A Story In

100 Words

Literature in Tiny Bursts.

You are invited to the wonderful world of microfiction. Whether you’re a reader, a writer, or one of our future robot overlords, welcome! A Story In 100 Words is a community of literature enthusiasts no matter the length, but we have a special predilection for narratives exactly 100 words in length.

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Fire And Ice

“He took me for ten grand. Hustled me when I wasn’t in my right mind,” Demar mentioned. The waitress turned back, having forgotten a glass of water.

“So what’s happening to him now?” Jim asked.

“He’s losing everything. Never got a job. Had a streak of bad luck. Getting divorced.”

Looking at the water, Jim noticed it was mostly ice. “Well, that’s great. He deserved those things.”

“I knew this day would come. I didn’t know I’d feel sorry for him.” The water arrived. Demar took a sip, and the coldness of the ice sent a shiver down his spine.

From Guest Contributor Steve Colori

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Exquisite

The naked model sits, head bent, arms and hands relaxing. Her beauty is undeniable with pure white skin and long toned legs.

The room is quiet. Everyone is concentrating on brushstrokes and creating a perfect painting, while my quick brush movements against the canvas are remarkable. The background is colorful and the lines of her body immaculate.

“Well done, Nicholas,” says the instructor and pats my shoulder.

Eyes are on me and coldness fills the room.

Ignoring the glares, I concentrate on the finishing touches.

Before me is an exquisite, brilliant image.

My love. The lady who stole my heart.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

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Bottles Of Love

Nick is aroused by the clinking of bottles in the fridge. Mother’s having another drink.

That old clink, so familiar. It’s a constant sound since Dad took off, piercing Nick’s twelve-year old ears.

Cue Mother’s laughter, cackling. Cracked.

He can’t tell Mother what it means to see tenderness replaced by laughter. Rage. Bills go unpaid, furniture disappears. But night after night, bottles take over. Wine, vodka. Beer.

One night, Nick sneaks downstairs, removes each bottle with methodical coldness. Hurls each one at the floor.

He shatters again and again, surveys the ruins.

Tomorrow, more will appear. He’ll do it again.

From Guest Contributor Yash Seyedbagheri

Yash is a graduate of Colorado State University's MFA program in fiction. His story, "Soon," was nominated for a Pushcart. Yash’s stories are forthcoming or have been published in Café Lit, Mad Swirl, 50 Word Stories, and Ariel Chart, among others.

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