Gram’s Highest Calling

I hadn’t seen Gram at her normal function of serving since those days when I often joined her for her lemon pie. Not because she made it best, but because she needed me to receive it. Her God-given role of serving was dismissed when Gramps passed the nicer way; ‘Goodbye,” he’d whispered, then departed.

Time to let her go, service to others fulfilled. Her release not comforted with him at her side. She’d served her mission the best she could.

Mother phoned this morning. I heard the message in the ring. “She’s gone. It’s all done, but not all said.”

From Guest Contributor The Poet SPIEL

Established communicator of the arts, 81-year-old internationally published queer author/artist, storyteller, The Poet Spiel, writes of social conflict, satire noir, and personal hurdles.

The Client

Nights are always long in my profession

But tonight was longer than usual, for a client I never expected to had blessed my workplace. My brother saw his little sister lying legs open on the bed. The color of my client changed, from blushing pink to raging red. I searched for a blanket to conceal my bare body, when I noticed his disgust. On what grounds would he question my morals when he himself wanted to avail the services provided by our brothel. So, he dragged his feet right out of the doors he knocked on a few minutes ago.

From Guest Contributor Krishna Sehgal

I Scream

I love eating ice cream with Tom, we go to Cold Stone Creamery down the road whenever I'm feeling down. The 2 things that can cheer me up whenever I am not feeling the best, Tom and Chocolate Ice Cream. I asked him “Why are we here today?” “Well, you don’t seem like you’re very happy honey, thought a cup could cheer you up,” he says smiling like he always does. He looks so adorable. I want to remember this forever, I take my phone to click a picture and there is nothing. Today marks one year since Tom passed.

From Guest Contributor Mariam Dinah Jacob

My Eyes Opened To Darkness

My eyes opened to darkness, as I fumbled around to find my phone. The bright screen hurt to look at, but pain was overcome by the satisfaction of knowing it was only 3 AM. Quickly, I confirmed the presence of my roommate's dark figure, fast asleep. I was yet to grow out of my fear of monsters in the dark; knowing she was here helped me sleep. Next time I awoke, she looked worried.

"Was someone else here?"

"What do you mean?" my stomach dropped.

"I just got back from Ritika's place, but my bed's been slept in."

I shrieked.

From Guest Contributor Vaishavi V. Jituri

Imminent

The blow knocks me and my horse to the ground. I reach for my sword and swing at the enemy, his roars deafening. My leg is cut, and the breath is knocked out of me, but I endure the pain for my king and country.

Another foe is coming toward me. A comrade rushes to my aide and stabs him in the abdomen. He gushes blood from the mouth and dies.

I manage to fend off my attacker for now. One of us will tire.

And so, it seems death is imminent for him as my sword pierces his heart.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Chair

Once a month the dance band section of the Lake Oswego Millennium Concert Band plays at a local Oregon church. It mostly plays big band numbers from the 1940s and 1950s. Many of the dancers are middle aged or older couples who ballroom dance. Some singles come and dance with different partners, and there is an attractive young couple. Editor and I combine some basic steps with my freestyle wildness. The big attraction is the fellow in a wheelchair who moves expertly while waving one hand. He usually is with a woman who follows him while holding his other hand.

From Guest Contributor Doug Hawley

For MM

The ground is wet with rain, and yet a book is lying there dry. I pick it up. Whoever snapped the photo used on the cover was either too excited or in too much of a rush to hold the camera steady. The faces of the naked women standing in an open field are blurred, less visible than their dark triangles of pubic hair. Soldiers gesturing with rifles have lined the women up in front of a burial trench. The women, still concerned for decency, keep their arms folded modestly over their breasts. Everything that isn’t a predator is prey.From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie's latest poetry book is Swimming in Oblivion: New and Selected Poems from Redhawk Publications. He co-edits the journal UnLost, dedicated to found poetry.

My Setting Sun

We sit on the beach watching a summer sunset, foamy saltwater encroaching upon our bare toes. Distant mountains cut jagged lines in the sky. We’re laughing, your warm arm around my shoulders. I glow in your rare happiness, believing you’ll stay with me always.

I sense you withdrawing as the sun sinks behind the mountains, air chilling as the golden orb dwindles. Just before it disappears, my soul cries: don’t fade away, don’t leave.

The sun pauses, a yolk balancing on the highest peak.

The moment breaks. Your arm falls from my shoulders.

My soul aches as the sun vanishes.

From Guest Contributor Katla Watersin

Please Support A Story In One Hundred Words

Hey readers of my humble little flash fiction site! Can you believe we've been at this for more than a decade???

I love supporting all of you writers out there, but the reality is that it's hard for me to find the time every week to make sure I'm updating regularly. The best way you can support the site, besides submitting your own original stories, is to purchase one of my books on Amazon. If you enjoy microfiction, then you'll love Picasso Painted Dinosaurs, with never-before-read stories mixed in with some of my all time favorites. Other options include Quitting The Grave, a murder mystery set on the Oregon Trail, They Both Loved Vonnegut, a collection of modern fairy tales, and Ahab's Adventures In Wonderland, a mashup of Alice In Wonderland and Moby Dick.

Thanks to all the readers and writers out there! Here's to another decade of stories!

Payback

On their Golden Anniversary, he started calling her by different names and nicknames on a random basis – Stewie and Stewbabe, Audrey, Boobala, Doc, Squig, and so on – knowing he’d never forget her real name, but figuring that when he finally reached the peak of Mt. Alzheimer he’d be able to cover it up a little longer, give her less to worry about.

One morning, she asked him, “Did you sleep well, ummm…” hesitating as if trying to recall his name.

“Yes I did,” he replied, frowning at her smile.

After that, he knew he’d never play the alias game again.From Guest Contributor Ron. Lavalette

Ron.’s debut chapbook, Fallen Away (Finishing Line Press) is now available at all standard outlets. Many of his published works can be found at EGGS OVER TOKYO