#100WW - May 20, 2026
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.
Read and comment on others. Lastly, this is a positive forum for feedback!
3 thoughts on “#100WW – May 20, 2026”
WHEN GOD IS READY
Her husband lost all hope. Nothing she said encouraged him. It was her last egg. He pity parties in his bowl of soggy cornflakes as she devours her egg and sausage biscuit. He temper tantrum kisses his wife on his way out the door. He drools in the window while asleep on the train ride to work. He drinks the cold cup of coffee sitting on his desk two hours. He leaves work early on the four-block walk to the company-issued condo and is surprised by his wife’s embrace and good news. She forgives him for being an idiot. She’s pregnant.
You Can’t Make an Omelette Without Breaking Eggs
The cardboard box lay hidden in my Grandma’s attic, dusty and moth-eaten beneath a pile of yellowing newspapers. Inside were nine egg cartons; eight contained six half eggshells, with just four in the last. There was also a small box of crushed eggshells.
Grandma told my mother these represented the eggshells she walked on after Grandpa returned from the war with thunder raging in his head. The half shells symbolised each year of marriage until his death. A strong woman, never breaking, never leaving; she did all in her power to see that Grandpa and the eggshells, although broken, survived.
His and Hers Rorschach Test
He sees sandstone arches, river ripples, a hiker on a ridge. I see a stack of broken eggshell cups, darkness, the lobes of a heart, the best parts, pushing through. He hears wind humming. I don’t even think about sound. He’s giddy climbing into the photo, practically lacing up his boots. I’m stuck, wondering if those blocks are molars chewing up someone’s heart. He has stories to tell me later. I need more time. You’ll have a field day with this one, he says. Do you remember the driftwood bent into a skinny heart, I ask, but he’s already left.