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 Botanist
HUBRIS CONTEST:
Settled at the picnic table, I was teaching my three-year old granddaughter, Natalie, the process of planting seeds. Surrounded by supplies: seeds, cardboard egg cartons, a bag of soil, a big spoon and a spray bottle filled with water, Natalie carefully filled each section of the egg carton with soil. All the while I explained to her how seeds grow into plants if they have sun, water and food. I believed that she thoroughly understood. She was seriously working.
Grandpa joined us and asked, “What are you doing?”
“We are growing eggs!” Natalie boasted.
I’d better wait till she’s four.
From Guest Contributor Patricia Gable
Fond Memory
As I lifted my daughter in the air, her melodious laughter echoed. My wife waved and set the picnic table, her long blond hair blowing in the breeze. The birds chirped in unison and the squirrels scampered searching for food. The sun beamed without a cloud in the sky and I relished the day.
“Let’s go eat my little one,” I took her small hand in mine.
I sipped cold water and it cooled my insides. I kissed my wife on the lips and my daughter on the forehead, their smiles branded in my mind.
Tomorrow I leave for war.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Love Be The Devil, But It Won’t Get Me
We were watching the show from a splintered, weathered picnic table in front of the big stage at The Shack when she told me she was leaving me. It was midnight, but it was still a hundred degrees out and sweat rolled down my face and into my eyes as she walked away. The Burnside boys were singing their brand of gritty, corn liquor soaked blues. My heart thudded in my chest like it was threatening to make an appearance but the toes of my boots kept tapping the dirt and eventually I threw my head back and sang along.
From Guest Contributor Sarah Reddick
Sarah Reddick is a writer who is currently in the MFA program at Lindenwood University in St. Charles, Missouri. Her work has appeared in Cattywampus Magazine, Salt Zine, The Local Voice, and the Mid Rivers Review.
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