Santa Ritual

I’m ten, too old to sit on Santa’s lap. Tell my parents. Please, someone?

Last year I was a brat, on purpose. Cracked inappropriate jokes, tugged his beard, farted on his pants. Hoping my message would come across.

Yet, here we go again. When asked what I want for Christmas, I belted out my thoughts.

Santa was speechless. Mom and Dad stared. Parents with kids waiting to meet Santa looked like icicles.

Then, I remembered Scrooge. “Sorry Santa,” I said, not letting him see my tears.

“You’re forgiven, son,” he replied. “The greatest gift is love. You already have that.”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, SixWordMemoirs, and Espresso Stories.

Blue Girl

There once was a girl and she was blue. Everything she saw, thought, and felt was blue. She thought of pink, green and purple, but no luck. Everything was still blue. She thought of how much better things would be in a different color; brighter, warmer, easier. She kept thinking she should change, so that the blue would disappear. She would imagine vibrant turquoise and even bright whites. Then one day she took the plunge. She followed the light; the hope. She walked as far as she could walk. Then she floated. Now things are red. So very, very red.

From Guest Contributor Maureen Ferguson

A Woodpecker

Happy Thanksgiving everyone! We're taking a short break for the holidays, but I would like to share a story of mine that just got published in Loreli. A Woodpecker is a story about my time living in Beijing. A warning: it's not flash fiction, but a full-on short story, more than 6,000 words.

For my American readers, enjoy the holiday. For everyone, keep submitting your stories. I'd much rather be sharing your stories in this place rather than my own.

That is all.

The Golden Elixir

When the man entered the Golden Elixir, he was the only patron. The name was for both the establishment and the only drink it served.

The bartender greeted him in a friendly manner. "How'd you hear about us?"

The man wasn't sure what to answer. "I heard rumors that you serve drinks that are...solid gold?"

"That's true. Would you like to try?"

"Sure, how much?"

"The first one is on the house." The bartender pulled down a black decanter filled with a gold liquid and poured a glass. The man hesitated, then gulped it down.

The man immediately died.

The Setup

Purple marks stained the ivory flesh of the young victim's neck. DNA forensic technicians hustled around her with their swabs and evidence bottles.

My partner Isobel raised an eyebrow in an unspoken question.

"DNA will confirm it, but it's him."

Isobel sucked in a breath. "Adam Knowles. Been killing ten years, but not a hint of where he is."

I knew where he was. Twelve years since I killed him and placed a sample of my DNA labelled with his name in the database.

The victim's final screams played in my memory as I, Detective Richard Morrison, guided the investigation.

From Guest Contributor Ross Clement

The Remnants Of Atlantis

The agents of Atlantis first infiltrated the upper world more than a thousand years ago. Their technology was far more advanced than what humans were accustomed to and they easily assimilated themselves without detection. They became Kings, Generals, Scientists, and Philosophers. Everywhere they emerged, they prospered.

When the underwater volcano erupted in 1066, the bulk of their civilization was destroyed. No one mourned though, for they had essentially conquered the upper world for themselves, without fighting a single battle.

Not everyone agreed. Some Atlanteans argued that though they thrived, in reality, their civilization had been subsumed by the land-walking humans.

Educated

At a student’s desk, she wept. A cheerful message written earlier on the whiteboard: “How are you, Miss Jimenez?” in English and Spanish.

“You can press charges, but I wouldn’t advise it,” one assistant principal said. “He is getting suspended for one day. Any bruises?”

Jimenez hung her head. “No, sir.”

“I’d advise taking a personal day, but it’s so hard getting a sub. Besides, you don’t want to look weak,” the other assistant principal said. The radio squawked - an emergency in the bus lane. The AP’s rushed down the hall on the only day Jimenez left at 4:30.

From Guest Contributor Embe Charpentier

228 Days To Mars

The Delta 2 rocket clears the tower. All eyes are on the big screen. Lift off is a success.

Spontaneous cheering breaks out.

In 228 days our unmanned vehicle will be on Mars. If all goes well, our next launch will be the much anticipated manned mission. We can feel the excitement already.

I notice Eddy is subdued. He is not joining in the celebrations erupting around him.

“Eddy my man, why the long face?”

“Uhm, just been thinking.”

“Oh yeah, thinking about what?”

“Just remembering something… something important, I forgot I would adjust, recalibrate, in time for this launch.”From Guest Contributor Barry O'Farrell

Barry is an actor who sometimes writes, living in Brisbane, Australia. Barry recently had a short story awarded runner up in the Arts Alliance biannual short story writing competition. Barry's stories may be found at Cyclamens & Swords, 101 Words and of course here at A Story In 100 Words.

Proof Of Concept

In hindsight, it a was generous offer by the aliens. Submit to genetic engineering and humanity's intelligence would be doubled.

They certainly have demonstrated what we missed out on. We were far too suspicious of the motives of others.

I shake the trotter of Lily, a piebald pig who took a scant five minutes to beat me at chess.

"Now that you're the most intelligent species on Earth, is there any need for mankind any more?"

She yawned. "They gave us intelligence, but you have opposable thumbs. There's going to be plenty of manual work for you humans to do."

From Guest Contributor Ross Clement

A Long Trip

The neighbor came over and knocked on my door. The rain fell in torrents.

“Come inside,” I said.

“I’m fine,” he said. “Just be a minute.” Garbed in a raincoat, he rested an axe against his shoulder.

“Returning this,” he said.

“Oh, thanks.”

“Might be a bit dull.”

“No problem. I have a whetstone.”

“Need another favor,” he said.

“Sure.”

“Need to borrow a shovel.” I thought it odd, but I fetched a shovel for him. He turned and began to leave.

“Hey Bill,” I said. “Is Grace back from her trip yet?”

He walked away. Only the wind replied.

From Guest Contributor Dave Lignell