100WordContest

Story Word PDF Pen Name 1 A Journey of 100 Words x x Gibson Girl 2 A Shadow of Doubt x x Danielle DeBurca 3 A Teenager's Prayer x x Babs Patz 4 BOLDFACE  MATTERS x x Sam Spade 5 Brenda x x Trumpetgal 6 Brunch x x I. M. Golden 7 Etched x x Alice Abcott 8 F-Sharp x x Melody 9 KINSFOLK ALL x x Win Thorne-Smyth 10 Lies x x Susie Q 11 Loosely Scattered Memories x x Small Nipper 12 Mother moved-in Today x x Askhur 13 Mourning x x Lena Lovelac 14 My Turn Now x x Miss Evie Jackson  15 Penny’s Beauty Shop x x Capella 16 Privileged x x Charlie Chillard 17 Snob Appeal x x Nature Lover 18 Sociopath Seeds x x Sandra Quentin 19 Something Was Wrong x x \"5th\" Son of Soul 20 THE ANSWER x x Fiona Culpepper 21 The Bent, Silver Spoon x x 7colorstar 22 The Drawing Lesson, 1940s Style x x I. M. Steeler 23 THE FIRST MAN x x Jeremiah Nyjinsky 24 The Rat-bastard x x Stanley Milton 25 The Wall x x “J.L. Finch” 26 What Megan Wants x x D. Bradford

A Journey of 100 Words I was sitting on the bank of the shore, sipping a drink, as my boys tossed their fishing poles into the murky water in hopes of catching a catfish. A large, bug-eyed green frog hopped close to me. Instinctively, I took my plastic cup and captured the startled frog. The cup was half-submerged into the muddy soil. I was afraid to lift the cup so I sat there for a bit. All at once I realized that the frog might not be able to breathe. Carefully I raised the cup, expecting the worst - RIBBIT, the bedraggled frog hopped away! by Gibson Girl

A Shadow of Doubt Blackness fades to confusion… Intense pain. I’m lying in the street? The car? Smashed! Where is he? He’s trapped. Fire! It’s too late. I crawl away. I remember, now. He’d been drinking. We argued. He hit me, again. I pressed the accelerator instead of the brake. The car sped out of control. Just before we crashed, I jumped out. Why wasn’t my seatbelt fastened? I’m sure I yelled, “Jump!” Why didn’t he? What just happened? As a lawyer, I know I’m innocent until proven guilty beyond reasonable doubt. It was an accident. Wasn’t it? Tears stream down my face, unchecked. By Danielle DeBurca

A Teenager's Prayer Dear God, Can’t you do something about my parents? They just don’t get it!!! I want to be a rockstar, but they’re forcing me to go to college. They still insist on a curfew on school nights and on weekends. I’m almost 16!!! It’s not fair. Sarah’s parents let her do whatever she wants. Dear God, My parents are ruining my social life. Jeff finally asked me out, but they won’t let me go without a chaperone. A chaperone!!! WTF? Are we back in the Middle Ages? Dear God, Sarah’s pregnant. Please forget everything bad I said about my parents. by Babs Patz

BOLDFACE MATTERS On a dry-mouth, parched, no-spit crawl through Dorris, Oregon. A hungry, hot afternoon. Top’s down on the Vette; can’t find relief there either. Too windy! Bored beyond tears, because we need those to quench our thirst. The only commercial building we see: a dilapidated, see-through eatery with cracked windows and sagging roof. Dark clouds hover inside. A smell of nothing wafts through the door. Is it open or closed? The sign dangles by one corner, telling us nothing. The marquee answers everything, so we drive on, right through the parking lot, and faster now: DORRIS DINER NOW SERVING GOOD FOOD! Sam Spade

Brenda The obstetrician is paged from the room. Suddenly this child is being born. Panicking, the nurse stops the baby’s head from emerging. The mother groans and bears down. The nurse forces the infant up the birth canal. Seconds tick to minutes. An eternity. The harried doctor returns, yanks the nurse aside, and yells, “Push!” The baby girl is delivered. But the damage is done: massive loss of oxygen to her brain. Born with Cerebral Palsy. Life expectancy: three years, tops. Brenda cannot speak, nor read, and needs constant care. But she always recognizes her baby sister. Brenda is now seventy. By Trumpetgal

Brunch \"Lois, can't wait for you to meet Bill. I'm in love!\" Helen says in a message confirming brunch. Although Lois feels happy for her best friend, her stomach is churning. They have not gotten together since Helen's job promotion five months ago. Now, Helen is seeing a new guy. Lois enters the restaurant and spots the couple at a booth, talking and gesturing animately before laughter erupts. Recognizing the theatrical laugh, Lois freezes, gazes at his face and gasps, her heart pounding. Helen's guy is her old college boyfriend, Billy. Their two-year relationship was rocky and did not end well. by I. M. Golden

Etched The ocean entrances her with its rhythmic, cleansing waves, each one offering an unspoiled slate of sand. A long-ago memory unfolds before her mind’s eye. Cuddled beside her grandmother at water’s edge, she stares. “What are you writing, Grandma?” “Names, my dear. Loved ones who have passed on.” Instantly, the face of each dog she has ever loved appears, seeming close enough to touch: Bailey, Rufus, Buffy, Ellie. Her finger reaches down to inscribe each name into the wet sand. A paw burrows into the sand beside her. She turns to Cooper, her gray-muzzled Golden, and draws him in close. By Alice Abcott

F-Sharp 15 18 Furious shouts from the kitchen. 16 “F-sharp. F-sharp. It’s an F-sharp. 19 What’s the matter with you?” 16 16 “Ya got a tin ear?” “Are you stupid?” “Can’t you hear the “F” should be a sharp?” Silence I’m ten. I play the piano from my soul. I know nothing of F-sharps. Slammed door. Never again do I play music in the presence of my mother. Though, I longed she would listen. Today, I know F-sharps well. We are old friends. Maybe now my mother could enjoy my music. Might she be listening? Might she hear my soul sing? Might her spirit now know joy? by Melody

KINSFOLK ALL Mother always hated Tuesday. After the funeral, the police question us, the five brothers. Sunday, the eldest, says it is God’s will. But, isn’t everything? Monday, the second eldest, suggests a lapse of common sense in the female personality. Thursday says he knows nothing about anything. Which is his usual excuse. And Friday, too young to guard his tongue, declares anyone can fall down the stairs. Our brother, Saturday, the unborn baby, offers no opinion. I, Wednesday, and I alone, understand the motive. I stay silent because it no longer matters. Mother always hated Tuesday but Father dearly loved her. By Win Thorne-Smyth

Lies He said he would never hit me like his dad hit his mom. He said he used to drink, but was now a teetotaler. He said he loved me, only me, and would love me forever. Would I be his wife and raise a family? “Yes,” I said, with no reservations. We shared our “I do’s,” built a home, and had two sons. But, where had he been all night? Who was “she” this time, and which wine had he chosen? He never hit me like his dad hit his mom, but hit me with lies rather than his fist. Susie Q

Loosely Scattered Memories How could she blame him? For, he too may have known the feelings, but not the words to convey them. After- all, they both said they believed in forever, and made promises against that backdrop; commitments they might have kept had time stopped, before they drifted apart. Now, he starts to gather the loosely scattered memories of their brief forever together; and all of them, as candlelight in the night, he stores in his heart. There, they are grouped together in a small nipper’s cart, a vehicle towed through those hallowed chambers, by the once and future dreams, of his youth. by Small Nipper

Mother Moved-in Today Mom arrived— today She still ponders The mindset of the widow thinks I want to let go her son says this can’t be so What to do, although there's nowhere to go She will hesitate determined to wait Come with us you will not be alone there is plenty of room for you in our home With your wife? There's no strife, this is our way of life What is happening to me? I know I had them I know that I can't remember What is happening to me? I used to be sharp How much longer do I have? By Askhur

