her legs, raised her cup to her lips, and took a small sip.

“I’m sorry the director gave me the part in the movie, and not you. I was dreadful. You’ve should have played the part, not me.” Layla trembled.

Her faced reddened. A smirk crossed Karen’s face, “You feeling ok?”

“I…I…” She grasped her neck with both hands, and fell from her chair onto the floor.

Karen noticed Layla’s blue lips and smiled, “Never mind the apology.”

2 Comments

Sequestered, by Marjan Sierhuis

3/4/2020

4 Comments

Newsflash. If you are under quarantine and search for ways to pass the time, here are my suggestions:

a. Teach yourself morse code. Too difficult? Learn a second language.
b. Sweep up dust bunnies that have taken up residence under your bed.
c. Attempt ten sit-ups a day. Stop if tired, or pass out from exhaustion.
d. Binge watch all your favorite television shows.
e. Pull out any grey hairs that have made a sudden appearance.
f. Arrange all your canned goods in alphabetical order.

Or sit around and do absolutely nothing. You have my permission.

4 Comments

Hybrid, by Bex Gooding

3/4/2020

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The Angel-hybrid pulled her wings closer and lifted off the ground. Tilting the sharp edges of the wings outwards, she spun around in a circle increasing in speed, the feather blades beat the air like a tornado.

The creatures, driven by their blood lust, paid no heed to the double-edge blades. The edge of the wings cut with surgical precision, decapitating and dismembering as they moved.
Extended arms fell to the floor, fingers still twitching, heads rolled along the stone floor, their faces frozen in expressions of shock and surprise.

Silence filled the room; she paused, breathing hard.
Footsteps…
Run!

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Good to the Last Drop, by Krystyna Fedosejevs

3/4/2020

2 Comments

Terry stares at his beverage. “You heard when this lockdown is going to end?”

“No,” answers his wife. “Sure miss my cappuccinos.”

“We could be making them at home but you didn’t want to spend money on a fancy machine,” Terry grunts.

Their son enters the kitchen and tilts the coffee pot. “Nothing left!” he exclaims.

“Didn’t know you wanted any,” his mother replies. “Who wants to walk over to the grocery store? Only one person from a family is allowed per day.”

“Sorry,” the son says while walking away. “Social distancing session with my friends is about to begin.”

2 Comments

Beam Me Up! by Sandra James

3/4/2020

4 Comments

“Beam me up! Please. Please, beam me up!”

“There’s another one. Press the laser retrieval button, Sage.”

“Yes, Dad. Why are so many Earthlings wanting to come to Mars?”

“Social isolation rules due to the Coronavirus COVID-19. They can’t bear to be cooped up with their significant others any longer.”

“One of them told me it started in China. Is that true, Dad?”

“Well…technically, it did. I was experimenting with reversing the laser retrieval unit and that vial accidentally landed in Wuhan.”

“Accidentally, Dad?”

“Well…we did need some new exhibits for the zoo!”

4 Comments

Jungle Green, by James Woessner

3/4/2020

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Her bedroom was painted deep jungle green with a galaxy of luminescent stars glued to the ceiling. A parrot sat reading a newspaper in a rusty cage with a broken door. I looked at the woman and thought I saw vines swinging in her cat eyes. I wondered if I’d entered a painting by Henri Rousseau. I checked my pulse.

The woman must have read my mind.

“Should I open a window?” she asked.

“Now’s your chance,” said the parrot, “now’s your chance.”

I looked at him. “I don’t see you going anywhere.”

“Crackers,” he squawked, “it’s about the crackers.”

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The Last Job, by Sivan Pillai

3/4/2020

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Lulled by the mountain breeze, the temple guard dozed on a bench.

Entering the sanctum sanctorum was no great deal but it took all my skills to dislodge the idol from its base. Worthy of my last job.

“Bring it and get the price you name,” the antique dealer had told me.

