Amanda glared accusingly from the living room doorway. Her father and brother didn’t even notice. They were engrossed in television. Their shared triumphant roar startled her.

Betty waited until the lights were out before indignantly reaching up and ruffling her hair back to the way she liked it.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid

She told him he had no heart. He was shocked.

In the outdoor trash lay packaging from the foods he presented. Topped with a heart-shaped box of chocolates. It got crushed by a car after falling off his bike.

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, SixWordMemoirs, and Espresso Stories.

It got dark early. He said he would wait in his car since the apartment was hard to find. I put the twenty in my back pocket and even in the headlights walking closer I could see it in his eyes, this kid with a smudge of a mustache, and before that on the phone too something empty under his voice like might as well, like nothing else to do. He called me ma’am and handed me Guitar Hero. He said he hasn’t played in a while because the Xbox was his girlfriend’s, and she took it when she left.

From Guest Contributor Brook Bhagat

After graduating with a BA in English from Vassar College, Brook landed her first paid writing job as a reporter for a small-town Colorado newspaper. She left it to travel to India, where she fell in love, got married and canceled her ticket home. She and her husband Gaurav write freelance articles for dozens of publications, including Outpost, Ecoworld and Little India. In 2013, they launched www.BluePlanetJournal.com, which she edits and writes for. She also teaches writing at a community college, is earning her MFA in Writing at Lindenwood University, and is writing a novel.

“Professor, here’s my coursework.”

“Oh shit.”

From Guest Contributor Ross Clement

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.

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’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