101-Word Short Story Contest 2023

First Place

Shared Vision

By John Fredrickson

An impoverished rustic came into town for a rally by a socialist group. Excited by promises of shared wealth, he sought to join the Party.

He met with the organizers and learned that correctly answering three questions was required for membership. He was eager to proceed.

Organizer: “If you have two horses, what do you do?”

Candidate: “Give the best one to the party; keep the other for myself.”

Organizer: “Same question for two cows?”

Candidate: “Same deal.”

Organizer: “Good. Same question again, for two chickens?”

Candidate: “Oh no, comrade, THAT is a totally different question! I actually have two chickens.”

Second Place

Holy Day Shopping

By Lori Robinson

She held him close as they picked their way around the Christmas displays nearly blocking each aisle, hoping no one would spot them and start in with their conspicuous paeans. Her husband seemed distracted as he filled their grocery basket with elements for their journey. As they joined the checkout line, those nearest them either backed away in shock or fell to their knees in respect. She fumed, “This happens every time, Joseph! I’ll stay home with him next time and you can do all the shopping. Bring the donkey around front.”

Third Place

Look-Alike

By Nicki Ehrlich

One eye searches intently, the other lazily, but both squint a little as the feline tries to solve the most difficult mysteries of cat life. Its pelt is a bit more curly, more disgruntled than other cats. It stands small but mighty. The cat tilts its head and looks at you as if to ask, “Where have you been?” “What have you done?” “Where are you going?” It walks toward the door, stops, turns, licks a paw. A meow seems to say, “One more thing… ” What’s that in its mouth? Is that cigar smoke I smell? They call the cat Columbo.

Honorable Mentions

Take Your Medicine

By Frank Dice III

In the distance, a mountain appeared, shining fluorescent blue and green like a primordial pagan altar…

The mountain then split open, revealing a brood of flying monkeys, their pearl white grins glistening, a madcap symphony of ill intent…

Being no fool, I turned tail and RAN, but I was no match for this infernal simian Air Force who began circling and cackling dark curses…

My time was at hand yet I started to laugh, a quiet chuckle becoming a manic chortle. Looking skyward I bellowed, “Do your worst monkeys!”

Suddenly, I was awake.

Note to self, NyQuil ain’t no joke.

Count Me Out

By Nora Meany

You choose the app that your friend suggested. Upload pictures. Write a bio. Wait. Browse. Connect.

First messaging. Then texting. Then a sexy voice. Inside jokes you both keep repeating. Living rent-free in your mind.

Date is set!

Wardrobe planned. Hair scrutinized. Location confirmed.

Action!

Waiting for the slow burn in the flesh. Intros. Drinks. Eyes. Mouth. Eyes. The banter begins, but not the chemistry. The momentum stalls. You strike the conversational flint fruitlessly. No spark. No spark. No spark.

Deploy the exit strategy.

Depart.

Deep breath.

Some love stories don’t even make it to 100 words.

The Best Gift

By Sue Braum

She hadn’t enjoyed Christmas in ages. The kids would hang their baby’s firsts on branches, followed by the OCD overlord’s yells of “that side’s too crowded, dammit!” or “who the fuck hung these lights? MORONS!” And the ever present argument over whether the tree was straight in the stand always somehow got heated enough for tears. This year she sat back with her final divorce decree and a glass of wine, admiring her tiny, crooked, potted tree like something from Charlie Brown and smiled.

Naughty List

By Arvia Glass

“Milk and cookies. How conventional,” Santa thought.

“To think, I descended the chimney of a family with executive chefs, sommeliers, and one organic chemist. The most these snobs can muster up is a child’s bedtime snack with a bitter aftertaste. Dr. Gardner aged out of the list years ago, and this is the thanks I get? A naughty family indeed!” he scoffed.

As Santa walked to the refrigerator to help himself to the fine delicacies within, an otherworldly horn blared with increasing intensity. Upon opening the fridge, a red light appeared, and he heard the whispered words, “Beware the devil’s trumpet.”

