Tag Archives: 100 words

Battle of the Pots

pots

PHOTO PROMPT © Jen Pendergast

“You are both fools,” sneered Potted Plant. “I’m the one she checks on daily to see if I have enough water. Look how my glorious green leaves adorn the kitchen.”

“Oh, shut up,” groused Electric Pot.

“You tell her,” said Other Pot.

“Whatever,” said EP.

“You think your coffee is better?” complained OP.

“Coffee? That horrible smelling stuff? It makes me wilt.”

“Quiet,” hissed EP. “She’s coming.”

“Who gets the water this morning?” whispered OP.

Marcia stumbled into the kitchen that fateful Monday morning after a long weekend of partying. “God, I’d kill for a cup of coffee right now.”

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Out of the Chrysalis

crystals

PHOTO PROMPT © Marie Gail Stratford

The crystals surrounded and penetrated me. It didn’t hurt, but I did experience the horrifying feeling of my very identity being drained away.

The corporations sold the government the idea that instead of changing the climate, they could change human beings to adapt to the rising temperatures and levels of carbon dioxide.

They told us it worked. They never said what it cost. The people behind “the change” were isolated from the crystals in underground bunkers. That wasn’t going to help them.

We did change. When we emerged from our chrysalis, we were far too deadly for them to control.

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Cut Down

stump

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

Emory heard that you could tell how old a tree is by the number of rings in its trunk. He had no idea how to figure the age of the stump in front of his place. The city had ordered the beautiful shade tree cut down because it was a hazard.

Pity. He used to sit underneath it with his grandchildren and read to them. He played hide-and-go-seek with them behind it by never quite hiding. It had been his harbinger of winter and his herald of spring.

Now, like him, it was just a broken relic of the past.

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A Finally Perfect World

Chateau

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

Ali met Marie after her tour of the old French chateau. In ages past it was the manor or palace of the noble class.

Of course, no one could live like that anymore.

“Was it enjoyable?” Ali asked. He fanned himself. The museum weather simulation was too realistically warm.

“Enlightening, though a bore,” she said stepping into ersatz sunlight.

“Hard to believe people used to live this way.” Ali strode beside her toward the hidden exit.

“I’m glad our world is completely equitable, but let’s hurry.” Feeling an uncomfortable twinge of individuality, she walked faster toward the mental conditioning station.

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A Lasting Peace

fireworks

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

November was a cold month for fireworks, especially on the river, but it was a special day for Charles and his young bride Elizabeth. They held hands as they watched, bundled up as they were in heavy coats.

“It’s over,” she murmured. Charles put and arm around Liz.

“Not soon enough,” said Charles. “Poor Elliot.”

“My brother succumbed to the terrible influenza, not mustard gas or artillery shell.”

“He still died in war,” said Charles.

“But no more will perish as he did,” said Liz.

“Armistice Day.” Charles stood a little taller. “The war to end all wars is over.”

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Homecoming

david-stewart-house

PHOTO PROMPT © David Stewart

“Home.”

Gerald had dreamed of going home for so long. He’d had an idyllic childhood. From the white picket fence, to the front pouch where Grandpa would swap tall tales with neighbors, to the family backyard barbecues.

He stood outside drinking it all in. His dress uniform was crisp, the duffle he’d been carrying which rested on the sidewalk had been light. Gerald tried to breathe a sigh of relief.

But he was sixty years late. Instead of coming home from Nam, he was still buried in an unmarked grave thousands of miles from home. Now he could only dream.

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The Patchwork Man

stuff

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

“What the hell is this?” Matthew’s new eyes flickered across the macabre collection of “get well” gifts by his hospital bed.

“I would think it’s obvious, Sir.”

He called her “Big Nurse” but the woman’s nametag said “Louise.”

“I’m back from the dead and my friends send me crap?” He tried to sit up in bed, but morphine-blunted pain restrained him.

“Sir, you have no friends,” said Louise bluntly. “You’ve outlived them all. These are from your doctor.”

“What’s his problem? I pay him well enough.”

“It’s just that he doesn’t like harvesting your clones merely to keep you alive.”

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“Short Fantasy Stories” Coming Soon!

fantasy

Cover art for “Short Fantasy Stories” from Shacklebound Books.

Short Fantasy Stories: Fantasy in 100 Words from Shacklebound Books is now available for pre-order from Amazon. It will be delivered to your kindle device when it’s published on July 4, 2025 (very patriotic). It contains a number of my fantasy drabbles for your reading pleasure.

The Amazon blurb says:

Short Fantasy Stories is an anthology of fantasy drabbles, stories of exactly 100 words. Within its pages are knights, witches, spirits, dragons, and magical tales for any fantasy microfiction fan.

Some of my stories are:

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Bad Art

ted's bad art

PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

“This is just like before. Look at the image and tell me what you see.”

Ron sat across the table from Dr. Anita Smythe in the mint-green examination room, his blue eyes staring at the photo.

“Bad art.”

“Does it evoke any particular thoughts or emotions?” she asked.

“Only that I’m getting tired of this charade.”

“Ron, it’s not a…”

He slammed his fists on the table and she jumped at the sound.

The door burst open and two armed guards ran in.

“It’s okay,” said Smythe. “Reprogramming someone to be an assassin…”

“…is dangerous work,” Ron completed the sentence.

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Something Old, Something Stolen, and a Dead Cat

dales office

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

Fifteen-year-old Daphne plopped herself down on the chair next to the table.

“This is stupid.” She blew a random cluster of hair out of her eyes. “We’re looking for an old book, not old junk. What is this crud?”

The backpack at her feet stirred and Skinner’s head lolled awkwardly to the side. “That ancient tech would be an adding machine and a typewriter.”

“How would a sorcerer’s familiar know that?”

“The spirit trapped in this dead cat knows a lot,” Skinner croaked.

“My great-grandma better have that stolen spellbook or we’ll never get you out of that murdered kitty.”

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