Happy Birthday

It was pouring rain, but I just couldn’t leave on his birthday, Christmas Day. I placed the pine cone wreath against the headstone, the red bells I added for the holiday chiming.

Drenched, I kneeled and said a silent prayer. I teared at the memory of his last birthday, ecstatic after he tore open the wrapping and saw it was golf clubs; his blue eyes lit the room.

I stood for a few more minutes reflecting.

As I touched the tombstone, I felt a shiver up my arm and one of the bells landed by my foot.

“Happy Birthday, Georgie.”

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Memories

When I walked into the restaurant, everyone yelled surprise and my heart palpitated with joy. A large sign above the room read “Happy Birthday, Breanna,” and my eyes watered. It was overwhelming with family and friends vying for my attention to plant kisses on my cheek, but thankfully my best friend Tina asked everyone to take a seat.

Tina asked us to raise our glasses for a toast, and I teared at the memories she shared. It didn’t seem possible it was that long ago when we were young and couldn’t wait to grow up.

If only Ted was here.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Runaround

For his eighteenth birthday, Lathan got magical boots from Grandpa, so nobody could catch him up.

When cyclopes attacked the village, Lathan ran into a leafless forest, where witches boiled bones in cauldrons; so he fled to the Glass Mountain, opaque crystals everywhere, and their shimmering princess offered engagement; flushed in embarrassment, Lathan roved to a roadside tavern, mocked by goblins, and a bounty placed on his head. He circled around the empire for a month but eventually ended up at home.

As cyclopes growled, Lathan finally faced his worries, selling the boots for a rusty sword at the blacksmith.

From Guest Contributor Bettina Laszlo

Bettina writes fiction to convey what is beyond expression. Her work has appeared in NUNUM, Dragonfly educational programme, and is forthcoming at 101 Words. She lives in Budapest with her fiancé.

'13-Shot’ Frank

The Old West had its deadly gunslingers like 'Wild Bill' Hickok, Wyatt Earp, and Doc Holliday. Then, there were poorer slingers like '13-Shot' Frank. Yes, Frank had lost 13 consecutive fights and had the bullets in him to prove it. Still, he limped on to his 31st birthday.

Doc Jenkins had pulled him through each time, unable to extract a single slug. He was called by Frank's landlord to the bedside.

"Can you keep him alive for a couple more rent payments?"

Was this the end? Doc Jenkins could handle wounds and fractures. But chronic lead poisoning was another matter.

From Guest Contributor David Sydney

Mr. Robot

Robots Contest Entry:

I wanted a new laptop for my seventeenth birthday, but my parents bought me a robot instead.

It’s not that bad, I call it Mr. Robot. I know, it’s not that creative, but the name is fitting for a machine, and it’s become a friend. I programmed Mr. Robot to speak and follow commands. Its square eyes and grey metal body are scary to look at, but hey, it does what I need it to do.

In fact, my parents didn’t consider that it is a computer and can give me the answers to my homework.

A win all around.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

The Cave

Today is his wife’s birthday. Five years later, a ghastly memory lingers over him. He cringes recalling the cave tour he planned for his adventurous wife. Now, he desperately yearns for her.

A cold breeze sends shivers down his spine while he silently fights back tears. His grief-stricken heart is infuriated by Mother Nature’s cruelty.

He still hears echoes of his wife’s pleas to rescue their child from nature’s wrath. Ruthless in stealing her, now this cold cave is blessed with his wife’s beautiful soul.

A flurry of air passes through him as her immortal love warms the hollow cave.From Guest Contributor Hetal Shah

Hetal Shah graduated with her Bachelor of Commerce from SIES. She lives in Mumbai with her husband, son, and daughter. She rekindled her hobby of writing over the past year. She is the winner of Mumbai Poetry League 2020, and her poem was published in an anthology by Poets of Mumbai called Guldastaa A Bouquet of Poems. She also writes flash fiction, and has been published twice on 101words.org. She loves to read, and especially enjoys reading and writing stories of romance and everyday life. Besides writing, she enjoys cooking new cuisines, traveling, and singing.

The Paisley Tattoo

We couldn’t afford real tattoos – we were too young, anyway – so we borrowed a stick-and-poke kit and I let Jim attempt a yin-yang symbol on my back. Mom called Jim the artistic twin; said he needed an outlet – but that was the encouragement of a mother loving her son too hard. His sweaty hands shook and slipped; after an hour, he quit, and we never spoke of it again. On our eighteenth birthday I had my brother’s work converted to a paisley that I’d later recreate for a favorite tie; Jim spent his money on a different set of needles.

From Guest Contributor Rich Gravelin

Rich writes short fiction from the woods of central Maine.

The Voice

Beginning on his sixteenth birthday, Kevin began to hear a voice in his head. A friendly voice, it offered advice and made recommendations regarding both important and unimportant topics alike. Kevin thought of it as a friend.

As time passed, the voice gradually became more insistent about certain themes. Of particular concern to the voice was what car insurance Steven used. This seemed like an unimportant matter to Steven, who was content to stay on his parents' insurance policy with Allstate. This extremely bothered the voice, and eventually Steven relented.

This 100-word story has been brought to you by Geico.

The Stuttering Fool

"She sells sea shells by the seashore."

I practiced 'til my eighteenth birthday. My last day of stuttering.

"I will ask Betty Montgomery on a date," I told myself.

When I walked onto the beach behind her sea shell stand, I heard her say to her friend, Jill: "He's such a stuttering fool." She was talking about me. I couldn't ask her but I stayed stutter free.

I bumped into her at the grocery store yesterday.

"Damn, you look good!" Time had been good to her too but I couldn't tell her.

"Who was that, Pa-Pa?" My grandson asked.

"Nobody."

From Guest Contributor E. Barnes

The Eve Before Halloween

The eve before Halloween I visit Melissa’s gravesite and place abouquet of yellow roses against her stone. She'd be thirty years oldtoday. The cemetery is empty, and the rain is cold against my face, butI am here.

“Hi, Sweetie. In honor of your favorite holiday, I’m having a Halloweenparty and celebrating your birthday tomorrow. I wish you could be here,”I say, tearing. I walk to my car briskly, the umbrella inside out fromthe wind.

The rain becomes heavy and when I drive off, the petals of the rosesblow in front of my car.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher