#100WW - Jan 1, 2025 Happy New Year!
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!
4 thoughts on “#100WW – Jan 1, 2025”
The Lady Projects Too Much
When I left she called me poison. “Tattoo it on your forehead so people know what they’re getting.”
She called me every day to remind me that I was worthless and unlovable; that I needed the kind of help only a professional could provide.
She wrote everything in a two-page letter that I kept in a cardboard box because I blamed myself for everything she did.
Ten years later, I burned that letter and watched her hatred fall softly to the ground. But nothing I did washed her words off my skin until I realized they weren’t meant for me.
Notre Corps
The heron spears a fish from the pond before me. I bite into the dripping sweet flesh of the mango and lay it on my tongue, warm and melting. And now emerges Maman. From the ever near house empty of windows. She pours over me. As does night over colours. Our mouth, laden with poison and we—swallow? Descends in knots within us the woeful which shall emplace yet more adiposity than already is in our miserable body, and we must wrench it all out—I have heard of fish that can leap out of the water and fly away.
Mrs. Anderson
He was so tiny, the little boy. A real terror. The kind that makes you shake your head and laugh.
His mother, my neighbor, used to push him outside like a wild dog, always another baby on her hip.
I didn’t drive very often. Mostly to the Piggly Wiggly and back.
When I saw the cardboard box sitting in the middle of the road, I stopped to pick it up. He was sitting underneath it, said he wanted to know how it would feel to get hit by a car.
I remember how he held my hand while I cried.
Can’t yet
Your head is lost in a box – where you believe what you want to be true.
Because you trusted the wrong person but you can’t yet face it.
The box you are lost in, hides the broken trust, words and windows.
You are like Alice, lost in a rabbit hole that only you can see.
Where she shines instead of being the tarnished thing that the rest of the world views.
Whilst you are lost in your box, dreaming of outcomes never to be.
I am next to you, holding out my hand but you can’t yet see – the box.