#100WW - June 4, 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!
6 thoughts on “#100WW – June 4, 2025”
Mother’s Daughter
Holding the photograph, I see what I’ve never seen before. My mother. Young. Without worry. Her face as open as the sky above her. I want to reach in, touch the hand that looked like mine before it curled with arthritis. She called her twisted fingers “sculptural.” A joke that made everyone else feel comfortable. That was her way. Always comforting, seldom comforted.
What did her eyes see, I wonder. What bird, what cloud before the long marriage, the six demanding children?
I step outside. A cottonwood tree fell during last year’s storm. I climb its body to find out.
How to Deal with Visions and Annunciations
Maria knew lying on the fallen tree trunk surrounded by virgin pine forest should still her mind, but truthfully she just felt uncomfortable. She worried about rolling off, about beetles bumbling under her, about the imprint the bark would leave on her skin. But at least here her mind turned to these possibilities of the moment. She needed that break from ruminating about what was afoot in her body. She didn’t want to consider the changes to come or think about how she’d tell Giuseppe. She could already see his narrowed eyes and turned lips, already hear him, “Angels? Pah!”
The Beholder
Gallerygoers elbow up front to gawk at the ethereal woodland nymph, seemingly at one with the fauna. They prattle about Ansel Adams channeling Wyeth, wondering of what dreams the maiden as she gazes skyward.
Well, I can tell them. Only I.
She’s glad she waxed her right pit. She’s trying to fend off the creepy photog with his greasy topknot, oversharing in his gray sweatpants. Trying to get through another hour of this without scratching her nose so she can get home to a dinner of cigs and French fries and BuzzBallz and pick the splinters out of her ass.
I love the contrast in tone between the first paragraph and the last. Great.
Thx. Love these weekly pics
Sometimes you’re depressed so long you don’t feel depressed anymore. Just tired. Everything is fog. You forget how sunlight touched your skin. You forget if sunlight is real. You’re in the blackness of space and don’t know if you’ll feel sunlight again but god, you want to, to get close enough that you burn up so you’re something more than this desolate, melancholic apathy; you would become Icarus for the chance to fly, let the wax on your wings melt to meet Apollo, fall in the ocean to feel cold on your skin and have it finally Wake You Up —