Mourning Joe Sampson lowered his newspaper and peered over his glasses at his wife of fifty- one years. She had not looked in the mirror that morning—this much was obvious. Her hair, once so black and straight he thought she must be part Native American, was permed and grey—flattened on the side she slept. Small bare feet, crossed at the ankle, rested on a brocade footstool. Her pink chenille robe had slid open on one side. He could see up to her thigh. Something stirred. “You might say, ‘excuse me’” she said with a slight smile. Alas, it was gas. By Lena Lovelace

My Turn Now Tipped her ladder over. She fell into those blackberry bushes she’d been pickin’ at. Screamed out for me to help ‘cause she didn’t know I’d done it to her. Winced a lot. Tried to get free. On her back, ladder on top, impenetrable thicket underneath. Thorns scraping parts of her she didn’t know. She managed to flip the ladder aside. Turned herself over. Made it worse. Face and palms bleeding. She, sinking deeper, tangled in bramble, ground six feet under, sun shining. Took me a big scoop out of her berry bucket, sweetness cooling parts of me I didn’t know. by Miss Evie Jackson

Penny’s Beauty Shop Penny didn’t ask anymore if they wanted something new. “Same.” That was all they’d say, so, she’d given up. Then today, Adele came in, heaved her broad expanse into the chair, announcing, “Cut it all off.” Well, that got everyone’s attention, even Rita’s, whose hearing was defenseless against the dryer’s whirr but whose eyes caught their reaction in the large, gilt-framed mirrors. Jerking her head out from under the helmet she yelled, “What was that, Adele?” “Cut it off and dye it pink,” Adele ordered. Rita’s unplucked brows rose. Penny grabbed the scissors, a gleam of hope in her eyes. by Capella

Privileged It was about midnight on Friday night. Todd was resting on the grass in the trees several yards back from the street when a police car pulled a late model sedan over a short distance away. Todd watched the police officer administer field sobriety tests to the young driver who stumbled uncontrollably on the heel-to-toe walk. Todd recognized the young driver as the son of a leading local businessman. Todd knew it would be a DUI and thousands in fines and increased insurance. Later Todd learned the young man had been driven home by the police with only a warning By Charlie Chillard

Rat-bastard All’s left of Scherer’s—the rat-bastard—is the kitchen. Its frame of pick-up sticks, now charred and leaning. Its porcelain sink standing upright on naked legs once meant for plumbing. A melted bottle of Palmolive is plugging the basin. The salt and pepper pigs my sister played with are still on the table. Its formica, shedding like a snakeskin. The pigs are still married. No cracks. Bellies touching. Warm soot buries the spot where the TV sounded: Wheel of Fortune! Where the Lazy-Boy holding rat-bastard must have exploded. Where all’s left of him hangs with the smell of burnt linoleum. by Stanley Milton

\"Snob Appeal\" On a recent trip to the Napa wine country, my husband and I roared at the blatantly absurd descriptive qualities of wine. So, we speculated why this trend was exclusive to the nectar of the grape? Coffee is attempting to invent it’s own wild characterizations, but, why not apply this to other consumables such as the new darling of the vegetable world Brussel sprouts? With it’s fleshy wood shaving texture, nubile marriage of worm castings and wet dog, earthy complexity and bouquet of saddle leather, sprouts satisfy with a robust finish and mouth-watering after taste of ......... fresh horse dung?! By Nature Lover

Sociopath Seeds Maybe he had an imperfection on the X chromosome in some distant quadrant of the DNA molecule. Whatever it was it blossomed during adolescence. A nasty temper, reflexively he’d spit in faces, punched and belittled his friends. Then he’d hug them – a bully, and a charmer. Her parents probably wish they’d hired a hitman after he emptied their kitchen cabinets and smashed dishes. Certainly, they’d wished they had hired a hitman before he emptied a three-fifty-seven into their daughter - nineteen, a freshman engaged in the promise, her future. Perhaps someday, amniocentesis, then a free clinic might dispatch this blight. By Sandra Quentin

