A Story In

100 Words

Literature in Tiny Bursts.

You are invited to the wonderful world of microfiction. Whether you’re a reader, a writer, or one of our future robot overlords, welcome! A Story In 100 Words is a community of literature enthusiasts no matter the length, but we have a special predilection for narratives exactly 100 words in length.

Stop doomscrolling and start fiction browsing.

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Balloon Pop

At the top of the cliff, Kurt ran back forth with a bag full of rocks, trying to pop any of the various-colored balloons that were floating past him. His sole task was to make sure that none of the balloons reached so high as to pass the tree line.

After a while, Kurt realized that the variegated balloon colors signified different values. For example, if he popped a green balloon, he was given a piece of pie. Each color offered something unique.

If his life weren't in such danger, he'd have thought this would make an outstanding video game.

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A Phalanx Of Ducklings

A phalanx of cars had stopped along the highway. It was raining and I didn't want to get out, but I finally grabbed my umbrella. The smiling faces indicated no one had been injured.

I pushed my way through the crowd. What had stopped traffic wasn't some kind of accident or road construction, but a family of ducklings swimming in a puddle that had formed inside a pothole. They were really the cutest thing you'd ever seen. There was room enough to drive past, but everyone was happy to spend the afternoon watching them. Some of us fed them breadcrumbs.

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The Original Olympians

The original Olympic Games started out of a desire to bring together the warring factions of the Greek City States to do battle inside an arena instead of on the fields of war. Each city would select its best heroes to compete in the most basic athletic pursuits: running short and long distances, wrestling, and hurling a spear or a disc. The champions would achieve the honor of bringing glory and fame to their homeland.

The original Olympic Games ended when a tribe of storm giants descended from the mountains and slaughtered every single one of the participants and spectators.

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The Information Overload

I was fifteen the year information came alive. Before that, we had a vague sense that information was becoming more dangerous, that there was a potential for catastrophe, but everyone was too busy making money to worry much about the ramifications.

Now our only hope is that knowledge can somehow overcome the information overload. Information bangs on pots and pans demanding your attention. It feeds off it. Knowledge sits quietly in its room waiting to be called upon.

It's still an open question which is more powerful. But either way, the days of humanity dominating the Earth are long over.

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Forgoing Responsibility

In the manner of all bloated bureaucracies, responsibility for the mistake was passed from desk to desk like a 12-year-old orphan moves through foster homes. Everyone knew it was a fireable offense and so the smart tactic was to duck under the nearest mound of paperwork whenever the department head glanced over. Eventually some new crisis would strike a floor or two above, and they'd all breathe a collective sigh of relief.

Of course that left Brenda on the hook again. As PR manager, it was her job to explain how a toaster oven had murdered a family of five.

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Confidence, Inc.

Jonah saw the ad and hoped it might be the solution to all of his problems.

"In the modern marketing age, where even individuals have begun thinking of themselves as a brand, Confidence, Inc. is there to fulfill your personal advertising needs."

Perhaps Confidence, Inc. would be able to stop the bullying and help make Jonah popular. He decided to visit their offices.

The executives at Confidence, Inc. had never engaged a client as young as Jonah. Most of their customers had at least started middle school. But after a company-wide strategy session, they welcomed Jonah as their first kindergartner.

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Mike The Bike Messenger

As a bike messenger, getting hit by a car was a badge of honor. Mike would brag about his accidents to his peers and use them as anecdotes, along with his scars, to pick up women.

But his new job was too dangerous even for his hazardous taste. He didn't care for the gunfire, and he especially didn't like the IED’s. He should have stayed in New York rather than join the war effort in Iraq.

Still, getting ambushed and losing both of his legs in combat made for an impressive story, as did winning the Congressional Medal of Honor.

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I Hear Voices

“Roses or Lilies?”

“Lilies, the orange ones, please.”

The wedding was all they talked about. It was a hurried event and they were planning a small affair but it seemed to be driving them crazy. His parents had refused to be a part of it.

Money was tight and they knew it would get tighter still. If it wasn’t the wedding they were talking about, it was the move to the suburbs.

But they’d made the decision to accept him.

Eight months and a few days and he would be able to put faces to the voices he’d been hearing.

From Guest Contributor Shruti Verma

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Broken Solace

The town of Broken Solace, located at the end of Route 140, owned a single vehicle, a Buick LeSabre, which was shared amongst the residents according to a very detailed schedule that attempted to account for everyone's needs evenly.

The mayor of Broken Solace did not think much of this arrangement. He believed as mayor he should have his own vehicle and proposed purchasing a Mercedes for his personal use.

The city council approved the purchase. However, the Mercedes became the new community vehicle and the mayor was stuck driving the Buick LeSabre. Not everyone was happy with the new arrangement.

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The Balloon Vendors

The people had long dreamed of revolution, but it was the balloon vendors who finally convinced them it was possible. They possessed more than empty talk. They had a plan of action.

They would topple the regime with helium.

It wasn't until much later that they realized their mistake. Helium isn't the explosive element. What you need is hydrogen.

They long harbored a measure of bitterness at their failure, but their prison sentences were ameliorated at least somewhat by the fact they had tried to do something. No one could say the same of the knife sharpeners or pitchfork salespeople.

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