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101 Word Short Stories
By Ryan Wilson
He’s up again. I can hear his heavy footsteps cross the floors as I lie awake. His fingernail scratches the wall as he drags his hand along, finding his way in the dark. As he descends the stairs, his footsteps disappear into the carpet. Seconds later, the garage door opens. He’s never gone that far…
By Mehrnaz Tiv
The doctor told her a tiny green goblin named Brain Fog wipes his big green butt all over her brain every time she doomscrolls on her phone. So, she read very smart articles and watched very informative videos on her phone all about phone addiction, limiting screen time, and how perfect her life will be…
By Cole Beauchamp
After writhing rain twists the motorway into a black eel. After prophetic rain heralds the doorbell. After the grandfather clock metronomes your absence. After windows weep and black bins swallow unwanted casseroles. It’s then that the stories begin. You’re at work, you’re on a trip, you’re visiting friends. Still, the cedar-and-pine scent of your shirts…
By V Vaidehi
She was their self-appointed queen. Svelte, fair with lustrous hair. Impossibly glamorous, but appeared heartless. She was distant and treated them with contempt—made no attempts to blend in. She was an outsider and a recent arrival. Overrated, felt the outcasts. But how long could oppression last? The resistance began silently, and whispers soon gave way…
By Senay Tash
I seek out the colours of the rainbow when nervous. Red is first, and the easiest; it’s an aspect of my life. But now, driving down the empty countryside, there wasn’t a drop of the colour. I picked at my skin until crimson emerged from my flesh. Red. A lonely cone by the road. Orange.…
Gavelton, an old robot, was reconstructing a forgotten train in a museum. A journalist bot arrived with headlines of 15th September 2225: “Magazine lacks fibre for guts! The founder of Robotheism, first digital saint of Multan, India, redefined imperialism with AI brainwashing and turned waste into electricity through German garbage-eating fungi. Flying fish and city…
By Todd Epp
Len Gunderson wore oxblood loafers to the Hutchinson County Courthouse in April. First Dakota wanted forty-three cattle back, or the money Cal Wipf got selling them to buy hay. The parking lot had gone soft. Gunderson scraped one shoe, then the other, but still tracked mud across the tile. “If it pleases the court—” “It…