Be Mine

By Barbara Siebeneick

What was I thinking? I can’t do it. I’ve studied and analyzed the pros and cons until my head is swimming. I’ve read dozens of books on the subject and consulted “so-called” authorities on how to pull it off. My actions today might change my life forever. What’s the worst that could happen? My life would be ruined, that’s what.

I dried my sweaty, shaking, hands on my pants and reached into my pocket. When the door slowly opened I blurted out, “Will you marry me?”

The elderly man glared at me and shouted over his shoulder, “Joyce, it’s for you!”

Excitement at the Senior Center

By Scotty Cornfield

“Good heavens, officer,” Mildred said. “I’m trying to help you but I’ve never witnessed a crime before.”

“I understand, ma’am. Can we return to the questions I was asking?”

“Certainly. Actually, I have witnessed crimes before but that was on Matlock and CSI. Does that count?”

“Not even a little. Again, what color was the suspect vehicle?”

“Suspect vehicle? This is so exciting! What do you suspect him of?”

“Well, since he hit your car and drove away, I’m thinking hit-and-run.”

“My, that sounds serious. Was anyone hurt?”

“Based on what I’m hearing so far, I’m not sure we’ll ever know.”

If I Only Knew

By Fermin Sanchez

The grand ballroom was dimly lit, guests still arriving, yet there she stood alone in the corner. She was amazingly elegant and beautiful, her long curved legs first caught my eyes. She was poised, radiant with a silk-like smooth complexion, smiling, expressing her pearly white teeth.

Dare I go over and make an embarrassing fool of myself? I knew there would be someone else showing interest, captivating a play on her. Should I feel so rejected as I turned to walk away? I had to take one last look at her breathtaking beauty and tell myself, if I only knew how to play the grand piano.

Communication Arts

By Barbara Chamberlain

Preparing for our vacation in Mexico, I took a year of night school Spanish.

Once in Baja, I was walking by a row of souvenir shops when I spotted stone grinding bowls that our teacher had demonstrated to us. There was a young man in the shop at the counter reading. I proudly said, “Cuantos estan las mocahetas?”

He frowned, “What did you say?”

A year’s study for nothing. Devastated, I stammered, “Those stone bowls. Mocahetas. You grind spices.”

“I didn’t know what those things were. I’m from Los Angeles. Five bucks. Dollars.”

“Quatro.”

“You got it.”

Power Paws

By R.C. Roach

I was too poor to buy that kitten any toys, let alone any food. But I picked him up in my hand. A tear dropped. He was so much like me – homeless and abandoned, fighting to live. Life was war.

His half-opened eyes were crusty yet oozed tiny white globs of goo. His short, marbled fur was scrabbly. His breath was weak. His body shivered. He did not cry out when I picked him up.

I put him against my dirty cheek. He did not purr.

“You’re a warrior. I will call you Achilles.”

Feeling Feisty

By Mike Haugh

My mom was feisty to the end. About a month before she passed, I took her to a medical appointment that required her to use a walker to get around. She got around, albeit slowly – very slowly. I tried to encourage her to move a bit quicker, especially on crosswalks where I could feel the waiting driver’s mounting agitation.

Before taking her home after the appointment, I had to stop for a slow-moving pedestrian at the very same crosswalk my mom had used earlier, when she agitatedly shouted, “Well move it, you bun-head!”

Not by Bot

By Roy Verley

Edward was about to submit his entry into the short-story contest when a gnawing thought stopped him cold.

“Probably should have used a chatbot for this,” he muttered. “I’m pretty sure my tale of tortured romance at the doggie-daycare center won’t do the trick.”

“Au contraire,” said Clare, his au pair. “Stick with what you’ve got, even if it’s rot. If you’re caught with a plot from a bot, you will not have a shot at the pot.”

Edward chuckled.

