101-Word Short Story Contest: Writers light the way with their wit that only a human possesses.

~ First Place ~

$1.87

By Pat Smith

A shaft of December sun spotlighted Sister Flora reading to her fifth-graders.

“The Gift of the Magi by O. Henry. ‘One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in pennies… … ..The End.’”

A hand up.

“Yes, Tommy.”

“At the start, it couldn’t be sixty cents in pennies. That’s a multiple of five. All other coins are multiples of five, so there’s no making eighty-seven.”

“Why, I… ”

“Gotta be fifty-seven or sixty-two.”

“Well, Mister Brainiac, how about you write ‘fifty-seven or sixty-two’ twenty times on the blackboard.”

“Yes, S’ter.”

~ Second Place ~

Power Move

By Peter Hiller

On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. As she was just tall enough now to reach the light switch, she was totally enamored with the control it gave her. In a world that seemed almost entirely beyond her control, this was a power moment for her and she loved it. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off.

~ Third Place ~

Wiggle Room

By Scotty Cornfield

Angie thinks I’m a commitment-phobe – afraid to ever commit 100 percent. She’s wrong, but still, she’s my best friend (sorta).

Now she’s mad because we were meeting at 2. “No. I said ‘2-ish.’” That fires her up.

“You can’t ish everything. You never go all in.”

“That’s partially true,” I say.

“Partially? What’s your favorite chocolate?”

“Semi-sweet.”

“Best movie?”

“Almost Famous.”

“Favorite beer?”

“Miller Lite.”

“Wow – you can’t even commit to the full spelling of ‘light.’ Everything you do is half-hearted – even your conversion to Judaism.”

“What?”

“Yeah. I think you like the sound of being Jew-ish.”

I grimace. “You’re right – mostly.”

~ Honorable Mentions ~

By the Bay

By Clair Cheer

Her childlike love of whales was endearing. So was her wish to have her cremains share an intimacy with them. The day was perfect. Only a whisper of a breeze softly rippled the surface of the bay. The boat rocked gently in the calm bay waters. All aboard exchanged silent glances as I tipped the urn and let the grey ash spill softly onto the surface of the dark bay. The water tinted the ashes, light green at first, the color deepening and taking on a blue-green then blue then violet hue before softly vanishing into the depths.

The Beginning of The End

By Keira Shoff

The beginning of the end of the world… That’s what everyone calls it at least. A virus. No one knows where it came from, or how it spreads, but one day everything was normal, and now? The World will never be the same again. It starts slowly, nausea, cramping, sensitivity to light, headaches. Then ramps up, intense weight loss, blinding pain and then… nothing. Death. A day later your body will be no more. Gone. Eaten from the inside out, nothing left. The virus has taken everyone I love, and as I gag once more, I fear I will be next…

Superhero-ish

By Kady Ayoubi

He hovered above the city, cape flapping, squinting as he adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

A distant meow lit a spark of purpose in his chest. “Time to finally shine.” He soared toward a trembling tree, a little too hasty. His glasses slipped, tumbling to the ground. All became a blur.

He landed cautiously, careful to repeat last week’s face-plant. To his despair, the tree was empty. The cat? Long gone.

A neighbor peeked out. “Oh… you’re here.”

He straightened his cape and floated skyward, letting the clouds swallow him whole.

After the Party

By Kay Mehren

When I regained consciousness, I was under a grand piano, naked, on one edge of a large, empty ballroom, sunlight pouring in.

Finding a tablecloth, I fashioned a sarong, and sought answers to the obvious questions.

Two cleaning ladies entered, stopped briefly, then began collecting glasses, ashtrays, and other detritus. I asked where I was, but they smiled and shrugged. Likely, little or no English.

Doors to other rooms seemed locked.

I found a newspaper, but I didn’t recognize its alphabet.

Answers will turn up. Someone else will be here or arrive. Meanwhile to the bathroom and then the kitchen.

Our First Trauma

By Peter Mehren

Birth: the first trauma!

Nine months floating in warm liquid, eyes closed, food through a tummy tube.

And then Splash! Thud!

Welcome!

Bright lights, the air so different through nasal passage to lungs, hands rubbing us all over, sounds, and then this large, tasty object pushed into our mouths.

No wonder most of us are perpetually suspicious about what the next surprise will be.

