Apex Predator

Brad felt like his entire life had lead to this moment. The weeks of relentless training. The years of cutthroat business success that made the expedition possible. The lifetime of dedication and sacrifice that helped sharpen his discipline to the point where absolutely nothing could ever stand in the way of accomplishing his goals. Not his family, not his peers, not any of the many unimportant distractions fate might place on his path.

Now here he was at the top of the tallest peak in the world.

His guide congratulated him on the achievement.

"It's all downhill from here, sir."

So Lonely

Enlo's shallow breaths barely inhaled enough oxygen to maintain consciousness as he summited. Another goal accomplished. He surveyed the crests of the tallest mountains searching for some meaning to it all.

His assistant had urged he take a selfie, but he decided a photograph would only remind him of the futility. This expedition was meant to refresh him. All he felt was the impotence of the air around him.

Enlo Tuffin was the richest man in the world, and surely the unhappiest.

He started his descent. Nothing left but to punish the world for the misery it had brought him.

In Its Own Glory

“Tree looks unwell,” stated Dad.

“When was the last time you watered it, Robbie?” Mother asked their eldest offspring.

“Whoops! I forgot.”

Mother got the watering can out. After days of nurturing, the needles still cascaded to the floor.

“Need to add more decorations,” Dad beamed, holding a box of icicles.

On Christmas Eve they all gathered around the tree to sing carols. Selfies were taken between exclamations of “ooh and aah.”

“Christmas 2020!” exclaimed Mother. “COVID-19 edition.”

Extended family, among them the dearly departed, stared down from their portraits on the wall.

“Grandpa would’ve loved this tree,” said Robbie.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna is a writer of poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. She resides in Edmonton, Canada with her husband, stuffed animals and many friends.

Grief, Lack, And The Last Transmission

The cities were brought to a grinding halt by the death of the Great Leader. There was grief and tears, on personal media feeds, the walls, the screens, holograms, everywhere, even the real faces and eyes.

The psychologist-in-charge at the ground control station of the manned extra-solar expedition warned her supervisor not to intimate the traveling crew. She had warned, but the supervisor in his grief, blurted out the news to the Captain.

That was the last the world ever heard of the traveling space shuttle and of its crew. XT9 became a haze among the frequencies and disappeared forever.

From Guest Contributor Debarun Sarkar

Debarun sleeps, eats, reads, smokes, drinks, labors and occasionally writes stories and submits them. Recent works have appeared or are forthcoming in Visitant, Off the Coast, The Opiate, Aainanagar, Literary Orphans, Friday Flash Fiction and here at A Story in 100 Words, among others. He can be reached at debarunsarkar.wordpress.com

The Expedition

The expedition lasted for several weeks. The scientists carried all their own supplies, which consisted mostly of food and batteries. After week two, they set the record for deepest penetration into the Earth's surface. By that point, they had stopped trying to map the cavern, and just kept going further down.

Finally, the heat prevented them from traveling any deeper. They found a promising stalactite and began taking measurements.

"The readings are positive, sir."

Even here. It was truly hopeless then. The rise of hipsterism was complete. There was literally no place left on Earth that wasn't dripping in irony.

Anthropology 101

You hear the droning, a high-pitched whistle that keeps interrupting your sleep. It's your anthropology professor, bombinating about some god awful theory of ethnography that can't possibly be as interesting as the dream you're having.

You hate anthropology and its awkward mixture of science and philosophy. What does Dr. Dunham have to tell you about modern-day reality.

And then you understand that life was all an illusion, that the reality may be that you are spending your last living moments in the Arctic on a scientific expedition, and as you die of exposure, the 100-mile-per-hour winds whistle in your ear.

The Anthropologist At Work

We'd been on the expedition for months when we encountered our first Frost Giant. He was massive, as large as twelve men put together and three stories tall. He set upon our horses first, breaking their backs and swallowing them whole while the men fled in panic. His hair was thick with rime and his clothes--let's call them rags--hung off him like cheap Christmas ornaments.

Once the creature was done with the horses, he began on the men. His laughter filled the valley with thunder, but all I could think about was how he needed a proper bath.