“Good point! Maybe I’ll submit this one instead. At least they’ll know for certain I wrote every word myself.”

F-ing Old Geezer

By Robert Fornes

Dog walking in Humboldt County on a sunny Sunday morning, Tom and his 80-pound pooch Steph were just an arm’s length apart when a speed-craving cyclist split the two, making the dog jump sideways.

Tom called out to the speeding young man “slow down.” The biker shouted back, “Shut up, you fucking old geezer” – something Tom did not appreciate.

Tom transformed, pulled off his jacket to reveal his bright “F-ing Old Geezer and Packing” T-shirt. Drawing his fictional antique Colt .45 revolver, he placed some imaginary lead in each tire.

Don’t mess with a pacifist marksman, punk.

Honesty Should Count For Something

By Scotty Cornfield

Kenneth sat at his assigned table in the middle of the gym. He readjusted his name tag again and waited as the next speed-date candidate strode up to him. She’s done this before. Way too cocky.

She sat across from him. Locked in on his name tag.

She thrust out her hand. “Maggie May. What do you do for fun, Kenneth?”

He leaned in close. Whispered, “I break into houses and steal ladies underwear.”

Maggie laughed loud enough to turn heads.

“Nice,” she said. “Finally, an original opening line.”

Kenneth just nodded.

Can’t say I didn’t warn her, he thought.

Mind Powers

By Jaime Guzman

Sally had been staring directly at the empty plate for the last three hours when her sister Amanda finally decided to ask.

“What’cha doing?”

“Quiet, I’m focusing.”

“On?” Amanda tilted her head at the table set. “Trying to move this plate without touching it. Telekinesis. I’m finally seeing a green circle around the plate.”

Amanda momentarily hoped to see the laws of physics be broken but after ten seconds realized nothing was happening.

“I can do this” Sally glared at the plate.

Amanda got tired of the foolishness and put the plate back in the cabinet.

“I did it!” Sally exclaimed.

Open Door Policy

By Harrison Borchard

I met a girl at my friend’s party and took her home. But back at my place, she wouldn’t come in.

“What’s wrong?”

“Aren’t you going to invite me?”

“Haha why? You can’t just come in?” Weird! Haha.

“That’s not polite. My Granny said so.”

“Okay… ” Red flag much! Ha ha.

“So are you going to invite me in, or what?”

“Heh, I dunno now… ”

“Ugh!” Storming off.

I couldn’t explain…

My friend dies a week later.

Walking around the casket, another friend moves our friend’s head, revealing two puncture marks on his neck.

“Man, that guy’d just let anybody in… ”

Fable

By Donnolo Beren

A porcupine, a skunk, and a rattlesnake were arguing about their comparative fearsomeness.

“I’m so prickly that nobody touches me,” said the porcupine.

“Nobody wants to even come near me because of my smell,” replied the skunk.

“I have you both beat,” said the rattlesnake. “My bite is so deadly that the mere sound of my rattle frightens everyone away.”

A farmer carrying a hunting rifle happened upon the bickering animals. He shouted “Vermin!” and fired his weapon once, blowing off the snake’s head.

Moral: Stinkers and pricks are unpopular, but the worst is having a really poisonous reputation.

Fishers Boat

By Ezri Koue

“Why is there less food?”

“The boats eat it all, little orca.”

“What is that thing by the surface?”

“That is a boat, little orca.”

“Are they the ones who eat all the food?”

“Yes, little orca.”

“We must stop it!”

“No, little orca.”

“Why?”

“They will kill you, little orca.”

-

“Why is our pod so small?”

“There is not enough food, little orca.”

-

“Look, I found food!… Where has everyone gone?”

At The Stoplight

By Susan Reed

Four cars at a stoplight. Sitting opposite and perpendicular to each other, for the seconds it takes the light to change. A young girl sits in her car watching a minivan full of young kids with amusement. An old man looks left and admires a new Prius. A young man gazes right amazed at the old truck is still running. A mother absently watches a young girl sitting all alone in her car. They may never have met and may never meet again, but in those seconds, their lives intersect and they share that time and place forever.