The night was still young. Enough time to share a drink with the great one. He won’t get another chance.

Holy water diluted my whiskey. Neat for Him. Clink. Cheers, Almighty!

Sunlight and hushed giggles woke me up. There was a crowd around me.

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The Pilot, by Mary Wallace

3/4/2020

6 Comments

"When I grow up daddy, I want to fly like my kite."

"Perhaps you'll be a pilot like your grandfather," his father replied, looking down at the little boy with the kite string clutched in his hand. "It's not easy to become a pilot," he continued, "you'll have to work hard."

"I will," his son sounded determined…..

"We'll need you to identify the body," the police officers voice trailed away. He cleared his throat, "your son was driving; he was high as a kite."

6 Comments

The Perfect Picture, by Deborah Shrimplin

3/4/2020

3 Comments

Dawn spread her photographs out on the desk and shook her head in disappointment. Then, she glanced out the window. There was no sign of him.

She winced at the slanted horizon in her landscape photos. She looked down the driveway. There was no sign of him.

She cringed at the poor lighting in her still life shots. She scanned the sidewalk. There was no sign of him.

She wrote in her journal, gathered up the photos and gazed out the window. There was the perfect picture. Walking up the driveway, her uniformed son was returning home from the war.

3 Comments

Wild Child, by Don Tassone

3/4/2020

5 Comments

Justin was a wild child. That’s what people called him anyway. Free spirit. Did what he wanted. Talked back. Skipped school. Ran around barefoot in thunderstorms. Gave his parents fits.

“Behave,” his mother pleaded.

“Go to your room,” his father demanded.

But Justin wouldn’t change. In desperation, his mother took him to a doctor, who prescribed medicine, which settled him. Helped him study, get good grades. No more back talk. No more running around in the rain. Straight As. Scholarship. College. Job. Wife. Kids.

“Liam’s a wild child,” Justin’s wife said.

“Let him be,” said Justin, watching the rain fall.

5 Comments

Friday Flash Fiction News! by Gordon Lawrie

1/4/2020

11 Comments

Dear all Friday (well... Wednesday!) Flash Fiction friends

I'm thrilled to announce that my 2014 Friday Flash Fiction story Once Upon a Time in Pluto is going to be adapted into a major Hollywood movie. Renee Zellweger and Brad Pitt, it seems, are slated for the roles of Sparg and Teapot 7, alongside an A-list support cast. Over $30 million has been aside for the acting/CGI hybrid production of my thrilling tale of sex, intrigue, mystery and serial murder.

Needless to say, I'm delighted and feeling quite pleased with myself!

The original 2014 story can be found at:

https://www.fridayflashfiction.com/100-word-stories/once-upon-a-time-in-pluto-by-gordon-lawrie

Gordon

11 Comments

Gone Missing: Her Mojo, by Kim Favors

29/3/2020

3 Comments

First, her beloved dogchild died. Next, important medical procedures were canceled. Then, virus anxiety set loose her childhood demons. She stopped writing. Her mojo was gone.

But she didn’t abandon her near-daily walk. So much to see and appreciate from her creative neighbors: sidewalk chalk art, whimsical lawn whirligigs, the tropical-colored Little Free Library, restored Carroll Shelby Cobras, the terrace artfully designed with discarded rocks.

She’ll try to walk again today. Perhaps, along the way, she can find her mojo.

3 Comments

Photo Album, by Jordan Lewis

29/3/2020

1 Comment

I left it in the backseat of your car. I didn’t leave it by accident. I didn’t want those memories. I wanted you to keep them; perhaps, with them, you would realize what you ruined.

You cried when you saw that I left it. I didn’t care. Having it would only worsen my heartbreak. Your betrayal soured those memories; the pleasant memories hurt the most. Those pictures were all pleasant times. I didn’t want it, the pain, the album. I wanted to leave it all behind.

I am looking at that photo album now. You sneaked it into my suitcase.

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