100-Word Stories

Lost Words, by Sally Arkinstall

14/8/2020

Recession hit; I lost my job. Left without income or purpose, I began to write. I adopted a desk in the library. I had nowhere else to be.

I saw my foil blocked name on the intangible cover of an emerging bestseller. It was all there, inside my head. I was completely lost in the world within its binding.

Words flew from the keyboard, drawing me deeper in. There was no escaping my story’s gravitational pull. A happy, or at least a satisfactory, ending was within my grasp.

If only I had saved my work, before the words were lost.

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Stolen Moments, by Marjan Sierhuis

14/8/2020

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The nursing home is permitting visitors at long last. Wearing a face mask, Ann watches her father anxiously from the required distance. She hopes and prays that eyes once filled with mischief, joy, and merriment will soon open and acknowledge her presence.

He sits motionless and it breaks her heart into a thousand little pieces. A wheelchair accommodates his frail body. A fleece shawl covers shoulders that were once strong but now slope to one side.

She yearns to run over and kiss him on the cheek. Then wrap her arms around him and keep him safe.

So be it.

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Last Minute Change of Citizenship, by Patrice Assiongbon Sowanou

14/8/2020

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As a second and navigation officer, I carefully traced our voyage from South Africa to Rotterdam on date.

Fantastic! The Celestial Navigation was so helpful. 24 hours before arrival, an urgent telex came in.

Surprise! All our Estimated Time of Arrival were cancelled.

Shit! We sailed on Earth and yet we can’t dock. In great despair, we looked at our stepmother, the ocean.

La mar! She seemed calm like a dead volcano with wonderful swells, appeasing waves, rolling to a tempting endless brown horizon.

Humans do not need us anymore. We belong to the ocean now, concluded the captain.

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What's in the Crate, Grandpa? by Yola M. Caecenary

14/8/2020

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The key to revealing the secret is in his hand. Grandfather gave it to him a few minutes before he departed. When he was a child, he always wanted to know what his grandfather kept in the wooden crate in the attic. "What's in the crate, Grandpa?" Grandfather never told him.

He was fifteen when he decided to break the wooden crate. He almost succeeded when grandfather came in a rush. Grandfather was furious. Bitterly, he determined never to care about it anymore.

He halted his steps. With the key in his hand, consciously, he turned around and walked away.

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Monks, by Gerald Kamens

14/8/2020

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“We four proceeded slowly, under drizzle,” Brother Bart wrote to his sister. “Carrying Charles' body on a litter.

No family there. Only, scandalously, three female admirers. I bore a front pole, reviewing our years of preparing together for the next life.

Slipping on wet ground, I dropped my pole. His body slid into the hole, head first. Almost comical. Naturally, I didn't laugh.
Brother Mitchell looked reprovingly at me, as we covered Charles with dirt. But I'd done no intentional wrong. Did our Lord care by then about that poor body?

Charles’ spirit, of course, endures.

Pray for me.

Bart."

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Till Sleep, by Nicky Johnson

14/8/2020

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The smoldering ashes of the unsigned divorce papers became one with the remains looking out from the mantle, only feet above. The warmth within her was equal, for to her, there was no separation in death.

The back of the dress was zipped, the lipstick applied. Casseroles, soaked in concern for oversleep, were pushed aside to make way for a box of wine.

The soft hum of crickets beckoned. As she climbed into bed, she couldn’t be happier. In dreams, they were only young, and she fell in love all over again.

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Intersection, by Jim Woessner

14/8/2020

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After we left the lawyer’s office, we walked in different directions. A moment later, I turned and watched her cross the street, her pineapple-top hair bouncing and a purple scarf billowing behind like a flag. I stood there thinking about our last conversation. Then I remembered the first one we ever had. Everything in between was momentarily lost, as though it had never been more than filler. When she reached the other side of the street, I made a mental snapshot just before she disappeared. It was like turning the page of a novel and finding the next page blank.

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The Death Bed, by V. L. Draven

14/8/2020

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Fourteen people had died while sleeping on it. The manager of the hotel had long since stopped renting the room. The Death Bed slept, dreaming of a time when once again it would feel the cooling presence of a body. It stirred in its slumber. Those in rooms nearby woke screaming, unable to comprehend why their rest was interrupted by nightmares. Warnings went unheard. The door was unlocked. People roamed the musty room. Someone lay on the bed, grateful to have arrived after a long flight. The Death Bed smiled. Soon it would be feeding time, and it was starving.

