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.
Changing
"You've changed," she said, as I held her in my arms. She had no idea how much, how often! But I wasn't the man she'd known before, and I could see she'd leave me soon.
There was no time for whining, I needed to act. I spent days shaping the perfect moment to make my move: the roses were divine, the wine an excellent vintage, and moonlight glinted on brass candlesticks. She didn't see it coming.
Afterwards, I crunched down on her bones, and cleaned my muzzle in the bowl by the door. Then I ran to rejoin my pack.From Guest Contributor Alastair Millar
Alastair is an archaeologist by training, a translator by trade, and a nerd by nature. His published flash and micro fiction can be found here.
The Untimely Demise Of A Teenage Rebellion
Heather relaxed into the sofa. The best word to describe her sessions with Dr. Goldstein was therapeutic. She especially took pleasure in the way her stories shocked the old man.
Today, she was relating a particularly scandalous dream, one involving a milkman and a silk robe.
"I must interrupt, Heather. Isn't a milkman rather anachronistic for a teenager's dream?"
Heather tried piecing together an explanation that involved vintage reruns, but it eventually unraveled. Still, the umbrage her therapist took when he learned Heather had been sharing entries from her mother's diary all along made up for her deception's untimely demise.
The Anniversary
The mirror was unkind. Struggling to zip the reclaimed wedding gown, she closed fading blue eyes. The scent of fresh roses mingled fern, the coolness of pearl against deep furrowed neck. Weathered, shaking hands smoothed vintage satin. Gently opening the floral hat box, once belonging to grandmother. Keepsakes of that day hidden for decades welcomed light. The tea length veil distorted graying hair, a pair of ivory gloves, stained by spilled wine from an over zealous toast. "Somewhere My Love" played in her head, lifting her gown she twirled. Singing softly. He watched without her knowing, not wanting to interrupt.
From Guest Contributor Christy Schuld
Share Your Story
Want to see your story on our website? We’d love to share your work. Click the link below and follow the submission guidelines. Just make sure your story is exactly 100 words.