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.

Vanity

There was a man I knew. He thought himself very clever and asserted he was better than me. His wrongs were a count of never (despite his relations often severed), and he swore he despised all lies. He would never show his heart, for if he had, we would plainly see a cruel and twisted thing failing his acclaim to measure. Many shared his only aim was to play people as pawns in his game. Misery was all his company could bring. Now he calls, and I neglect to answer. If perfection is his alone, I’d rather not the pleasure!

From Guest Contributor Jessah Rutledge

Jessah is a Marketing and Admin Assistant for a Realty Company and a Pikes Peak Community College student studying Fine Arts and Writing.

How High The Moon

Many years have passed since both horrific creatures, Count Dracula and the Wolf Man, fell over the cliff's edge, plummeting into the sea below. Never seen or heard from again.

But as it was said, time and wars proceeded to pass throughout the globe. While this cursed man's battle never ends.

Witness the horrors of a desperate man that defines new meanings such as, love and happiness, for his restful end.

If only that where true. To finally have my soul released from this misery, this burden... This curse.

I then chuckle, before frantically saying...

But, I can never die.

From Guest Contributor Jason Jenkover

His Touch

Staring out of the frosty window, Samaira inhaled the misty air. She was captivated by her onerous thoughts when, suddenly, an arm coiled around her petite waist. The touch of her stepfather suffocated her. She loathed the repulsive sensation of his hand brushing against her body. Still, she surrendered to the molestation silently so her dying mother could pass peacefully. Years after her mother’s demise, she’s no longer startled by such fondling. She feeds on the arousal ignited by the stroke of a man’s body against hers. These carnal touches, which earlier caused misery, are now her gateway to riches.

From Guest Contributor Hetal Shah

Hetal Shah graduated with her Bachelor of Commerce from SIES. She lives in Mumbai with her husband, son, and daughter. She rekindled her hobby of writing over the past year. She is the winner of Mumbai Poetry League 2020, and her poem was published in an anthology by Poets of Mumbai called Guldastaa A Bouquet of Poems. She also writes flash fiction, and has been published twice on 101words.org. She loves to read, and especially enjoys reading and writing stories of romance and everyday life. Besides writing, she enjoys cooking new cuisines, traveling, and singing.

The Three Of Clubs

One night our guy grabs the deck of us and off we go to school. “Pick a card,” he says, walking around the classroom. Yes, we’re old, with some bent corners and a few stains, our winning days behind us. But to be held up and fanned out? Like we were some old chorus line, called up for one last show. I go right after my buddy, the Four of Clubs, to someone who sticks me in a book called Misery. And how! I was never one for the solitary life. All I wanted to do was play my part.

From Guest Contributor Linda Lowe

Linda's stories have appeared in Misfit Magazine, Star 82 Review, Bombfire Lit, and others.

Forgotten

He doesn't remember me. I used to be someone who was close to him. At least I thought I was close to him. He'd look at me as if I were a friend. He'd look at me as if I were a stranger but what exactly was in those eyes? In those sparkly eyes, was that affection, sympathy, or simply pity?

Seeing him walking down the street were the only happy moments of my life. Doesn't he remember he saved me once and every day since then from all my misery. Well, the truth is I don't remember him either.

From Guest Contributor Sergio Nicolas

Possibly Stephen

The writer stared at the page, expecting inspiration to spring at him from the fibres of the old-style reporters’ notebook.

Words trickled...gushed...cascaded. He ripped the page out, rolled it into a tight ball and chucked. It bounced off the bin, thran as the incorporeal muse.

“What was wrong with that?” she asked, form flickering in the draught.

“It was in Latin,” he spat.

She giggled a bit. “Sorry, my mind wandered. I know, how about–?”

“Look, could you put on something less filmy. It’s distracting. Tired, not dead.”

“Tweeds okay?”

He nodded, and wrote Misery.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid

The Incubus

When misery left, I missed it dearly. Numbness arrived in its place--an evil lurking miles below sorrow.

Then the Incubus came. His fingers soothed me, dancing like spiders across my back, before plucking me from my flesh.

Exquisite melodies escaped his mouth instead of language. I understood every word.

He held me on his fist, soaring me to gloomy, lilac clouds. My body quaked, and it began to rain.My thoughts fluttered like butterflies. He captured them; sang my own song back to me.

Sadly, he was just a dream; but the Incubus cured me, bringing back my misery.

From Guest Contributor L. Michelle Corp

To Delete, Or Not to Delete

To delete, or not to delete, that is the question. Kurt stares at the highlighted name on his phone, and his finger hovers indecisively over the button that will erase Karen from his life forever. Eyes closed, he breathes deeply. Deleting would be the right thing to do, considering the misery she’s caused him. On the other hand, she was the source of some incredible moments in his life. Maybe she’ll come to her senses someday, he thinks. Maybe this isn’t quite the end. He opens his eyes, backs out of the directory, and leaves her there. Just in case.

From Guest Contributor Dan Slaten

Withdrawal Symptoms

It’s a four day cycle.

Day One: The wife drops off a computer then rushes out. Next her husband is on the phone demanding both diagnosis and priority repair.

Day Two: They make several phone calls throughout the day becoming angrier, more threatening, and more abusive with each call. Their lives are at a standstill.

Day Three: Their voices on the phone are now almost incoherent, a mix of rage and swearing.

Day Four: I phone advising job now complete, and cost, only to hear, “I’m too busy. I’ll pick it up next week.”

Their cold turkey misery is over.

From Guest Contributor Barry O'Farrell

Barry is an actor in Brisbane, Australia. Other stories by Barry have appeared in Cyclamens and Swords, 50-Word Stories and of course here at A Story In 100 Words.