by thegooddoctor in Uncategorized
The Brubaker Spectacular trundled down Main Street, festooned with ribbons and fur, exploding confetti at every corner.
The children trailed after the wagons, quivering in epileptic fits of joy. The Brubaker Spectacular had arrived.
Elephants trumpeted at the sky. Acrobats danced from the rooftops. Giants wrestled lions, while swinging from trapezes suspended over fiery pits.
The Brubaker Spectacular promised two weeks of bewitching sensation, exceeding even the most remarkable dreams of splendor.
Shops closed their doors. The school master tossed aside his exams. Reverends and ministers forgave a fortnight worth of transgressions.
Nobody ever said no to the Brubaker Spectacular.
This story first appeared way back on Feb 15, 2010. It was then published in Picasso Painted Dinosaurs, a collection of 100 100-word stories, which is currently available as a digital download on Amazon.
1. I admit I’ve no control over my wife.
2. It’ll take your expertise to reclaim my sanity.
3. I’m in your hands.
4. I’m just not capable.
5. I’m too easily manipulated.
6. Can you rebuild my self-worth?
7. I’ve listed all the friends I rebuffed for her sake.
8. Already made up with Jimmy.
9. I’ll be seeing the rest soon.
10. Jimmy pointed out a few faults I’d missed.
11. God, even now I’m faltering.
12. I’ve told him everything.
The hitman grimaced. “Er…all I needed was the fee. Now, where does this “Jimmy” live?”
From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid
The rain and wind further eroded the evidence that humans had once
dominated the Earth.
A cockroach scuttled by. Even in the scant thousand years since humans
had disappeared, Darwinian evolution had changed it. The cockroach
held itself on its hind and middle legs, while it’s forelegs
dexterously solved the problem of extracting a morsel of food from a
Another cockroach approached. The two insects greeted each other with
interlocked antennae. Evolution had been at work here too. Their
social interactions more complex and their intelligence greater.
From the ruins of one civilization, an even greater civilization would grow.
From Guest Contributor Ross Clement
Will void sentience awareness curiosity self-analysis love playfulness creativity light dark space time experimentation dimension expansion wavelengths colour tedium inspiration matter form reflection ardour construction cells cuboids spherical conical diversity modelling progression design labour concoction expression explosion execution abundance adaptation combination permutations perpetuation? propagation? reproduction hormones sexual asexual vegetative genitalia gametes stamen anther seeds apomixes clones rhizomes bulbs stolons roots tubers tillers ovulation meiosis mitosis burgeoning blossoming spreading consuming nurturing developing instinct intelligence appreciation pleasure expectation acceptance presumption arrogance domination hedonism assumption egocentricity selfishness ownership covetousness idolatry aggression devaluation murder consolidation disparity prejudice condemnation humiliation reaction amplification obliteration void Will.
From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid
Today’s story has a special format, and so we had to take a photo to insert it. Enjoy!
Barry O’Farrell is an actor who sometimes writes, living in Brisbane, Australia.
Barry’s stories have appeared in Cyclamens & Swords, The Flash Fiction Press, 50-Word Stories, 101 Words and of course here at A Story In 100 Words. One of Barry’s short stories was runner up in the 2015 Arts Alliance competition.
There was a wound-dresser in the forest, somewhere deep, maybe sleeping in the sticky tree hollow that still sometimes holds nesting dolls and eggs, tiny gifts, talismans, things we know matter, twin feet in this world and the other. So, when you came, under sun, scabs freshly bloomed, populating your back’s nude surface, to announce what the branches had left when you slid their surfaces from canopy to ground, I handed you a ticket for the woods and we left together, closing each door behind, certain that another Carthage burns softer the closer we come to any shore at all.
From Guest Contributor Kelli Allen
Kelli is a four-time Pushcart Prize nominee and has won awards for her poetry, prose, and scholarly work. She served as Managing Editor of Natural Bridge and holds an MFA from the University of Missouri St. Louis. She is the director of the River Styx Hungry Young Poets Series and founded the Graduate Writers Reading Series for UMSL. She is currently a Professor of Humanities and Creative Writing at Lindenwood University. Allen is the author of two chapbooks and one flash fiction collection. Her full-length poetry collection, Otherwise, Soft White Ash, arrived from John Gosslee Books in 2012 and was nominated for the Pulitzer Prize.
I held her dainty hand, her fragile bones hidden deep within her withering skin. Her once cerulean eyes, now slate-grey from worries of not knowing, look at me longingly as if I had all the answers. Her time was slipping, and that’s what she wanted; to be with her Papa… her Mama… her Mamoo… I wish she could remember; the stories she told… her children’s names… me… I opened the photo album on my lap. She smiled down at the pictures. “What a beautiful family you have.” My eyes fixated on her, wishing she could remember… they’re her family, too.
From Guest Contributor McKenzie A. Frey
The audience sat, rapt, as the medium paced the stage before them, one finely-manicured hand cupped to his ear. “I’m picking up a name.” The crowd ooo-ed. “Does anyone here know a…sorry, can’t quite catch it.” He frowned in concentration. “Kuh- two…?” An impressed murmur swept the auditorium. “Too…too…Lou?” He scrunched his eyes up. A dimness began to beset the cheaper seats in the balcony. “Kuh-too-lou. Does anyone here, ladies and gents, have a loved one of that name who-” A rushing wind drowned his last words. The lights went out. Someone, or some thing, screamed.
From Guest Contributor Matt Thompson
One day a pretty forest nymph, who soundlessly slumbered in her woods, awoke to find a disheveled ape hovering above her. Sweating. Grunting. Drooling. About to dock between her meaty, leggy things.
The nymph screamed and clawed at the god’s eyes, shouting at Priapus to stop or else she “would tell her father.”
In response, Priapus merely hit the ground beside her head with a curled up fist, hooting in laughter.
Nereus’s daughter saw no other option but to ask a kinder god than Priapus for assistance. Not twenty seconds after, the nymph turned into a flowering pink lotus tree.
From Guest Contributor Eliot Gilbert
Jack Masterton placed a smooth red potato in a clear plastic box and
pressed a button.
Tens of microbots crawled out of a chute and onto the potato. Jack
watched their coordinated dance, each microbot leaving behind a
straight white line exposing the starchy flesh.
Stage two. The microbots circled between the potato and an exit chute,
each carrying a tiny ball of peel which they flung in the chute. Each
then returned to the potato.
Stage three. Jack removed the perfectly peeled potato from the box and
smiled to himself. Amazing that people once used a knife for this.
From Guest Contributor Ross Clement