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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Mysophobia

His washing machine breaks down, and he won’t let a repairman into the house, so he’s at the laundromat, after washing his hands six times, adjusting his surgical mask and eye goggles and latex gloves, removing the cover from his steering wheel and dusting the seat before driving; then choosing a machine, seeing some schmutz on it, spraying it transparent, staining his glove, looking up to see his future wife hand him a fresh one from her stockpile of cotton, rubber, and plastic gloves, the surprised man asking, Is that a real hazmat suit? but already thinking, I love you.

From Guest Contributor Cheryl Snell

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Our Night Out

Thomas was excited to see Our American Cousin at Ford’s Theatre. President Lincoln would be attending, and he was overwhelmed with contentment that he’d be there on the same night.

Inside the theater, Thomas took his wife’s gloved hand and offered her a seat before seating himself.

The play was amusing and colorful with a copious audience.

Above, Lincoln sat with his wife Mary enthralled with the actors, then a shot fired, and screams erupted. A man jumped onto the stage and yelled before fleeing, “Thus always to tyrants.”

That would be the one and only time I’d see Lincoln.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

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It Is Easier To Say Too Much On Readiness

You tell them you don’t want to hold her, you tell them this four times, then you fade, replaced of self by softness, sudden. When you wake, they are placing her on your chest. You cannot see her face, rather one primitive, pink hand, waving something uselessly away. But you can smell her. Her smell is yours, as if your body were turned in, then out, as a glove worn far too long, the wax and weight of you heavy, older, and they have made a wick of that youness and it has been lit for the first time now.

From Guest Contibutor, Kelli Allen

Kelli Allen’s work has appeared in numerous journals and anthologies in the US and internationally. She served as Managing Editor of Natural Bridge and holds an MFA from the University of Missouri. She is currently a Professor of English and Creative Writing at Lindenwood University. Allen gives readings and teaches workshops throughout the US. Her full-length poetry collection, Otherwise, Soft White Ash, from John Gosslee Books (2012) was nominated for the Pulitzer Prize.

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