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101 Word Short Stories

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Search Results for: amis

Going Away

May 25, 2023 9 Comments

The phone rang. My husband sighed.

“Hey, Dad. What’s up?”

There were no doctors’ appointments, no pharmacy runs. Their community fed them and offered activities.

Alzheimer’s did not care.

“What? Your car fob battery died? Someone took it apart? Read me the number.”

He held the phone away from his ear. I heard “washing machine” and “clock alarms” before he signed off.

“He doesn’t understand. I have to…”

“Go,” I said. Then I asked him, “When are they going to take away his keys? How much longer must we endure these demands?”

“As long as he needs me,” my husband replied.

By Virginia Amis

Competition

January 14, 2023 12 Comments

“Keep the noise down, I’m writing,” John declared imperiously positioning his gold-tipped Parker.

‘Va Pensiero’ was playing on Classic FM. ‘Hebrew Slaves.’ How appropriate, Cheryl thought, hanging the washing on the line.

She breathed in the outdoors. Citrus fragrance from mock orange mixed with the heady smell of honeysuckle. The sound of sparrows squabbling, inharmonious with the soft tinkling of wind chimes.

Perhaps ‘Surviving His Retirement’ for my own competition entry? Cheryl mused, plugging the hoover in.

“Can’t you do that later?” came a querulous voice. “A cup of tea wouldn’t go amiss.”

Cheryl scribbled furiously: ‘How to murder your husband.’

By Melanie Barrow

Dating Problems

March 20, 2021 6 Comments

I’m a normal person. I have an apartment, I’m a librarian, and I go out Friday nights.

I can’t keep a boyfriend though.

It starts out nice. We flirt, have dinner. We go steady for a few weeks and he leaves.

Could it be my doll collection? Lots of people collect things! It’s not like I hoard knives. I’m proud of my dolls, handmade with natural material. Life sized and life like. I don’t know why men get so squeamish when they see them!

But thanks to my collection I have a permanent keepsake of the short time we spent together.

By Ryker Hayes

Holy Land

October 14, 2020 5 Comments

Bubba and his wife clear customs then they depart Tel Aviv’s international airport with their heavy suitcases in tow. It’s been the couple’s dream to visit the Holy Land ever since they were married. Before catching a tour bus to Jerusalem, Bubba decides they will hail a taxi and head to a nearby shopping district for lunch. The Holy Land can wait just a little while longer. It ain’t goin’ nowhere, and Bubba’s famished! Doreen will no doubt order some hummus or tabouli crap but Bubba will have none of that. He has a hankerin’ for a nice, juicy, pulled-pork sandwich.

By Phil Temples

Saving Fire

June 2, 2018 6 Comments

Saving Fire

The girl collapsed on the soft earth between the bumpy roots of the oak tree. Smoky haze choked her lungs. Around her, branches crashed to the ground, sending out sparks like fireflies.

“I’m here,” she said, watching flames draw nearer to the initials she and Papa had carved into the trunk before he died.

Voices shouted her name. She looked toward them, and back at their tree. She could not leave Papa!

Suddenly, one after another, fat acorns fell, bouncing all around her. She knew it was Papa speaking. Kissing his initials, she quickly gathered them and ran for her life.

By Virginia Amis

Doomsday Lady

February 21, 2018 1 Comment

Doomsday lady

“Madam, you’re only eligible for level three support. Please step aside.”

“But please. I’m starving!”

“Please move or I’ll call security. Read the guidelines. Remaining sustenance is being prioritised for level ones. Families.”

Maria pictured her mother’s stash of bottled water, tins, and freeze-dried meals. She remembered how she’d constantly admonished her, refused her ‘ridiculous’ offers of foil blankets. It had made a great comedy bit: her crazed, apocalypse-obsessed Mum.

When she’d died, Maria cleared her house, took the survival kit to the food bank. It was only now, famished and alone, that the loss drowned her.

“Mum…I need you.”

By Janelle Hardacre

Unrecognisable

October 23, 2017 1 Comment

Unrecognisable

The sudden gale hurled us towards land. Our charts showed an inlet where we could moor until the night seas calmed. We tied up our yacht and the six of us clambered ashore. We could just make each other out, our bright orange waterproofs and Sou’westers reflecting the minimal illumination. We trudged towards the village until we saw a cottage. Hoping to be offered refuge until dawn, we banged on the door. It opened slowly, light spilling into the rainstorm and over an exhausted crew.

On seeing us, the woman shouted indoors: “Hamish! It’s for you! It’s the bloody aliens again!”

By Old Brid Kid

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