#100WW - Oct 15, 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 – Oct 15, 2025”
The Smokehouse
Deep in the forest, the old smokehouse emitted a sweet fragrance as the oak staves smouldered. Outside were intact barrels, dismantled hoops and staves; the latter ready to become fuel. Inside, strips of salted flesh hung on multiple metal hangers, absorbing the tenderising smoke, alongside hams of various sizes hanging on strings.
It required a couple of days before the curing was finished and ready for his ghoulish clients. Only then did the ogre move his product to his enormous fridge, at which time he knew he would need to replenish his supply. It was nearly time to hunt again.
What use is an empty hanger?
“Hey love, have you seen that hanger?”
“Which one?” I didn’t take my eyes off the doom-scroll.
“Ha. Ha. The one on the bed, you silly!”
“I’ll tell you when I know why you need it.” I teased, enjoying her plight.
“Why does one need a hanger, huh?”
“Well, my parents would straighten one to use as a cane, a real painful one!”
“It figures why!” She scoffed. “Aren’t you glad we have wooden ones?”
@plaken
I smiled, then waited. “So…?”
“I bought a new dress!” She finally confessed.
“A-ha!” I exclaimed. “I was wondering why the credit card maxed out!”
Oops, the twitter handle got inserted at the wrong line!
The Hanger For The Tears!
Happy that finally she’s got rid of all his belongings, Radha retired to their bedroom.
Life can’t be over for me at 34! Didn’t he vow to care for me for the rest of my life? Weak-hearted! Couldn’t fight the disease like a man!
Radha ranted till she stood facing the cupboard. The one he’d specially made.
She stood like a statue as she found the hanger left behind, overlooked!
“This’s for keeping my precious wedding suit.”
His loving words recollected, released the months of pent-up frustration since the detection of his disease, through her eyes down her cheeks, finally.
The end
Such a simple useful tool,
to hang a shirt or pair of slacks,
to latch a gate
or hold a door open,
to unlock a car door.
To clean a drain that has become clogged,
To hang a wreath from a door,
Or to dry onions hanging in panty hose
From the coat hanger’s frame.
Or to whip an unruly child,
or to end an unwanted pregnancy.
Roe v Wade hoped to end the last use,
and CPS and CASA the one before that.
Uses never foreseen by the tool’s inventor.
But do not underestimate the
cruel imagination of mankind.
WIRE MOTHER
Mother draped her dresses from cold shoulders. Metal curve where warmth should live. I learned to press my cheek there, count tarnished decades.
Now silver threads through my hair. I choose women with silk hands. They reach for me, find nothing to hold, a hollow inside a rigid frame. Slip away.
Last night I dreamed my ribcage was wire. Bent twice. I can bend again. I can be anything. Just not whole.
This morning I ache to dance. Breeze blows the drapes, and I find myself swaying, alone, in the dark silence of an empty room. Holding nothing but air.
The House parliamentarian was firm. He appraised the legislative packet like day old fish-wrap.
“No, there is not a requirement, per se, to give your bill a name,” he lectured. “As you know, it will be assigned automatically an alpha-numeric designation. But I’m going to insist you add a descriptor. To give folks an idea. A warning. You know, something about restoring Roe or negating fetal personhood or something like that. It’s only fair.”
The Representative too was firm. She thought about her constituents. Herself. Her daughter. Her mother and the stories she’d told.
“I’ll just stick with the picture.”
SINGLE NO MORE
Confused, Jessica Smith threw open her bedroom closet doors, gasped, and saw only a bent wire hanger shrouded in darkness. Her wardrobe was gone.
Single her whole life, Jessica grabbed a knife for protection against the thief that may still be in her home, came back to the closet, and was quickly pulled inside.
Suddenly, walls in the closet moved, the floor dropped out beneath Jessica, and then she saw dozens of her doppelgangers, each adorned in one of her outfits, stepping machine-like out of the closet and into the world with a gleam of wicked intent in their eyes.
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