Worker

The sparse landscape spread in every direction. There were mountains to be sure, a flat white one to this left and a glass tower to the right, but there was no food within actual reach.

Jim crawled forward, then back, then to the left and right. An observer might think his path random, but Jim's instinct told him that the best way to find food was this haphazard approach.

He panicked when the giant approached. Only its torso was visible above the horizon, but Jim went hurdling in the other direction.

He wished he'd never left the hill this morning.

The Vigil

Even to this day I curse, swear and kick myself for having dozed off that painful night. Though I kept vigil all through her illness, the feeling of guilt has never subsided.

She was my strength.

I knew the meaning of the cloudy eyes and immobility. After three consecutive nights, the strain on my eyes was too much and I slipped. It was at such a weak moment she chose to give up her fight...that hurt me.

My being awake at her last moments would mean nothing, but I feel guilty for expecting the death of my loving pet.

From Guest Contributor Thriveni C. Mysore.

One Of A Kind

She was impeccable. His mentor. Love. Tears clouded his vision as he viewed their life together through photos he flipped.

“You ought to take better care of yourself,” she often scolded. He wanted to say the same to her. Couldn’t. He closed the album with her smile nestling in the recesses of his mind.

A wooden box nearby cradled ripe peaches. One had gone bad.

He thought of her, his mom. How she would have dealt with it promptly. Not like him.

He grumbled at the cancer that had wasted her body. Lifted the rotten fruit and threw it out.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. Her fiction and poetry have recently been published online and in journals at: Nailpolish Stories, 50-Word Stories, 100 word story, A Story in 100 Words, 101 Words, From the Depths (Haunted Waters Press), ShortbreadStories, and espresso stories. Her nonfiction has appeared in flash fiction chronicles and in Wild Lands Advocate. Krystyna resides in Alberta, Canada.

The Conductor

Sunil's adolescent fantasy of being a bus conductor was now fulfilled. Nubile women pressed against him in strategic spots, he smirked.

At Valanchery, a horde of schoolgirls boarded. Sunil could barely squeeze through to sell tickets. This was heaven.

At Vattappara, thirteen aunties got on. Commuters. Other passengers were in hell. Sunil attained paradise. Though paradise was slightly suffocating.

At Kakkad, the tension eased slightly, but before Sunil could exhale, twenty quavering old biddies surged into the bus. A handbag knocked against Sunil's temple.

When the bus pulled into Ramanattukara bus stand, Sunil was no longer in this world. Literally.

From Guest Contributor Aparna Nandakumar

Aparna lives in Calicut, India, and writes stories and poems. Her work has been published in Atticus Review and previously at 100 Words, and is forthcoming in Cafe Dissensus and Red River Review.

Storm Damage

I’m a lucky lady. I have a wonderful lover in my life. A younger man. An enthusiastic younger man.

Lovemaking sessions are spontaneous, passionate and spicy. Lately we have been able to see a lot of each other. It is great.

I was annoyed he didn’t drive here immediately to help me with the post-storm clean up. The house is fine; the yard a carpet of leaves and branches.

Calmly, I put things into proper perspective.

-I have no right to put demands on him.-He can’t be on call.-My husband will fly home tomorrow from his overseas posting.

From Guest Contributor Barry O'Farrell

Barry O'Farrell is an actor living in Brisbane, Australia. Barry's other stories can be found at Cyclamens & Swords, 50-Word Stories, and of course here at A Story in 100 Words.

The Button

Blake sat alone in the cell. He only had the bar of soap his guards had given him, and a button he'd smuggled under his tongue.

Alone. Alone. It had been 17 days now. He knew it was 17 days, because each morning, he made a mark in the soap with his button. There were 17 marks for 17 days.

For those 17 days, his only contact with the outside world was the metal plate they slid through the door at mealtime.

17 days to contemplate his crime, his smuggled button the only thing keeping his sanity from slipping away.

Inconsolable

When Daniel heard the first notes of the song begin to play, he immediately broke out in inconsolable sobs. The best efforts of those around him only made his hysterics worse. The tears ran off his cheeks and began soaking into his collar and tie.

"I'm sorry," he kept repeating between desperate breaths. "It's just...that song...always does this to me."

"Pull yourself together, Jones. This is no time to blubber."

Daniel looked around, first at his boss, then his marketing associates at the conference table. The clients were there as well. Indeed, this was no time to blubber.

An Invitation

As Tom flipped through his mail, he hesitated when he came to a thick parchment envelope, intricately addressed with gold trim. This was certainly not a bill.

Breaking open the wax seal, Tom pulled forth a hand-inked letter in an elegant cursive, with the type of curls that indicated a tremendous sense of self-worth.

"Dear Thomas Pendergraph," the letter began, "Your presence is requested in the royal palace on the fifth of December..."

Tom scanned to the bottom of the correspondence. It was signed by the Emperor.

He tossed the letter into the trash bin with the other junk mail.

Withdrawal Symptoms

It’s a four day cycle.

Day One: The wife drops off a computer then rushes out. Next her husband is on the phone demanding both diagnosis and priority repair.

Day Two: They make several phone calls throughout the day becoming angrier, more threatening, and more abusive with each call. Their lives are at a standstill.

Day Three: Their voices on the phone are now almost incoherent, a mix of rage and swearing.

Day Four: I phone advising job now complete, and cost, only to hear, “I’m too busy. I’ll pick it up next week.”

Their cold turkey misery is over.

From Guest Contributor Barry O'Farrell

Barry is an actor in Brisbane, Australia. Other stories by Barry have appeared in Cyclamens and Swords, 50-Word Stories and of course here at A Story In 100 Words.

Illusions

Barbara fiddled with the hem of her shirt. Untucked, disheveled, fraying at the edges, the shirt reflected Barbara's state of mind.

"You need to make a decision, dear."

Barbara stared at her mother, so neat and handsome. In some ways, the woman was a complete stranger. Inheriting someone's genetic code, what did that really matter? Proximity and shared experience did not imply intimacy. Barbara felt so alone.

"We'll just let you stay here a while longer. I'm glad that's settled."

Barbara smiled as her mother departed. She knew she'd never be allowed any freedom, not while her mother yet lives.