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.
Stop doomscrolling and start fiction browsing.
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.
Missed Connections
The waiter comes around to check on me again. I avert my eyes in embarrassment and try to discreetly check the time on my phone. Going on two hours now. I should really give up.
“Sitting inside! Text me when you get here x”
Sent.
Delivered.
Read.
Ignored.
I sigh and crumple. I call the waiter over. I order a drink. “Of course, madam,” he says as he scurries away. Was that a look of pity in his eyes? I decide I’d rather be drunk than dwell on that any longer.
Man. Remind me to never use this app again.
From Guest Contributor Rachel Martz
To Clara: Regarding Your Critique
You shared your writing with me. An extension of friendship, like a handshake. More like the reaching out of hands with the chance to be held – or swatted – open palmed. Sharing...emptying pockets to reveal hidden things among the embarrassment of collected lint, is a dangerous proposition. Your shadows merged with mine, achieving the density of darkness that brings on the dawn. How can I thank you? For selflessly taking my hands and guiding me to an unknown resting place within the pages of you. I spoke in an attempt to reciprocate. My words: sandpaper to your beach of memory.
From Guest Contributor Keith Hoerner
Share Your Story
Want to see your story on our website? We’d love to share your work. Click the link below and follow the submission guidelines. Just make sure your story is exactly 100 words.