The light changes.

A Descent Story

By Lily Yuen

What are you?

Um, human?

No, where are you from?

Um, San Francisco?

No, where are you really from? Like, what country are you from?

Like I said, I was born in San Francisco.

I mean what nationality are you?

I’m American.

Sheesh, where are your ancestors from?

Oh, because I’m not white?

Why you giving me a hard time? I’m just curious if you’re from China, Japan or Korea.

To begin with, I’m not “from” any of those countries, because I was born here in the United States. What you really want to know is my ethnicity. I am Chinese.

The Farm

By Patrick Cream

The “farm,” as it was often called, was a fortress: ten-foot razor wire with guard towers spaced no more than 100 yards apart surrounding the perimeter. Phil sat on the hood of his truck and mused with Cal as they unloaded the fencing material. Next to them, a cohort of well-armed security readied themselves with body armor.

“The farm,” he said sarcastically. “Heh wasn’t long ago this was just that, a farm. Fixing a fence didn’t require a special forces team.”

As he lit a cigarette Cal looked up and said, “Course the sheep weren’t half human back then.”

Jeopardy

By Miriam Mack-Piccone

She opens the door foolishly wide to receive her package. How amusing for that delivery person. Silvia, plays herself a milquetoast professor, on weekdays. But now, she can’t feel a draft where her clothing is missing.

I suppose those yapping giblets distract from her half-open kimono-thingy barely covering her you-know-what’s. Oh, shnoodles, she’s caught my eye. We wave to each other like dear old friends. I could give a snicker-padoodle what’s in her package. With a pasted smile smacking my gleaming new dentures, I gently close the curtain. Jeopardy is about to begin.

Re-reading Books

By Peter Mehren

It’s pointless to berate, 60 years later, the high-school English and History teachers who scorned my interpretations of books, poems, facts. Even though I was in Advanced Placement classes, I was inexperienced and not, as one female classmate said scornfully, “worldly.”

Now, having loved and lost and attended memorials, having lived in other countries and heard their accounts of events, I now “understand” what I was too young, too egocentric, then, to comprehend.

And so, reading at my leisure, now, a book assigned back then, I get what the author was conveying. But I can’t take that quiz again.

Lax Something

By Frank Salcido

Phone rings.

“Good morning, Deluxe Drug Store. How can I help you?”

“Good morning. I’m trying to find a really good laxative for my son. We’ve tried everything, but nothing seems to work. What do you recommend?”

“Sure, how old is he?”

“Six.”

“And nothing seems to work?”

“Nothing.”

“I’ll check with our pharmacist. One moment please.”

“Well, our pharmacist’s out to lunch, but let me think. Hmm – I suggest giving him a cigarette and a cup of black coffee, and that should do the trick. Anything else I can help you with?”

A huff of disgust, then click.

Reading Between the Lies

By Scotty Cornfield

They had both been married multiple times, though not to each other. The timing had never been right for them. Instead, they told countless lies to their respective partners, keeping their sporadic affair going throughout the decades.

He stood next to her hospital bed, taking in her cancer-ravaged body.

“You don’t look so bad,” he lied.

She barely lifted her bruised arm.

“Hope not. I feel pretty good,” she returned the fib.

“When they let you out of here, we should… ” He turned away as his voice cracked.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “That sounds nice.”

Her eyelids fluttered. Alarms sounded.

Hair Day

By Sue Braum

Hair is identity. Silver fox. Blonde bombshell. Long-haired hippie.

The sun filtered through the fuzzy silhouette of the shuttle driver’s mane made her think “salt and pepper.” If he was a dog, he’d be brindle. She had meticulously dyed each grey out of existence to preserve the ginger locks she was known for – until six months ago. “Next stop: Parkview Oncology,” he announced as she rubbed her hand across the newest bald patch.

