#100WW - Apr 16, 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!
2 thoughts on “#100WW – Apr 16, 2025”
Clean Kill
I kicked off the first set with an old chestnut. Crowd favorite. “Straight, No Chaser.” Can’t go wrong with Monk. Immediately felt faint. Lungs seized up. The ivory blurred. Knew this day would come. Dangerous man like me. Who’d spiked my pre-gig Sidecar? Jilted hatcheck? Cuckolded horn player? Someone I bested in 5 card draw? The keys swam. What a way to go. Gunslinger shot down in the saddle.
Across town Rosa woke with a start from a stone sleep after fourteen hours of swabbing and spit shining. Had she mixed the piano polish with two parts ammonia by mistake?
Notes on Remembrance
My own wrinkled, sun-spotted hands graze monochrome keys. She looks on and I will her to remember. Fighting through the needling pain of arthritis-warped fingers, I play. I reminisce about earlier days when my songs on the Spinet wove our voices together. We would harmonize together often, and now I envy the simple joys of youth. Fluttering hands take the pianissimo to a more urgent place. My breath and the notes are a soaring crescendo. There’s a palpable shift, and I glance over at her. Her eyes are closed as if in morning prayer, and I hear her hum along.