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.
The Madison County Gentleman's Club Is Probably A Metaphor
I was banished from the Madison County Gentleman's Club for what they termed unbecoming behavior. There was no opportunity for an appeal, no three strikes and your out. One minute I was a member in good standing, the next it was all over. At least when my ex-wife asked for a divorce, I could see the warning signs, if only in hindsight.
Good luck demanding a refund. The complaints desk is located next to the breakfast bar. Members only.
I feel like there's got to be a better way to run a club. Evicted when I was just getting comfortable.
On The Money Trail
Family members need help. I oblige. I’m their doer of tasks.
Why me? I’m between jobs, behind with payments and I haven’t shopped for new clothes in ages. I guess they trust me to deliver. I’m okay with that.
No time to linger. Housebound auntie wants her groceries.
As I hasten, sunshine glues sweaty polyester to my back. I spot sparkles on the sunlit lawn along my walkway.
Coins! Many coins, strewn in a line towards the space where a car had once parked.
I gather, add up their value, sigh.
Someone’s emptied change-purse or pocket. My bit of fortune. From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs
Krystyna writes poetry, fiction and creative nonfiction regardless of the season or location she finds herself in.
A Theory Of Justice
The medical assistant asked in a flat, toneless bureaucratic voice how I would describe the pain. Stabbing? Aching? Sharp? Dull? She entered my answer on the form, but without showing any actual concern. A philosopher once said – or should have – that a society is only as just as its treatment of its most vulnerable members: the old, the sick, the poor, the institutionalized. Using a dropper, I strategically place .50 milliliters of Triple M tincture under my tongue. I wait fifteen, twenty minutes, and then gray-clad troops burst from the treeline with a rebel yell. The tongue is all muscle.
From Guest Contributor Howie Good
Howie is the author of Failed Haiku, a poetry collection that is the co-winner of the 2021 Grey Book Press Chapbook Contest and scheduled for publication in summer 2022.
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