Jealousy As An Occupation

Lisa has a hard time explaining her job. To be fair, she might have a harder time believing it herself.

"People hire me to be jealous of them. Sometimes I write a bunch of comments on their socials saying how I wish I could be more like them. Or I might burst in on a client while he's on a date begging for him to take me back because he's the best thing that's ever happened to me. It's a great boost to their self-esteem."

"And they pay you for this?"

"I'm really good at wishing I were someone else."

Trick Play

"Ooh, a street magician. Let's watch!"

Bill kept his sigh to himself, not wanting to disappoint his date. Women always enjoyed vapid entertainments and he was used to indulging them. At least in the beginning.

"Sure."

This magician seemed to be of the most mundane sort, relying on rudimentary sleight of hand and clumsy misdirection. Bill had seen all these tricks on YouTube and delighted in calling out the techniques to the onlookers and ruining the illusion. Sheila dragged him away with an embarrassed apology.

It wasn't until the waitress brought the check that Bill realized his wallet had disappeared.

Yesterday Once More

Dr. Billows pressed Go on his time machine. Inside the vessel nothing happened. But through the window, everything in his lab stretched and distorted into a brilliant mixture of light and darkness, indicating he was tunneling into space time. His calculations had been correct, at least the first part.

As quickly as the journey began, it ended. After checking the console and confirming the date at his destination, he unsealed the hatch.

He emerged into his laboratory exactly one day earlier. Confronted with his past self, he told himself not to ask Dr. Morgan on a date later that night.

The Missed Date

I first saw you in the waiting room. I had an appointment with the oncologist. I was waiting. You waited too, month after month, for the trial results. You often came alone. You often sat alone in a corner, fiddling with the ring finger. The absence of a ring created a note of discord. It took me six months to gather courage to ask your name, your hobbies, your favourite colour, flower, song, season. For a date finally. You said yes. I wore blue and ordered one hundred and one tulips for the day. The day I attended your funeral.

From Guest Contributor Marzia Rahman

Marzia is a Bangladeshi fiction writer and translator. Her writings have appeared in several print and online journals. Her novella-in-flash If Dreams had wings and Houses were built on clouds was longlisted in the Bath Novella in Flash Award Competition in 2022. She is currently working on a novella.

For The Taking

“Men line up for me gingerly,” I told my friend.

“Lucky you,” she remarked. “Hasn’t happened for me in months. Last one was a real flop.”

“Sorry to hear that,” I consoled, suddenly aware of my insensitivity. “When you’re ready, I can send one or two over to you.”

She was stunned, telling me how she lacked the courage to date again.

“What I have to offer...well, they’re good looking and appealing in other ways.”

Silence prevailed. Then she spoke. “Seriously?”

“Absolutely. I can deliver my gingerbread men to you, or you can pick them up at my place.”

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes, poetry, fiction and creative nonfiction.

Mask

Jonathan burst into the office, waving a bunch of papers and screaming out loud: “It’s all a scam, it’s a hoax. I’ve got proof in my hands. It’s the government trying to control us and all of our movements” as he rips off his oxygen filter.

Just seconds later he starts gasping and drops dead almost immediately.

Proof was indeed given to be very careful with skepticism.

Little did they know he died of acute heart failure.

And that’s why till this date the inhabitants of Planet Ksam are being closely watched and are all wearing very uncomfortable oxygen filters.

From Guest Contributor Hervé Suys

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 Red Cardinal

Mark sat next to his motionless mother.

“How is she doing today,” Mark asked the nurse. A red cardinal perchedon the window sill chirped.

“The same. Quiet and still.”

Mark opened his journal and wrote the date. He spent his time writinghappy moments with his mother rather than spending time on a novel.

“Mom, look. There’s a red cardinal, your favorite bird.” Sophia’s mouthsagged, expressionless.

He sighed. “Mom, I’ll be back tomorrow.”

Mark left the room with a blank space in his journal. Alzheimer’s tookhis mother away and he didn’t know how to endure the emptiness.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Bumping Into An Old Friend

Like a beacon of an unkind fate the bald pate shines where his pink Mohawk once grew.

“Punk’s not dead,” he drools, the two pints of Heineken having gone to his head, when back in the day it would have taken five, or eight.

“Yeah, the spirit lives on,” I lie to this ghost from my past sitting alone in the bar without any hope of a date.

“Another pint?” the zombie asks, but I don’t hesitate with the well, it’s getting late, been nice to catch up, thanking God for boring suburbs, wife and kids, the nine to five.

From Guest Contributor Ian Fletcher

Ian studied English Literature at Oxford University many years ago. He has had short stories published in various genres in Schlock! Webzine, Schlock! Bi-Monthly, Short-story.me, Anotherealm, Under the Bed, A Story In 100 Words, and in anthologies by Horrified Press and Rogue Planet Press. He is an Affiliate Member of the Horror Writers Association.

Introduction

I hate going to the Introduction Agency to get a date. There is a certain sense of shame and failure.

This time it’s for a skiing, long weekend my boss has arranged. I can’t attend another company weekend alone.

“My screen has a record of your preference,” says the receptionist. “You last used our personal services four months ago. Your good credit qualifies you for bronze level membership. Would you like to join?”

Tempted, I nod my head.

“We can introduce you to Amber, model looks, brunette, elegant. Amber will be fully recharged in about ninety minutes. Care to wait?”From Guest Contributor Barry O'Farrell

Barry is an actor living in Brisbane, Australia. Barry's other stories can be found at Cyclamens & Swords, 50 Word Stories, and here at A Story In 100 Words.