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101 Word Short Stories
By A. F. Campbell
The drought had lasted so long Clara barely remembered rain. On Thanksgiving night, her mother prepared a feast no starving house should have held: turkey, bread, potatoes, warm cider. After sunset, a stranger arrived wearing a black coat soaked through despite the dry sky. “Thank the man,” Mother whispered. Clara obeyed reluctantly. The stranger never…
By Taylor Townley
The water, a mirror of the dreary sky, a thick mist threatening to block his view. The tide pulled away, fragments of his reflection growing more obscure by the second as the water itself retreated from him. A soft rustle to his right—a small rabbit, frozen. Its ears flat against its back, its body tense—silently…
By Aiden-Michael Smith
Iridescent stars dart across your vision. The world spins like yarn, but you unravel. The field in which you stand bobs to one side, then to the other in sweeping, obtuse motions. You dart across the field or attempt to run across the field. That’s the game, right? Your left foot obstructs your right foot,…
She’d always known the trunk was there. He’d covered it with a cloth; balanced tea, flowers, ashtrays, glasses. Once, she’d perched on it when they’d had more guests than chairs. But that hadn’t happened for a while. She hadn’t expected to open it that afternoon—she never had before. But boredom and curiosity were a heady…
By Huina Zheng
For my sixth birthday, my mother gave me a piggy bank. Every time I dropped in a coin, it made a little ding. She said that once it was full, I could buy anything I wanted. Ding, a little more; ding, a little closer. Mom, now I sit beside your bed. Every beep of the…
By David Berger
“I dunno, Pop,” Jesus said. “I’ve done my best, but they’re still sinning. What d’you think, Sis?” The Wholly Sprite looked up from writing a scroll. “I’ve said from the Creation: humans suck. The Noah Restart, the Moses Restart, the Buddha Restart, the Zoroaster, the Jerusalem. Now is just like all the other times. Recreate…
By Bob Schueler
Aliens land; strong, fast; kill by right hand chop to the neck. They show no emotion, but seem fascinated by ours. Most people die. They only spare singers, poets, comedians…like me. We become their pets; I share sitcoms and soaps with mine; it watches me laugh, touches my face, my tears. We go to improv;…