Limits

By Andrew Bauer

One-hundred-one words?! A mercy for readers (and judges), but torture for prolix proferrers of prose like me… At 21, already… The light on my desk has become an interrogation lamp (33)… Each bead of sweat, a word (40)… The oven timer’s now a pressure cooker (48)… Each tick = one less letter (54)… Whiteout offers way out (59); I decline… “There’s no way out of this,” meows Mittens (cat) at feet (73)… Moonlight cracks blinds. Writes 101 specks of dust into momentary existence. Mittens leaps up onto keyboard. It seems he’ll get the last word, as he always does: \\[p’--)k,,,,iuihjbnd1Q!

The Auction

By Tara Mann

The auctioneer holds up a faded red Bic lighter, and the entire room gasps. The electric lighting flickers ominously, and at 1:30pm, only darkness spills through the windows. The auctioneer suppresses a shiver – even five years since light became a coveted resource like food or water, she isn’t used to the dark.

She recognizes various groups – street kids who’ll try to steal the lighter, parents whose meager bank accounts are useless, and the wealthy who’ll ultimately win each bid.

The auctioneer shifts behind the bulletproof glass. “Fully functional lighter, only ever used twice. Bidding starts at 1 million dollars.”

The Woman in the Water

By Shaye Paluck

The port-side cleat was tenderizing my abdomen. I gripped the plastic cap, my muscles strained as I pulled our bow closer to the dock. In the green waters below, wavering sunbeams lit a pale woman’s face, eyelids casually closed and jaw clenched. Her loose white shirt and dark hair danced, expanding and contracting to the water’s slight currents. Arms twisting around her body, her right hovering in front of her left breast, her left to her back. Softened pine needle branches and black muck circled her. The bow moved between us, but she still needed to be fished from the water.

The Messenger

By Nan Pheatt

When we passed the spot on Old Fisherman’s Wharf that had once been a flower seller’s niche, I told my friend about the roses. Mark and I bought red roses there every year during our anniversary getaway to thank my sister for watching our kids. My friend didn’t know what to say to this new detail about my sister’s sad breast cancer story. “I wish she could have seen them grow up,” I added. Fifty paces along, a stranger approached from a pool of sunlight, a red rose in her hand. She placed it in mine silently and hurried off. How?

Got the Cheese

By Steve Schechter

Jacob, a shy 16-year-old, lived in a perpetual slouch. Straight blond hair curtained his lightless eyes, providing a safer place from which to see the world. Believing a car could cure his social deficiencies, Jacob applied for a grocery clerk position to afford one. The manager promised that if Jacob sold a twenty-two-pound wheel of Jarlsberg cheese in one week, he’d be hired permanently. In his white deli jacket, Jacob became upright, confident, and personable. He surpassed his quota, earned the position, and forgot the car. In the maze of teenage life, Jacob already had the cheese.

What Will It Be Today?

By Vickie Casacca

The inevitable tugging, pulling, squirming and clawing. The screaming, at a pitch that could easily break the sound barrier, or my eardrums. The snot, not the light, innocuous kind, but the thick, green, germy kind. The endless, insanely expensive list, that unless you just won the Mega Millions, is never going to happen. The teenage girl, still wearing her flannel pajamas and Uggs past noon, on a dare from her friends. The ankle biter, yipping the entire time, in his holiday-themed sweater, anxious to get back in his stroller. A Santa has to do what a Santa has to do.

Alice’s Nickname

By Judy Dow

It was a known fact. Far and wide, Alice Innsbrook was exceptionally popular.

It was no wonder! She was always available and never felt put upon.

She was a patient listener, a gifted communicator, non-judgmental, offering advice only if you asked. And, you could ask her anything, tell her anything. There would always be a prompt response. She could light up the day of a troubled teenager, as well as brighten the night of a lonely widow. She never expected anything in return.

Everyone felt fortunate to have Alice Innsbrook in their lives.

Her nickname was A.I.

The Meadow

By Kelly Lehrian

“Follow” he whispered. Their footfall moving in sync. He pauses as she continues into the meadow, secluded, the air filled with birdsong, light filtering through the trees, green emerging from the Earth. Standing still, her mind blank, reeling in utter disbelief, she feels a comforting warm breath brush the back of her neck. Stepping beside her, a silent witness to the river of tears streaming down her cheeks. Asking him, “Is she here?” Slowly dropping his head, as if in conversation with something unseen. A confirmation of sorts. Reaching out, she gently buries her fingers in his soft mane and sighs.

