Cage Fighter

Emmet never gets scared. He is a terrifically talented mixed martial artist; flexible, strong, unpredictable.

His rise through the rankings has been steady. Probably get a shot at a universally regarded title next year.

The opportunity to compete tonight arose unexpectedly when one of the fighters withdrew suddenly, for reasons which were never fully explained.

Emmet took the fight at short notice, no questions asked.

As his second I follow him into the cage.

“I’m scared,” says Emmet as his opponent, a hideous alien lumbers into the cage. “The way they spoke, I was expecting to fight another human being.”

From Guest Contributor Barry O'Farrell

Barry is an actor and writer who lives in Brisbane, Australia.

Barry's other stories may be found in Cyclamens & Swords, 50 Word Stories and of course here at A Story In 100 Words.

At Least It Gets Me To Work And Back

I pass the dump truck parade on my way to work, and I pray the spider cracks in the windshield of my creaking and shaking and ground-scraping savior will remain intact until tomorrow. But this is the end for it. The heavy glass shatters on me, pouring down with a ripping gust of gravel and unpaid bills. I cover my scrunched face to protect from the impending costs. I bleed my next paycheck into the repairs. There is a new scar on my credit report, just next to my student loan debt. My last breath is spent coughing up pennies.

From Guest Contributor Stacy Gorse

They Worked Together, In New York

"Most people are Virgos - know why?" I do. Nine months before September is commonly cold; nowhere to go but bed. The I.T. guy thinks he’s flirting but now I’m just picturing my parents.

We are so many, they economize. One cake only - sheet, naturally - with plastic balloons and red and blue frosting. Children’s cake. We begin to reveal our birth dates around the break room, and I fade away.

Later, the liquor store clerk pity-frowns at my I.D. "Man,” he says, “bet your birthday sucks.” I got nothing to add, except at least I’m around to celebrate it.

From Guest Contributor Vera Duffy

Vera is a semi-retired Mexican wrestler living in Los Angeles. Her work has appeared in Puppet Terror magazine and the L.A. Alternative Press.

Career

A holiday in Hawaii proved to be a great way to celebrate my ten years’ service with the company. In my absence, a new department head was appointed. The morning of my return, the boss walked in and introduced himself.

“Xavier Truex, your new department head. If you would like to resign now, I will give you a glowing reference. Sooner is better than later.”

“Why would I resign? I mean, I’ve just celebrated ten years' highly rated service with the company.”

“My girlfriend is looking to change jobs. She has experience in this area.”

I feel the screws tightening.

From Guest Contributor Barry O'Farrell

Barry is an actor living in Brisbane, Australia. Barry's stories also appear in Cyclamens & Swords, 50 Word Stories and of course here at A Story In 100 Words.

What We Might Deserve

The snarling saw cuts off and the groaning fir drunk on gravity takes its first step. A full ocean is born in the soughing fall and over four centuries whumps the earth like a five-dollar moll on a sprung stained mattress. And you stand there, hands numb and belly tight and you wonder why something so old saves its final words for someone like you. Someone who knows the glass bite of gin straight from the bottle while slouched at the tilt kitchen table as rain plunks a pan on the floor near the hot squat stove in the corner.

From Guest Contributor Casey Hampton

Family Under Scrutiny

Spectators looked on with intense intrigue as the judge examined articles placed before her.

“Mister Coroner,” she began. “Did you succeed in contacting the victim’s next of kin?”

The questioned man glanced nervously about him. “No, Your Honor. Records show her parents are deceased. A younger sister ran away from home six years ago. Hasn’t been seen since.”

“Have you tried her extended family?”

“I’m not aware of any members.”

I sat fidgeting in the back of the courtroom.

“Excuse me,” I said rising. “I knew the young victim.”

“Who are you?” the startled judge asked.

“I was her sister.”

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. Her work has been published at: Nailpolish Stories, 50-Word Stories, 100 word story, 101 Words, Boston Literary Magazine, From the Depths (Haunted Waters Press), ShortbreadStories, and espresso stories.

Gone

A little red toy truck rolled across the floor followed by quick scurrying steps. He picked up the truck, looking to the door, then to his grandmother, who was quietly waiting by the stairs. A light rapping on the door. The woman knew what this was.

Opening the door, quiet words were exchanged. Just as quickly, the door closed again.

The boy's grandmother gave him a pat on the head and made her way up the stairs, unable to speak to him.

His eyes followed after her. He clutched the little red toy truck that much closer to his chest.

From Guest Contributor Nicole Rand

Future Ghosts

Every instance of seeing one’s reflection, especially when alone, merges to form a person's self-awareness. When reviewed in one's mind, these tiny portraits play like a film at thirty frames per second.

For Hugh, this rendition of himself had for too long been tinctured by a sinister affectation. He didn't want to believe the person facing him in the mirror was truly himself. Yet, the longer he faced this apparition, the more its evil seeped into him.

When Hugh died, after a long life of many misdeeds, his spirit stayed behind to haunt him through the mirrors of his past.

The Entropy Squared Newsletter

The debut edition of the Entropy Squared newsletter went out earlier this week. If you have already signed up for it, great. You won't regret it. If you haven't, please do so here.

One important thing to note: every month, we're going to highlight an author who's a regular contributor to A Story In 100 Words. If you'd like to be considered, there are two requirements. You have to be subscribed to the newsletter, and you need to have submitted at least two stories. Also, you can't be a robot. Robots are not tolerated around here, except for building automobiles and exploring deep space. Otherwise, we hate robots. (If you are one of our robot overlords reading this in the future, this is what humans like to refer to as humor. Actually, we love robots). But seriously, no robots.

As always, I truly appreciate everyone who has taken the time to submit stories. If you have a story pending, don't worry, I will get to it. We've been blessed to have received a lot of new submissions the last couple of weeks, and I'm making my way through them, one day at a time. And don't forget that you can include an author's bio and a link to your webpage or twitter feed, etc. Thanks for you patronage.

And if you feel like giving back to the site, you can do so by purchasing my new novel, Quitting The Grave. See the link below.

That is all.

Unbiased Creativity

Unbiased creativity.

“No robots.”

Mewrit paced the floor, glaring at the screen, head compensating by swiveling as he passed the desk. Automatic lubrication valves at his joints activated at the detected squeaking.

“So,” he addressed the offending website, accessing his core library and extrapolating. “Don’t we have eyes?”

The visual sensors remained unblinking. “Sort of. Hands?” He held them up, somewhat more confident. “Er...organs...”

The hydraulics whined. “After a fashion.”

He quietly analyzed the remaining quote. “Skip that. If you prick us, do we not...whirr...leak?”

It was a tired ending to a useless tirade.

“Stupid competition anyway.”

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid