#100WW - Jan 22, 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!
7 thoughts on “#100WW – Jan 22, 2025”
The Light Is Dark
The light hovering overhead flickered as I stood in his narrow room, surrounded by stacks of books, newspapers, and crumpled pieces of paper.
The air smelled of stale breath.
I cracked open the window, and a frigid blast of air pushed through like water.
He had become a recluse these last few years, writing fervently about everything that came to his mind, which was usually nothing of consequence.
I sat on his bed, smoothing a discarded page on my thigh. “I fear the world is better off without me,” it started.
“I fear you were very much mistaken,” I said.
The Universe Is A Raven
The universe is a raven with a stick, prying grubs from bark; a young girl immersing herself in a wonderland of pages; a high school boy spending lunchtime hunched over a microscope.
The quest of the universe begins with cooling atoms. They spin nebulae where first stars flare, live fast, and die hard. Their deaths scatter stardust, sowing the seeds of life.
After Goldilocks eons, intelligence blossoms, and the universe contemplates itself through the minds it has created.
The universe is an old woman peering through a backyard telescope. Everything she sees illuminates her cosmic mind … and the universe itself.
A Copy of *Little Women*
Gladys longed for times when she read *Little Women* under the warmth of incandescents. Caressing the handsewn cover, she missed Vera and Zelda.
They shared this volume around, one sister to another, until the leather became butter soft. Each of them claimed the “best” March sister. Vera thought herself lovely like Meg; Zelda enjoyed Amy’s artistry. And Gladys? Felt a kinship with Jo, the book-reading tomboy.
With each turned page, Gladys recalled moments: first dates then the 1918 influenza, later weddings and transcontinental flights. How they all scattered. And now Gladys was the last. She held the book’s memories tight.
Darkness again
I awake. Light, too much light. Flooding my eyes. I shut them. I blink. I see the bulb.That damn bulb. The filaments want to burn me. They seem to pulse angrily at me. Wait, I can’t move. What’s going on? I’m flat on my back. On some sort of table. And I can’t move. Where am I? The smell is terrible. Bleach. Formaldehyde. Disinfectants. I try to move my arms but I can’t feel them. Numbness. My legs, everything is numb. A noise. Footsteps. Someone is coming. A sheet is carefully placed over my body. I am in darkness again.
Clara Sends Her Love
Mabel always thought she was mere filament to Rory’s booming personality. He was sunshine in a winter room, and she felt like winter itself. Except of course when she sang. One night, about a week after my wife died, I heard the most beautiful sound coming from outside, from right beneath my bedroom window. When I looked out, there was Mabel, barefoot in a white cotton dress, eyes closed, singing my wife’s favourite song. When she finished, she looked at me with the brightest, bluest eyes, smiled and whispered,” Clara sends her love, Analise”. Thing is, Mabel never met Clara.
shadesofgreen@bluesky
**When Chandeliers Fall**
The stench of over-cooked cream made my stomach squirm to retain the squash and grits. Leave it to Aunt Grimm’s portrait with inflamed boils to finish the task as I mounted the stairs.
Benedict requested assistance despite having two working hands. Has gold’s value fallen so?
Norma transcribed my intent to find replacements – posthaste. If that letter failed to produce results, she’d collect herself too.
In the morning, I discovered that Carter’s counsel included collusion to plunder my corporation’s assets.
Time to purge my shoddy servants before they too struck my exposed underbelly. I flicked on the light.
Nothing remained.
RETIREMENT
We will need to change all of the lightbulbs, all of the switches, the ceiling and floors. We will paint the outside green, and the insides, then sit inside, watching how the surf swells the waves crest, and the mountain bathes in soft pink light.
I’ll walk a mile for coffee in the mornings, more for the talk with Todd, the Bistro owner. And on my walks, I’ll study the moss covered trees and think of poems.
But first, the lights, and the ceiling, and the floors.
A year ago, I
stood above an arroyo,
saw the trail go north.