A Rocky Start

By Anna Welsh Neill

He didn’t know how far it was to the ground, hadn’t been able to stomach the sight for a while. His feet dangled helplessly and his forearms trembled as he desperately clung to the ledge, scrabbling for grip. Face pressed against the rock, his gasping breath echoed in his ears. Fingers slipping, millimeter by millimeter, the strain became too great and the rock seemed to slide away.

The void opened below, he lost the hold, screaming “I’M FAAAAAAALLING!!!”

“Still on belay!” she called as she lightly lowered him the few feet to the floor. “I thought your profile said you climbed?”

The Interview

By Carol Roberts

Rebecca sat across from the hiring manager, fluorescent light amplifying her blouse stain.

“Thanks for coming! Someone quit the 911 desk half hour ago.”

“Unfortunate.”

“May I call you Rebecca? You do realize you have a bleeding gash on the side of your head?”

“Sorry. I was in a car accident on the way but I didn’t want to be late.”

“Excellent. Would you say we have about six minutes until you lose consciousness?”

“Hopefully.”

“Then let’s get started. Your resume says you have two years experience. We’re swamped. You’re hired. Rebecca? Rebecca! Can you hear me? Somebody call 911!”

Dusk In The City

By Jenissa Ramirez

It was a dark night in the city. The lampposts flickered with light as if tired of the darkness. The streets sighed with a faint breeze, and the buildings looked abandoned, their windows dull, sullen. Snow had fallen earlier, leaving the pavement damp and slick beneath my steps. I walked farther – no people, no cars, no stray cats. Only little fluffy crystal flakes drifting down from the clouds, each gleaming strangely, phosphorescent when it hit the ground.

I reached home, wiped my feet on the welcome mat, and stepped inside. Then I noticed the prints behind me – they definitely weren’t mine.

Cue the Lightbulb

By Tara Mann

Charlie was tired of waiting for his lightbulb moment. The “I’ve solved world hunger” or “this is the answer to the universe” moment. His mother created worldwide renewable energy. His sister invented a cheap, efficient water purifier for developing countries. His college roommate dismantled the electoral college and political party system to turn the USA into a country to be proud of again.

Charlie just didn’t expect an actual lightbulb to come with his.

The light glowed around him, swinging on its chain. Charlie trembled, whispering. “That’s it. I finally understand.”

“Sorry,” the electrician said, turning off the light. “Wrong wire.”

The Gift

By Tydus Talbott

I dropped the last quarter into my piggy bank. I’d been saving for two weeks. Grabbing the bank, I rushed out, wondering, “Is the general store open today?” My eyes caught a small sign: “Open.”

“Yes!” I exclaimed. I bumped into my best friend, who shouted, “Buying the new video game?”

“Even better!” Suddenly, there it was, light shining on it. I grabbed it and checked out.

Once home, I opened the door. My sister, who’d been sick and still didn’t feel well, asked, “What’s that?”

“I got you a baby doll!” Her eyes brightened as she jumped and screamed delightedly.

The Intruder

By Laurie Bauer

The backyard motion light rouses me from an uneasy sleep. Is it that damn stray dog? Or that creepy guy in a hoodie who’s been lurking around the neighborhood? Soon I hear the jiggling of the backdoor knob. Then the creak of the opening door.

I hear heavy footsteps climbing the stairs. I reach under the spare pillow for my ex-husband’s gun. I point it at the half-open bedroom door and I’m about to pull the trigger when the door opens wide and there stands my wayward son.

“Jeez, Mom. You gotta stop watching all those true crime shows!”

Dialed Dialect

By Clark Coleman

Mrs. Claus slammed the plastic toy barbecue, no bigger than a coffee mug, down on the desk in front of her husband. “What in tarnation is this?” She held her carbon copy of Santa’s list. “This is to be delivered to Doris in Oxnard, California.”

Santa picked up the toy grill and regarded it with light curiosity as he turned it in his hand.

Mrs. Claus shook her head. “Luckily the warehouse elf caught it. Doris wanted a doll, a Barbie.”

Santa pounded his fist on the desk. “Drat. I forgot to change the factory AI settings to American from Australian.”

In the Dark

By Shel Erlich

She must have said it to him a thousand times.

“Jerry, you’re way too serious. You’d better lighten up, or the stress is gonna kill you before you turn 40.”

“You’re right, Ma,” he’d been saying in response for at least the last ten years, shifting his eyeballs skyward when she wasn’t looking.

Lighten up? Had his mother conveniently forgotten about his 6-year-old’s accidental death, the subsequent divorce, his failure to get that promotion at work?

No matter. She wouldn’t have to tell him any more, he mused to himself, as he placed another flower on her fresh grave.

Winter Light

By Colleen Flanigan

She pulled up the blinds, letting bright gray light fall in. It lacked warmth. It held water and bite, the crisp chill of morning. As the dogs ran into the garden, she watched a yellow songbird alight on the dormant plum tree, pecking at spider mites. A dark-eyed junco hopped around the container box of cyclamens finding breakfast. A black phoebe flycatcher was patiently eyeing the fish pond from a wood stake. Their feathered activity was sunshine on her ruffled heart. Barefoot, she stepped into the garden to begin her day, working intimately, immersed in the season’s changing winter light.

Spill Your Guts

By Shawn Boyle

“Truth serum is light beer,” sputtered Texas Nasty sitting two bar stools away. I wasn’t certain if he was talking to me or his reflection in the mirror across the bar. With heavy tearful eyes, he recalled his championship wrestling alligators while starting up a business manufacturing billiard cues. He trembled at the thought of letting the Square-Dancing Queen get away. Distant memories. Regret. Pain. Hurt. The smorgasbord of what makes us human was on full display. Many stories later, he slammed his last beer, got up, and whispered softly my way, “I should have never gotten on that spaceship.”

Back in Action

By Gregory Hodge

The canvas felt nice and cool. It felt rough and cozy. I could smell the sweat and the blood that had stained it from however many other matches had been held on it. My head still rang from the hit, my jaw was numb, and I knew that tomorrow the pain would kick in hard. I opened my eyes; the lights that shone above were blinding, like another hit to keep me down. As the ringing passed, I could hear the chants of the crowd, I could hear the screams of my coach. It was time to get up and fight.

All For Love

By Kylie Kassiday

I loved him and he loved me and that was the first thing we knew about each other. Sure, there was a lot more to know. Strengths, weaknesses, desires, aversions, talents, quirks, fascinations, fears, triumphs, failures and all the nuances that you discover by living together.

It was a lot. Yet, still, there was mystery.

Now he was standing waiting by the back door.

“Why do you have to go out every night?” I wondered.

He looked at me but didn’t say a word.

Cats are like that.

I opened the door and turned on the porch light.

Fooled

By Clark Coleman

1899, Barrow, Northern Alaska. Brock is playing poker and checking his pasteboards when the saloon doors fly open. Augustus Pete storms in fuming. “My brother is in jail because of you.”

“’Twas a fair trial,” Brock said glancing back at his hand.

Augustus raised his pistol. “You best be out of town before sundown. If you’re here at last light, you’ll end up in a pine box.”

Brock nodded. “OK.”

One of the men in the game spoke up. “I can’t believe you agreed to that scoundrel’s demand.”

Brock laughed. “The fool. Sun won’t set for another month and a half.”

Sabina

By Alex Beardsley

Her smile is ubiquitous with the abstract concept of time as my thoughts are inherently dependent on every curve of her lips. Truth be told, when I saw her tucked away in that corner of the bodega my perception of humanity changed forever. One glance was enough to challenge my courage. I stood by the end of the block, summer sunlight blinding my eyes. An internal struggle began ensuing; one which my perseverance needed to overcome. Knees shaking, mind racing I walked back into the bodega. Bravery be damned I mustered a hello, her response: “What took you so long?”

A Boyhood Dream Takes a Detour

By Warren Anderson

My childhood dream, to win the World Series for the New York Yankees, took a sudden detour the day I tried out for my first Little League team.

I was 10 years old. My mom and my little sister dropped me off at the tryouts, hoping for the best.

An hour later, I’m shuffling my feet, head down, the bright light in my eyes dimmed. Mom knew right away and said nothing. But my little sister, in front of all my friends, yelled out, “DID YOU GET CUT?”

The Cooperstown Hall of Fame will just have to wait.

The Usherette, 1939

By Laurie Bauer

Soft apricot-colored light shines on her blond hair as she leans against the back wall of the movie theater. Her head is bent, hand on cheek, deep in thought. Her rent is late, and so is her period. And her boyfriend shipped out last week. Next to her, red velvet curtains are tied back at the bottom of a green-carpeted staircase, beckoning to a better life above.

In the darkened theater, scattered viewers sit transfixed by the light and shadow, unaware of the drama unfolding right beside them, under the apricot light.

