#100WW - Feb 19, 2025
photo prompt
100 word story
Write something that moves us in exactly 100 words, inspired by the photo above!
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Rules Are Simple
- Precisely 100 words (title excluded)
- Give it a Title
- Submit Story in Comment Box
- Include your X (Twitter) handle
- One entry (per person) per week
when
New prompts appear each Wednesday on the blog at 12 am EDT.
where
Post your entries in the comment box of the current week's prompt.
why
Foster connections and healthy habits of creativity.
100 Word Wednesday
Write something that moves us, and tell an entire story with only 100 words. Most importantly, share a story that begs to be read and reread!
#100WW Use hashtags and share on social! #comelaydownink
We nominate for awards, including Best of The Net. All submissions are considered for publication online and in our print mag.
Alternatively, we also have a New Submission Form for 100 Word Stories. With this in mind, submit only one story per month via the form. However, we encourage you to participate weekly on our blog in addition to one monthly submission.
On the first Wednesday of each month, we publish 2 selected 100 Word Stories (1 from submissions and 1 entry from the 100 Word Wednesday weekly prompts on the blog.)
Read other entries and comment on others. Lastly, this is a positive forum for feedback!
8 thoughts on “#100WW – Feb 19, 2025”
Fingers and toes
I remember his long twisted
Fingers and toes gaps large
I wish I got watch them grow
Just a heartbeat. Just.
It was a beautiful photographic print. high dynamic range. short focal length and a single, perfect foot, toes like a row of beans no bigger than the bean that you then were.
They meant well, the friends with their gift, rooting for us from their finish line, one lap ahead, as if their positivity could inject us with their luck, protect us from ours. We’d seen the heartbeat, you see.
I had a hand on your warm left foot, another on your shoulder, rocking with sobs. The sonographer apologised, wet eyed. Your heartbeat was all we ever got to see.
She’s Running
Ruth already checked Lilly’s temperature five times before they fled. Now she forgets the gift of her own hot breath, still too consumed by the taking, taking, taking.
The numbers are barely visible. Fat and blurry. Weak. Somehow sweating?
Adam will find them soon. Tease her for being “feverish” with worry. Thump her shoulder. Probably laugh.
She searches through the scrim of Lilly’s fleshy pink forehead. The thermometer glows. Again, again. What does the color offer? Not the green of relief. Not yet the red of panic. Just the unknown gold of the in-between — the yellow, yellow, yellow before GO!
Single Mother
When I was born, grandma gave me a penny jar, dropped in the first 20—a symbolic acknowledgement that I’d arrived with all fingers and toes.
I’ll pay you back, mom promised six years later after she cashed them all in, then fed me with my own money. Hotdogs. Mac & Cheese.
When welfare check came, she put a ten-dollar bill in my jar. Featherlight and flimsy I thought it was good for nothing. I whined, made a big show. It’s worth the same amount, she promised, her cheeks hollow with shame.
Certain things can’t be replaced. For example, mothers.
@meeshmeyerwrites (IG)
Ass Backwards
She didn’t trash the whole picture but she wanted to. Fawn listened to Dr. Bore (that’s what she called him) rattle away again about the postnatal complications he’d stemmed so heroically. When she could bear no more, she rose and grabbed the Sharpie from his desk. Approached the dramatic photo hanging behind his head. Entitled “Breach”. She struck through the offending label with short bold strokes. “This shows perfect presentation. Feet facing in. The mistake in naming is that the piece, like the whole process, should be viewed from the proper perspective. Not from the doctor’s view. From the mother’s.”
A Miracle Done
You laugh as if a cool sweep of sea has touched your feet, your toes white as snowdrops. In your wonderfully wide eyes, cool grass on a summer day is a miracle done. What will your first word be: some sound no one will comprehend until a tide of liquid laughter ripples beyond babble. A child’s laughter is treasure in the sand. Summer sun bends down on you lightly, and for all your years, your garden will grow faces with roses and black-eyed jewels with petals. And in an instant, you will be up and running … away from me.
forgot the @miskmask for X
Journey of a lifetime
I wait with bated breath when the head crowns; there’s no going back now.
One last heave, one final push, and I admire the new life, the new heartbeat. All the tender moments spent conceiving, the months labouring, and the hours delivering seem worth it—even if they don’t show on your face, yet.
I cut the cord, wait for the cry, and hand her to you. If your beauty could be enhanced, then it could only be thus.
I notice her feet, the first steps of a lifetime. Countless moments await us; joy, worry, pride, tears, contentment.
I love you.
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