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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Super
You’d probably call it spying, but how else to know when I should come? Sounds are a bit muffled after all this time. My body feels battered; too many buildings leapt at a single bound wreaked havoc on my joints. I’m not as fast either, for speeding bullets whiz by me, and this famous cape I still wear drags in the wind. Lois passed years ago, and where is Lex? Running some nursing home into the ground; I’ve no doubt. Yes, I fly lower and peer through your windows. I need you all now, more than you ever needed me.
From Guest Contributor Colleen Addison
Crazy Beat
The music thrummed and the people spasmed to the beat. They called it dancing. Martinez, observing from the shadows, thought it looked more like a crazed ritual or a medical disorder.
"Should we put a stop to it?"
Her partner shrugged his shoulders.
"Hard to believe this used to be popular."
"The dancing or the music?"
Martinez thought for a moment. "Both. Thank God it's been banned."
Her bosses at the enforcement authority feared the dancing would spread beyond the nursing home, but Martinez was certain no sane individual in the year 2045 would find pleasure in such deviant behavior.
Saturday Jog
Jogging through the park, I keep the pace feeling energetic and free. The breeze against my cheeks feels refreshing and the chirping birds fill the air with song.
It’s crowded for a Saturday morning and parents are up early with their children. I pass two women pushing their young children on the swings as the boys soar high and chortle. Other joggers pass and smile contently.
I finish my lap and take a seat on the bench gulping water.
After breakfast and a shower, I will go about my regular weekend visiting my dad in the nursing home memory unit.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Unfamiliar
It had been three years since Lea admitted her mother into the nursing home for Alzheimer patients. Sometimes she knew Lea and sometimes she was just a stranger visiting.
“Mom, wouldn’t you like to get some fresh air outside. Let me take you for a walk.” Lea pushed the wheelchair to the door.
“Where is my daughter? I don’t know you!” She struggled to break free from her wheelchair.
“I’m your daughter. It’s me, Lea.”
The nurse came in and helped Lea’s mother back into bed.
“I raised a nice girl.” Lea’s mother said.
It wasn’t Lea she spoke of.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
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