Power Out

By Andrea Ibarra

The power went out in my grandma’s house, so my brother and I went to the kitchen cabinet to get some flashlights.

“I feel like I’m in a horror movie,” my brother says, flicking his flashlight on and off again.

“Don’t say that, you know, people died in this house.”

“Oh, right, the old couple.”

“Yeah, so don’t even say anything.”

Then we hear a click, the TV being turned on.

“Okay, please tell me that was you?” I say to him.

“N-no.”

We both flash the flashlights towards the living room. The TV was never on, but the clicking continued.

Next Move

By Joseph Rice

The clock’s incessant ticking is a hammer on Henry’s concentration. He studies the chessboard, calculating, his composure fraying. Henry hates time pressure, and he hates to lose. His adversary’s exposed King tempts an attack. Forty seconds left. Ah ha! He finds the crushing Knight move – subtle yet merciless, a maneuver that forces checkmate! Henry looks up at his opponent. His gaze meets that of his 6-year-old daughter, legs dangling, eyes wide with admiration, vulnerability, lit with hope. He exhales, the adrenaline ebbing in a warm flush of love. He nudges his King into the corner square. Softly, he says, “Your move.”

Baseball

By Thomas Krause

A golden glow shines across the crispy fall evening, gusts tumbling leaves along lightly like fragments of memory. Mom and I sit together inside, half talking, half watching the TV. When did we become fans again?

A crack of the bat, a rush of jubilation. We’re both standing now. Expectation and anxiousness hang thick in the air. One, two… there! Three outs. The season ends, improbably, in gold. How fast life can change.

Amused, glowing, we sink into the half empty couch. Long years have passed since we last cared. Why now, I wonder? The vacant seats on the couch remind us.

Birthday S’mores

By Sarah Boyle

Today he’s 7, and beaming. “An actual flint rod Mom? This is the best birthday ever!” “Then let’s do this! Grab some Vaseline, cotton balls, some dry brush, kindling, firewood, and of course your flint rod!”

He’s seen it done, he knows the drill, and sets it up perfectly. He strikes his rod for the first time, creating several sparks, his eyes widen with amazement! Strikes again, then it happens, the spark catches and the fire’s lit. He blows gently, getting a nice flame. Proudly adding wood to his fire… I hand him the sticks, marshmallows, chocolate and grahams.

In Trouble

By Dawn G.

Lightning flashes outside. It is a stormy night, I stay on the couch watching TV. Suddenly, the lights go out, and I see a flash of white pass by, heading straight for the dining table. I hear the sound of paws on the floor. What or who could it be? I tiptoe over and grab the white! It was my dog, Puffy! I take a look and notice that not only are the lights gone, but so is my taco! Cheese, crumbs and bits of lettuce are all that are left of my dinner. Mom is going to be so mad.

Love and War

By Russell Sclafani

Lightning jolted down. Rain slashes me and the rest of the cold witches; my legs feel soggy from all this hiding. The big question: why are the royal Sanchez hunting us?

Unfortunately Sanchezes have the newest wands, the forest was bustling with knights. At that moment, a bright blue light emerged from one of the big red trees.

“Candyland,” General Sanchez shrieked, like his soldiers had terrible hearing.

Sharply, brightly and quickly, a different portal opened, but it’s pink. “The dragon of love is here,” I beam. The crowd of witches bustle with excitement.

Crumbling, General Sanchez ran away yelling.

Bottle Blues

By Sue Braum

He knew she was trouble. Nothing good ever came from his involvement with her. Yet there she stood. Tall, tan and glistening in the dim light of his kitchen beckoning his lips like a moth to a flame. “You know you shouldn’t do this,” his conscience whispered. “What’s one night?” his dark side said. “One night is never just one night,” conscience reminded. “Fuck it. I’m going in,” he caved. He grabbed her by the neck and with one flick of his bottle opener took his first swig in six months.

New Neighbor

By R C Roach

The greying man felt lonely as he looked out the kitchen window. His only companion, a male Norwegian forest cat was fondling with his neck against her Calico face, and they weren’t fighting anymore. She wore a decorated collar with a bell and light blue ID tag. Both cats licked noses, slowly backing away, looking into each other’s eyes and parting in happy meandering ways.

The doorbell rang. He opened the door.

“Is my cat over here?” she asked.

“Who are you?” in an apprehensive face.

“I’m your new neighbor… ”