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101 Word Short Stories
By Kristina Peterson
The padlock is warm. I press my ear to the wood and hear a low, rhythmic breathing. I tell myself: generator. Old pipes. The settling of things. I have the homeowner’s number, but I don’t call. Instead, I stand in the wet grass, counting the sounds. Seven. Eight. A pause. Then nine. On the kitchen…
By Catherine Underhill Fitzpatrick
I borrowed bell-bottoms and a tube top from my roommate and snagged a ride to the party. A cool dude I did not know handed me a Harvey Wallbanger, and then another. Somebody lowered the long version of ‘Hey Jude’ onto a turntable, again. I slalomed through drifts of oddly piquant smoke to the fringes…
Weird night, Ralph thinks. It adds up. Full moon. His night watchman’s superior sixth sense. Ralph creeps downhill to the koi pond, luminous in the light of the harvest moon. The fish, transformed into golden-scaled wyrmlings, arise to encircle the Fountain of David, eternally poised to slay the giant. Then they dance. Shimmying on spiny…
By Peter Alex
“Is your latest girlfriend deaf? You seem to communicate by signs with her.” “Yes, Mum, but sign language is an essential part of my course.” Both answers were true; Jill had a hearing problem. “I want complete silence during this exam, no talking.” The examiner’s ears picked up the slightest sound, all mouths forced shut.…
By C. A. Dahlstrand
She’d always styled my hair with a special touch. For this appointment, however, Debby hesitated. “I’ll come by your house.” We set up in the backyard and my eyes drooped in the warm sun. I awoke to discover silvery strands had intertwined, forming a halo around my chair. Smiling, Debby collected them. “Now, no falling…
By Chris Cochran
4SightFrames™ upended the dating scene. Risks became calculated, the sting of rejection seldom. Why bother approaching someone with less than an 80 percent chance of favorable outcomes? I did not need glasses to know she was out of my league. Thirty percent? An obvious glitch. She was single digits for sure. Positively unapproachable. But what…
By Julie Turland
Old Tom, with his drool-streaked chin and jowls hanging loose, resembles his slobbering bulldog. He has a voice as gruff as his dog’s bark, and wandering hands. He offers marriage. I stand to inherit a fortune if I agree, but he is repulsive; off his rocker. On our wedding night, I make sure to lace…