• Skip to primary navigation
  • Skip to main content
  • Skip to primary sidebar

101 Words

101 Word Short Stories

  • Subscribe
  • About
  • Submissions
  • Volunteer

Her Glare

May 18, 2015 8 Comments

Her Glare
Share
Tweet
Email
More
0 Shares

“Darling, you know well I love every inch of you,” holding her whitish hand, “and I want nothing less than to spend the rest of my days with you.”

She sucks in her lower lip in childlike captivation.

I dip my right hand into my suit, hunkering on one knee. She gasps, glee erupting out of the well of her dimples.

Then my hand emerges with a cute little box.

“Sweetheart, would you promise to wear it always—especially this harmattan time?”

A vaseline container.

If looks could kill, I should summarily be cremated under the radiation of her fiery glare.

By Bunmi Oke

6 Mississippi

May 18, 2015 1 Comment

6 Mississippi
Share
Tweet
Email
More
0 Shares

Standing in a boiling concrete hole.

Steel ball and spoon. Ringed pin. The Missouri sun beats down on my Kevlar helmet and thick wool clothing as my heart pounds hard enough to gag me. There is yelling. Always yelling. Words become indistinguishable from the constant chaotic clatter as numbness invades my ears. Pin pulled. Spoon released. Frozen.

One Mississippi. Two Mississippi.

I think of my father yelling at me. Calling me stupid. Lots of yelling now. Four Mississippi? Heavy boots land as I’m grabbed, lifted violently, and thrown from the pit.

Blast rings in my ears as the yelling is silenced.

By Peter Barden

Mrs de Winter No. 3

May 18, 2015 4 Comments

Mrs de Winter No. 3
Share
Tweet
Email
More
0 Shares

He threw the stardust and between two heartbeats, between two notes from the band on stage, Maxim locked eyes with me and I was lost. No matter what had happened with Rebecca and the second wife, the nameless one, I was destined to join him.

After the show, walking down the steps from the theatre, my friend commented that I seemed distant. Preoccupied yes, I admitted it, she would have been too. For myself, I knew I must return to my hotel room and await his call. The play had worked its magic. Our wedding would surely be a glittering affair.

By Cath Barton

Flash Fiction Sunday Edition – Issue 5

May 17, 2015 1 Comment

Flash Fiction Sunday Edition - Issue 5
Share
Tweet
Email
More
0 Shares

Welcome to our ongoing Flash Fiction Sunday Edition.

Don’t forget to join the list and you will get next weeks issue via e-mail.

— Shannon

Flash Fiction chosen by Tony Press

“The Transition” by Fiona Helmsley via Digging Through The Fat

Digging Through The Fat publishes one excellent story each week, on Wednesday. It’s gotten so I’ve been very aware of the day as I first open my email on Wednesdays. Here’s a great example: we really know these two characters, and their worlds, in a very short space. It’s a perfect flash—satisfying in itself, but with the hint of wanting more. I especially love the narrator’s description here:

‘She held a coffee cup in one hand, and a lighter in the other, and used the movement of both to accentuate her thoughts—coffee cup down for simple statement, lighter up for something more excitable.’

“America Land” by Eric D. Goodman via The Loch Raven Review

This one made me laugh or, rather, I forced myself to laugh because I didn’t want to cry. Some stories have one great idea, but can’t do anything with it—this story does justice to the original idea.

“Papa’s Handkerchief” by Pam Parker via Digging Through The Fat

This is another from Digging Through The Fat. It is just this one little scene, fewer than 300 words, but it is a whole story. It highlights the classic tension of the world left behind and the new one soon to be experienced, plus the poignant image of that handkerchief floating away.

“Boys In The Bank” by Jeanne Althouse via Pif Magazine

This one is in Pif Magazine and all I can say is give it a try. It is a story you will marvel at and remember for a long time. Trust me.

About Tony Press

Tony Press lives near San Francisco and tries to pay attention.

Fiction: BorderSenses; Boston Literary; Chiron Review; Digging Through the Fat; Doorknobs & Bodypaint; Fiction on the Web; 5×5; Foundling Review; Grey Sparrow Journal; Halfway Down the Stairs; 100 Word Story; 101 Words; JMWW; Lichen; Literary Orphans; MacGuffin; Menda City Review; Qarrtsiluni; Rio Grande Review; Riverbabble; SFWP Journal; Switchback; Toasted Cheese; Workers Write; and elsewhere. He was recently nominated for a Pushcart Prize.

The Dream

May 15, 2015 2 Comments

The Dream by Jet Black
Share
Tweet
Email
More
0 Shares

I dared to ask, you dared to say yes. Tentatively I took your hand and determinedly we climbed up the field. Clouds flew past in the brisk April wind. The long grasses waved like a pale green, storm-tormented sea. Your long frizzy hair was wild, covering your face. How you could see to walk was a mystery. Maybe that is why you held my hand so tightly? Maybe because you wanted me as much as I wanted you? Questions left unanswered; no chance to hold you in my arms. At the top of the hill, you vanished. I awoke stirred, alone.

By Jet Black

Escaped

May 15, 2015 4 Comments

Escaped by Patience
Share
Tweet
Email
More
0 Shares

“Who’s there?” Doug called, his familiar voice echoing louder through the dark halls than the chimes of the ancient doorbell.

“Don’t know yet,” Jane hollered, her annoyance clear, yet she smiled at the thought of late-night visitors providing her with escape.

She trudged down the hall, yanking up heavy skirts that kept her as trapped as this old house while Doug’s radio screeched about poor crops and escaped prisoners.

The bell chimed again as her fingers touched the knob.

That night, Jane escaped.

The investigators said the killer chose the house because of the unhappiness leaking out from under the door.

By Patience

#Werewolf

May 15, 2015 4 Comments

#Werewolf by Valerie Brown
Share2
Tweet
Email
More
2 Shares

Howling at the moon is so passé. My parents do it. My grandparents. Even my older, perfect sister does it. Perhaps it’s an inherited trait, but I’d never give in. I’m an evolved woman of the modern era.

Night creeps upon me. The moon’s pale face glows bright, making my skin prickle and throat itch. Trembling, I retrieve the phone from my purse and access my Twitter account. The urge is strong. I grind my teeth as my fingers crash through the letters A-H-H-O-O-O-O. Once I hit Send the urge dissolves. A sigh escapes me. That’s right. I’m an evolved woman.

By Valerie Brown

  • « Go to Previous Page
  • Go to page 1
  • Interim pages omitted …
  • Go to page 598
  • Go to page 599
  • Go to page 600
  • Go to page 601
  • Go to page 602
  • Interim pages omitted …
  • Go to page 644
  • Go to Next Page »

Primary Sidebar

Search Stories

The end.