Something Was Wrong Lateresa came out of cryosleep gradually. She had been under for two years while being transported to Larkley, a habitable moon of Jupiter. But there was something wrong, she was supposed to have been transported via teleportation down to the surface of Larkley. But she was still on the mother ship. And when she got a clear look at who had revived her, she knew what was wrong. What she saw was a being around twelve feet tall, with blue skin and humanoid features, except the it had no ears. She sat up abruptly and her scream shattered the silence. by “5th Son of Soul”

THE ANSWER Fiona Culpepper had found it! Heart pounding and gasping for breath, she ran through torrential rain, thunder and flashing lightning, to her car. Damn, the battery was dead. No matter, she had to get to the meeting two miles away. Sopping wet, she ran the entire distance, ecstatic that she had the elusive answer to humanity’s eternal question. Since the dawn of mankind, people have searched for this; Socrates, Buddha, philosophers had asked, “Where did we come from? Why are humans here?” She threw open the door and shouted, “I know the MEANING of life…..IT’S..” Silence, no one was there. Fiona Culpepper

The Bent, Silver Spoon Weaving her rainbow cocoon consumed all Ruthie’s time. “Visitors…little girl, Tracy …grown and engaged!” Her keeper blathered. Ruthie stopped spinning. “She’s not really here. Alzheimer’s. Only anger remains.” Keeper left to make tea. Ruthie ignored his misery, but not the girl. Recounting her childhood, memories erupted from Tracy. Ruthie experienced sudden clarity. The spoon she’d kept! “I’ve saved something for you.” Ruthie strode into the kitchen. “Robbie, where’s the spoon?” Robbie dropped the teapot. “Found it!” She kissed him. “Tracy, it was in the sandbox. I knew you’d return.” Blessed silence. Closing her eyes, Ruthie returned to spinning her cocoon. by 7colorstar

The Drawing Lesson, 1940s Style I opened my library book to Steiler’s famous Beethoven portrait. “Show me how to draw this for art class.” My brother, cocky-like, made a beautiful sketch. “Don’t say I never did nothing for you.” I signed Henry’s drawing, handed it in. I almost died when Miss Andrews asked me to recreate it for the entire class. My stomach hurt. Kids whispered. “Crappy artist.” “Nellllleeeeee. Wanna draw my butt?” Later, my teacher explained plagiarism. I felt terrible. The next morning, I picked beautiful dandelions for Miss Andrews and wrote a note saying, “I’m sorry I lied,” hoping she would forgive me. by I. M. Steeler

“THE FIRST MAN” His vital signs ebbed. “Carry on the work, Morrisey… we’re so close…” He had been here longer than anyone— decades. “How come you never went home?” “…Always more to do.” He blinked his rheumy eyes. “Those dunderheads back in Washington will shut us down unless we give them something they can wave the flag about.” When he was gone, it was my job to prep his effects. Some bureaucrat back at mission control would know where to send them. A clipping from an old, small-town newspaper. His picture, him much younger, under the headline, “First man lands on Neptune!” By Jeremiah Nyjinsky

The Wall “I’m sorry for your loss, Senora.” Enrique stands behind the screen door holding a sweaty ball cap. “Senor Fred was a good man.” “Thank you, Enrique. Would you like something to drink?” Marlene shuffles her walker to the patio and hands her gardener a check. Enrique answers, “No gracias, Senora. If you need any money, or anything, please don’t be afraid to ask.” “You are too kind, Enrique, but I will be fine.” Marlene squeezes her gardener’s hand. “Fred was fond of you, too.” As Marlene settles into her recliner, the president is on TV talking about building the wall. By “J.L. Finch”

What Megan Wants “There’s your father, late again; wear your seatbelt, honey.” Megan climbs into her Dad’s SUV “Where to kiddo. I’m crazy busy these days. Hey, my new girlfriend, Cinnamon, could teach you some hot dance moves.” “That’s not what I want Dad.” “Still into Harry Potter?” “That’s been three years ago, Dad “Sure, sure. Listen, this divorce crap’s tough on me too, but things are looking up. Gotta drop you home early cause I’m taking Cin’s kid to Disneyland; it’s a big surprise.” Megan and her mom watch the SUV drive away “He loves you. Meg, don’t cry.” “Sure, sure, Mom.” D. Bradford