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Good Night, by Pamela Kennedy

14/8/2020

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It felt like yesterday when I sat on your knee and you read me bedtime stories. Each night, it was the same wonderful routine. Well, at least for me it was. Oh! I loved those stories of long ago, the slaying of dragons, and the saving of princesses.

Bedtime is different these days. I now sit on a chair next you as you listen to my reading Sherlock Holmes stories.

As you knew I would outgrow fairy tales, I know that you will eventually fall into an eternal sleep. But for tonight, though, it's just, "Good Night, Dad".

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Because He Can, by Doug Bartlett

14/8/2020

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The phone rings and Bill, a single parent, picks it up.

“Hello Mr. Austin, this is Mrs. Johnson. A group of us parents will be presenting a petition to the school board demanding we keep our schools closed.Would you be willing to support us in this action?”

“I most certainly would.” He hangs up the phone, smiling. He takes one last drag on his cigarette, grabs his young daughter’s wrist and firmly buries the red-hot end into the tender palm of her hand, causing her to let out a blood-curdling scream that no one seems to hear.

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Dilemma, by Stella Gaucher Murovic

14/8/2020

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During the two months since we'd met, Jennifer and I lived for nights and weekends.

One evening, Jennie announced, "we're going to a book festival, Phil. I won second place in a contest."

I accompanied her, ambivalent but ready with a celebratory gift The M/C announced the first prize winner. We waited, no one stirred. I wriggled beside Jennie, undecided.

"Guess Ben Ashley had better things to do," said Mrs. M/C.
The audience laughed. Mrs. M/C announced Jennifer who strode up and accepted her award to a cheering crowd. I squirmed, wondering when I'd tell her I'm Ben Ashley.

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City Boy, by Don Tassone

14/8/2020

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He lived in a row house in the inner city growing up. The narrow walkways between houses in the neighborhood were paved with concrete. There were no front yards. His backyard was about as long and wide as a car.

It was a great surprise when his father announced they would create a vegetable garden in their backyard. The only raw vegetables the boy had ever seen were in stores.

But now he and his father raked the soil, planted seeds and watered them and watched miracles rise and bloom before their eyes behind their little house in the city.

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Unfortunate, by Paritosh Chandra Dugar

14/8/2020

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News channels, newspapers, and social media were all replete with updates about those hospitalized and those deceased. The governments were baffled. The heads babbled like maniacs. When the death toll rose frighteningly high, lockdown seemed the only solution. It had become impossible for them to stop rampant stampedes, riots, and bloody scuffles all over, causing countless fatalities. Worse, the world-wide lockdown brought the momentous mission to vaccinate people against Covid-19 to a despairing halt. No doubt, the vaccine was an absolute success. No side effects. Yet who could think the treatment would take toll of more men than the disease?

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In the Setting Sun, by Krystyna Fedosejevs

14/8/2020

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They met between folds of a cresting wave. Under rays of tropical sunshine. Sea and sky uniting variants of blue.

She glided alongside, at times touching. Their swimming strokes synchronized. Water splashing faces. Until she dived deeper and disappeared.

Spectators gathered at the beach to view the sunset. She could’ve arrived with the high tide, rest atop white sand.

She, the highlight of his ordinary day. A natural beauty. One of a limited number of endangered sea turtles left in the world.

Her image faded with the day that was. Darkness encroached, setting his memory aside.

Replacing it with night.

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To Sleep, Perchance to Rest, by Janice Siderius

14/8/2020

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She squinted at the digital clock by the bed, it read 1:30 am. Avoiding the dog, she got up and headed for the bathroom. She used the toilet and staggered back to bed.

What was that noise? Do dogs have nightmares at 3:00 am? Or was it coming from outside? Maybe I should look around. Nothing. She fell into bed.

Oh my God, she thought. Now it is 5:30 am and I am awake again. Once more into the bathroom. But she knew she wouldn’t fall asleep, her mind was too active. She put on her robe and made coffee.

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If Only, by James A. Tweedie

14/8/2020

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Hong Kong Book Fair, by Bob Ellis

14/8/2020

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As a non-fiction publisher at the Hong Kong Book Fair, I attended the book pitch of the wizened Chinese farmer, Lu Chien. He looked seventy-five and still wore his old Mao suit.

The title of his book flashed on the screen of the meeting room. The small crowd went crazy, throwing pencils, note-pads, and tchotchkes at the author. I joined in, flinging my book fair freebies.

