#100WW - Mar 5, 2025
photo prompt
100 word story
Write something that moves us in exactly 100 words, inspired by the photo above!
Additionally, First-time comments are held for moderation. Once approved, they post automatically.
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!
9 thoughts on “#100WW – Mar 5, 2025”
** Butterfly Confetti **
Whenever a flower in the garden blooms, I imagine your smile as you would stare out the window, our kids swinging on the rope. Just like the sun enveloping the plant with warmth, your love stretched around them like overlapping petals, protecting, comforting, always nurturing. Each plant painted like a delicate masterpiece, as deep as the ocean with colors spanning multiple spectrums.
A monarch butterfly landed and kissed the stamen before struggling to maintain course as a stiff wind cleared a path. Pollen falls from the abdomen, scattered like confetti.
I pray that wherever you are now, flowers still exist.
Something About Raindrops
Although Mabel was said to be the more melancholy of the twins, she had a singing voice like spring and loved flowers. She also loved the rain. It was during one of those scattered spring storms, the kind that herald an early blooming, that she disappeared the first time. She was gone for 3 days, and when she returned, she refused to tell anyone where she’d been, even Rory. She always kept her darkest secrets hidden in the back of her throat. The only remnant of that disappearance was three small raindrops tattooed on the inside of her left wrist.
shadesofgreen.blusky.social
Winter and Spring
There’s a woman reading by the window. She looks like my sister, and I am secretly staring at her when some giggling high-school girls barge in and disturb us. I give them a dirty look. My sister glances up, smiles, and the gigglers use her kindness like a permission slip to keep carrying on.
The Librarian scolds them.
Our mother once said that if we were seasons, I would be winter—cold and unpredictable with sparce moments of sun—and my sister would be spring—breezy and inviting with bright pops of color.
Her glasses are red. Mine are black.
@meeshmeyerwrites (IG)
I love this!!!!
Fig Leaf
The pastor viewed scripture like the menu at a top-shelf steakhouse. A la carte. And the sides he preferred dangled rewards more tangible than ethereal. Prosperity. Helping his daughter with her botany homework, he learned to his dismay from her brazenly secular textbook that the innards of a flower, the pistil, stigma, are the blossom’s genitalia, flagrantly displayed like Salome. He recalled the good book on lilies of the field. How they worried not about clothing. Hence, the lily pad. Modesty shield for flora. Think of the funeral market alone. Why render unto anyone what you can keep for yourself?
So Good!
On the third day when the Lord created you, my succulent wild flower, it was obvious He thought of you first, long before he cast a spell on Adam and took a rib to make Eve.
On the dawn following your creation, the new sun rose afterwards and bloomed you, it’s yellow darts penetrating your delicateness.
Your fragrance reminds me of the garden of Eden.
Of ancient Rome and it’s antiquities.
Of spices.
Of peace and love.
Come closer to me delicate flower and bruise me with your tender petals.
Let me suckle the dew of youth, Medusa’s longevity.
Ex Nigro et Albo Hiemis
It’s from the east facing window that I watch spring, although this morning, winter’s fog obscures the view from just beyond the windowsill, but no matter—my mood is unmoored—because that amber warning to winter is blooming bright as a lantern. Yes, the crocuses are blooming; yes, the birdbath has remained fluid as spit all week; and yes, a butterfly landed on my arm. Soon the lavender will be blooming, my wide-brimmed hat will be at easy reach, and I’ll add fresh mint to my tea. But for now, I’ll watch spring sing in the crocuses from the east facing window.
@miskmask
Lovely, like poetry!