War Story

By R.C. Roach

The baby screamed as he dug through the rubble. She dug as frantically as him, and both of their hands were dirty and bloody while they threw pieces of concrete away from the bombed building that used to be their home. Now louder, baby’s wails brought tears to both of their eyes, the rancid smoke and heavy dust wafting in the stale air, a feeling of despair amongst the grief when there were no longer any cries, just the sound of more bombs in another neighborhood from above.

Valiant

By Shawn Leonard

The boys gathered on the bluff. The Plymouth Valiant idled roughly. Its “V” hood ornament pointed to the sea. Billy smiled at his friends. He was the MAN today. He would send the car flying. He jammed the accelerator with a stick and dropped the tranny into gear. Spinning tires jolted the Valiant forward. Billy stumbled out the driver’s side. The door’s latch pin snagged his belt loop, dragging his folded body. The engine and the boy screamed together. It was a family car. It hated being alone. So it took Billy over the cliff with it, to the ocean below.

Fortune 500

By Wanda Sue Parrott

Making his fortune was Kiterai Zygniac’s goal. After arriving at Ellis Island by boat, the young Czechoslovakian immigrant shined bankers’ shoes in Manhattan, opening a checking account with his first $25. He then cashed a check in like amount at an Italian grocery, deposited it, wrote another check for $50 cash, deposited it, and continued this routine until Friday morning. “Kitey” then withdrew the $500 his account balance showed. That afternoon, the bank crash of 1929 happened. Others lost fortunes, but he’d made a small one. Today he’s an urban legend known as America’s first Czech kiter.

Paint With Words

By Warren Anderson

As first light breaks, casting willowy shadows on the wall opposite my window, I hear footsteps on the hardwood floor as you float into the room on feathered feet, your breathing incrementally louder with each step until I sense you hovering lovingly above me. I am lifted gently as your warm hands cradle me with your delicate touch, and I’m prepared to join in whatever creative, playful activity you have planned. You dip me into velvety liquid, shape my silken hair to a point, then we stroke with clear intention against the snow-white surface.

I, the brush. You, the artist.

No Con

By Clark Coleman

I was eating a burger in a sea of Santas in a San Francisco pub when a Santa Con reveler sat down beside me and ordered eggnog.

“Can I buy you a proper drink?” I asked.

“No Sam, thank you though.”

“How do you know my name?”

“Your name tag. Lunch break?”

I nodded. He continued. “Santa Con is right; everyone is conning everyone. Regular people dressing up like me. Preposterous. It’s an egregious affront to my image beloved by all.”

This guy is nuts.

I got back to my car and there was my name tag sitting on the dashboard.

Mirror Lake

By Susan Reed

“Did you see that article about the polar bear that killed the carp in his enclosure? Polar bears are mean. He didn’t even eat the fish.”

“He was so cute as a cub, too. Maybe they shouldn’t be keeping those killers in captivity. What kind of animal would just kill those helpless carp for no good reason?”

“This looks like a good spot. Darn live bait. It never wants to get on the hook.”

“Just poke it though the eye. It works every time. Are you going to eat your catch?”

“Nah. I can’t stand the taste of fish.”

“Me, neither.”

Hemingway Rewritten

By Donnolo Beren

For sale: Baby shoes. Slightly bloodstained.

Paper Prison

By Ezri Koue

The knight approached the dragon, sword sharp.

“Stop right there, Dragon!”

The dragon didn’t answer.

“Hello?”

“Do you ever wonder what’s beyond this?” said the dragon.

“What?”

“Don’t you know? We are nothing but a jumble of words in a newspaper, written by a writer who counts every word we say, careful to not go over 101.”

“Are we… not real?”

“Only as real as the reader’s imagination allows us to be.”

“… ”

“I wish I could talk longer, but word limit and all that,” the dragon said as it slipped away with a sly smile.”

The knight didn’t follow.