It’s the old guy’s fault. That theory of growing super-large grain plants between two peasants’ shacks was questioned when it was first put forward. Today, no-one believes “Two Cisterns, One Corn Tree” anymore.

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One Pill Makes You, by Ed N. White

14/8/2020

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He was going crazy, spiraling rapidly into the dark abyss. The new doctor doubled the dose of black capsules and again. The psychotic symptoms worsened. Last night he was screaming as his body split in two. He staggered from the room like a drunk into the rain to stumble off this nightmare. At the corner, the street yawned like a chasm. Lurching back into the house, he clutched a pillow to his face and collapsed on the floor.

In the morning, the police arrived along with a woman from the Health Department telling him that his doctor was an imposter.

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Decay, by Teddy Kimathi

14/8/2020

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She’s an avid reader. Her eyes always focus on the obituary page. At times he feels as though she’s reading it with satisfaction. Stench of pulsating darkness oozes from behind the newspaper, as he tries to contain the urge to rebuke what she’s thinking. “It seems I won’t hear from my in-laws from any time soon!” A blank stare fights back. He knows she’ll be nervous when he gets to the tarot card reading session.

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Dear Reader, by Sue Clayton

14/8/2020

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The bearded man sits at his desk, fingers splayed through a sparse topknot of hair, quill scratching across the page.

Dare I, dear reader, sneak a peek in his absence? Peculiar jottings but words that stir the imagination:

“Please sir, I want some more…”

“Tis a far, far better thing…”

Marley was dead to begin with…

I am beguiled, dear reader, by phrases that multitudes of bookworms will digest from his beloved tomes:

Oliver Twist

A Tale of Two Cities

A Christmas Carol

I perceive the return of Mr. Dickens; pen him a missive. Thank you, signed your dear readers.

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Kibitzing, by Alan Kemister

13/8/2020

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The grizzled old warrior shuffled his walker to a table outside the seniors’ residence. “Should we thank Covid-19 when Trump loses the election in November?”

Another old-timer sitting in shade provided by a large umbrella stubbed his cigarette. “Trump may be America’s worst president, but consider why he won four years ago.”

“And what does the esteemed retired professor conclude?”

“People were dissatisfied with decreasing American prestige and governments incapable of reversing the trend.”

“And self-serving insiders in Washington.”

The old prof nodded. “Those feeling remain. If Biden has no answers, Trump might win again.”

“Scary thought.”

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Flow of Ribbon, by Zahra Daya

13/8/2020

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The ray of sunlight enthralls me, drowning my audience in gold. I embody it, snaking around the stage like rays of sunlight. I become the actor, the lines tumbling in passages out of my lips. I am a ribbon in the wind - spiky fingers of a palm tree on a breezy night. My ballet shoes glide around the stage, my body following obediently. Glinting eyes of the crowd before me is what ignites the fire within me. I don’t squint my eyes against the sun, I widen them as if soaking it all into my ravenous soul.

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What We Became, by Nan Wigington

13/8/2020

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Love was this – a shatter of hands, a fist of hair, a hunger for hurt. I became a wall. You became a dish. You broke on impact, but I bled. I became the fire. You the water. How you sizzled, flew away. I became stone floor. You were acid spilled. See how my cheeks melt. Then I was the window, you the rotten frame. I cracked. You were the door. I became the wind. I slammed you. Open. Shut. You unhinged, became a back, a retreat, a gone. I steadied, became a stomach, a hand, a so long.

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The Broadcasting Planet, by Kieron P. Baird

13/8/2020

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In the endless expanse of space, most intelligent races follow one simple rule. Don’t announce your existence to the universe! The reason is simple. There are advanced intergalactic, interdimensional beings out there. Ones that are smarter and more technologically advanced than yourself. Utterly ravenous for the next planet to exploit.

Yet recently there was another planet foolish enough to broadcast its location. Now many alien species have heard of it. Some of those listeners predatory and malevolent in nature. A few are already on their way, after eyeing it greedily from afar. I pity that poor planet. I pity Earth.

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Checkmate by Guy Fletcher

13/8/2020

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Jeff found an old chess set in the loft covered by decades of dust, forcing him to cough as he set it up on the dining room table.

Inside the cardboard box were sheets of paper containing chess moves written by an ancient biro.

He remembered their matches as he arranged the pieces on the board. He had only ever won once and now he chose black, playing a ghost.

Some half an hour later he exclaimed, “Checkmate!”

He was victorious yet yearned for those youthful games.

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