Jasper Bains had not meant to invent a love potion. He had an excess of macadamia nuts and fresh tarragon; it seemed a good idea to make pesto from them.

Jasper’s heart skipped a beat when Genevieve walked in, but he hid the pesto. That would be cheating.

From Guest Contributor Ross Clement

The darkness was like ink, but that did not bother the mouse’s keen eye sight, and smell told him where to go for the food. Its tiny heart was racing with fear because its mortal enemy was out and about as well. He’d lost several of his litter mates to that awful feline beast, but tonight things may be different.

Suddenly there was that awful snarl. Behind him its claws slashing through the air, where he’d been just seconds ago. Twisting and turning, he dodged; suddenly that awful snap of the trap! The cat cried out, the mouse scurried away.

From Guest Contributor Derrick Fernie

I rent an apartment that’s above a garage.

I accept.

From Guest Contributor Kent V Anderson

When Kent isn’t writing stories, he is building robots.

With more downs than ups, Francine realized she needed to make a drastic change. To reverse an unfulfilled lifestyle where only food seemed to delight her.

Clothing stores were not far away.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. Her work has been published at: Nailpolish Stories, 50-Word Stories, 100 word story, 101 Words, Boston Literary Magazine, From the Depths (Haunted Waters Press), ShortbreadStories, and Espresso stories.

I sat on the large stone in the middle of the picnic field. I had my notebook out and was busy scribbling away. There were couples and families and dogs and blankets. There was food and sport and laughter and a few tears. The more life unfurled around me, the faster my pencil lurched across the page.

But life is lived whether we laugh and love our way to death or record others doing it.

The sparse landscape spread in every direction. There were mountains to be sure, a flat white one to this left and a glass tower to the right, but there was no food within actual reach.

He wished he’d never left the hill this morning.

Twenty years of door keeping had taught me not to be late to work. I started early on a rainy day. Just round the corner, I saw this puppy wet to the bone. I took him home, dried, fed, cuddled and put him in cozy box. I rushed to my work a good thirty minutes late. The big man called me in, fired me from service. I went back home.

Honest loving pair of eyes greeted me with joy. Twenty minutes care had raked such love in him, I felt, my twenty years of service just went down the drain.

From Guest Contributor Thriveni C. Mysore

The expedition lasted for several weeks. The scientists carried all their own supplies, which consisted mostly of food and batteries. After week two, they set the record for deepest penetration into the Earth’s surface. By that point, they had stopped trying to map the cavern, and just kept going further down.

Even here. It was truly hopeless then. The rise of hipsterism was complete. There was literally no place left on Earth that wasn’t dripping in irony.

We milled about the tunnel, waiting for instruction. Our day always began this way. No one seemed to have the initiative to do something on his own.

This was probably the reason why our colony was consistently named the world’s worst anthill.

The conversation was polite, she’s Canadian after all, but surface. Her interest seemed genuine when I mentioned I wanted to be a writer, the way a mother is interested in her five-year-old’s finger painting. I needed to flaunt my understanding, to let her know that I get it, and hated to think I was being patronized. She tolerated my high school English critiques with all the grace that you’d expect, but as the food dwindled, my desperation grew. I felt like I was missing my chance, that somehow if I won her approval, everything would be okay. I would matter.

Another submission to Every Day A Century, which will be posted soon.