A compendium of plot twists, word play and not-so-super puns. We present the best of the 101-Word Short Story Contest.

1st Place

Cenobian Paronomasias

I heard that a nearby monastery snack bar, open to the public, sold wonderful fish and chips. I drove there and went in. The man behind the counter was wearing a robe and cowl. I inquired if he was a cleric. “Yes,” he said. “It’s a habit from my prior life.” I asked, “Are you the fish friar or the chip monk?” “Both,” he replied, “at your service. I’m also the beverage person.” He pronounced it “parson.” “I suppose you have monkfish on the menu,” I said, “or cardinalfish.” “Neither, I confess.” “Angelfish? Devil rays?” “No. We only serve sole.”

Donnolo Beren, Carmel

2nd Place

Minor Confusion

It was a classified ad in the Sunday paper that caught my eye. “Souls for sale. Make offer.” Suffice to say it piqued my curiosity, so I called. Of course… a recording. “Hello. Please leave your name and number and I will call you.”

So I did and soon a girl named Eve called. I assumed she was married to Adam and had just returned from picking apples. I asked, “You have souls for sale?” “I do… quite a few… various sizes. What size are you?”

“Size?” I asked.

“Yes… I re-sole shoes.” I hung up.

Chad Lincoln, Carmel

3rd Place

It was over

He’d ruled the roost, and she’d walked on eggshells for so long! The money he’d gambled didn’t matter – it was chicken feed – but she was done. While he crowed, she’d always been the one to deliver the eggs. For years she’d been madder than a wet hen, sticking around like a dumb cluck. Though no spring chicken, it was time to fly the coop. Work might be scarce as hens’ teeth now, but she had a sizable nest egg. With her gone, he’d run around like a chicken with its head cut off. She’d celebrate her freedom with a hen party.

Steve Schechter, Irvine

Honorable Mentions

Amostunexpectedgift

On the street, everybody knew him as “Shakes,” but nobody knew where the name came from. A human hermit crab, he spent his days scavenging for whatever he could “find” be it from dumpsters, Walmarts or unlocked parked cars.

The keys he retrieved from a puddle in the alley were particularly intriguing because they belonged to a Mercedes. Not many cars like that around here. He kept pushing the horn button until he located his nearby prize.

He casually drove off like he owned the thing. The real surprise would be later – when he discovered the body in the trunk.

Scotty Cornfield, no city listed

Going long

My birthplace is Porangahau, New Zealand, near a thousand-foot hill named Taumatawhakatangihangakoauauotamateapokai. Maybe this is why I favor long words. Studying history, I learned about antidisestablishmentarianism, a movement in England. I love the nonsense word supercalifragilisticexpialidocious popularized by Mary Poppins. My favorite Shakespearean word is honorificabilitudinatatibus, meaning achieving honors.

My approach to language: Why use a short word when a long word can do the job? My cohorts accuse me of voicing incomprehensibilities. I reply: Why should science be the sole arena using long, long words? Thankfully I don’t have hippopotomonstroesesquppedaliophobia, fear of long words.

Cherie Pipes, Seaside

Seriously Good HomemadeColeslaw

OK, I thought, let’s do this. I had a nice cabbage, carrots too, from the farm box, or the carrots may have been from my friend’s food bank leftovers. It was the first I’d made, and oh, it was good!

Smiling the next morning as I drove down the coast, I saw them. In the cold dark fog, spotlit by the machine’s overhead lights. They bobbed their bent backs, tossing something, what? Oh – cabbages! Into the truck they flew.

My face reddened, my pride deflated. My back ached with theirs. This was no longer mycoleslaw, all pride belonged to them.

Peggy Beard, Monterey

No steal

I am a musician, which makes me happy, but I don’t make much money. I drive a heater with a combative personality. No first gear. The clutch works occasionally. Two windows are plastic bags. Once the engine dies, it takes a miracle to restart it.

Last week, someone stole my car during my Cannery Row gig. The drummer and I found it four blocks away, parked partially in an intersection, the driver door wide open.

The thief had left a note written on a paper bag hooked over the mirror. It read, “Thanks. But No Thanks!!!”

Cherie Pipes, Seaside

Best of the Rest

Dislikeness

When the plywood portraits started popping up around town, he thought they were memorials. The old farmer succumbed to a heart attack and was resurrected holding heads of lettuce by The Farm. The spitting image of two kids hit by a drunk driver showed up playing baseball near Portola. He thought it was odd that the portrait of his neighbor’s son as a pint-sized cop appeared on Speckles Boulevard BEFORE he actually disappeared, but he must have imagined that.

When he turned the corner of Main Street, he got chills as he saw his own likeness staring back at him.

Sue Braum, Salinas

Just cause

Just a piece of paper. Just.As if that defined Jessie’s life. Just 19. Just weird. Just orphaned.Just a runaway. Just homeless.Just purple hair. Just suddenly rich. Rich.A word in the lexicon that made no sense to Jessie. Money wasn’t anything, unless you had none. Just poor. Jessie was that, too. Apparently memorizing dates of just unresolved trauma (like the day her dad *just*went to prison, or mom *just* overdosed, or brother *just* died) had usefulness in just picking lottery numbers. Just in her hand. Just lucky.Just a new definition.Just anything else.Just in time.

Elise Billingsley, Marina

That’s the ticket

Berta debated about paying the parking ticket she gotten that Friday morning. She’d parked too long in a 20-minute zone in front of the bank. Not fair. She didn’t know she was going to get caught up in a bank robbery for five hours. In a hurry – get the tips into her account before the rent check hits. Maybe she should pay it. She’d didn’t want to argue with authorities or risk anyone finding out about those five hundred-dollar bills that fell from the thief’s bag that she quickly tucked in her shoe. She considered it her tip.

Debbie Harris, Salinas

Time change

“What’s a little time?” Let’s see, let’s see. 101 words. That shouldn’t be a problem. After all, I am all about compressing and decompressing time. While I wait for my sentence to end. The future is nebulous and predictable at the same time. Take my release date for instance: September 24, 2026. Yes, I could pencil it in. But that’s a little too discouraging. So I picked another date, July 16, 2034 as my fictional rendezvous with freedom. By lengthening my time I have released my mind from trying to shorten time until I can once again smell a spring flower.

Atlas Deering, Pacific Grove

The in-laws

It was a double barrel shotgun wedding. Her mother held one barrel at my head from my left side, her father held the other on my right. She, of course, was smiling radiantly. I, on the other hand, did not smile that entire day. While her parents held their shotguns at my head, I thought, “if I drop to the floor really fast would that startle them into firing and would they kill each other?” Then I thought, “would that kill me?”

Oh well, marital bliss it is then. True story. We’ve been married 53 years.

Still can’t stand the in-laws.

Mike Alford, no city listed

No fly zone

Santa landed his sleigh on the roof of an old Victorian house in the Mission District of San Francisco. He dropped down its chimney and began placing presents under the decorated tree. A buzzing blue light from a nearby charging cell phone distracted him. He smiled and began filling the stockings. His work here done, he sat down for the milk and cookies left on the table.

Santa wiped crumbs from his beard and bounded back up the chimney. Santa found Rudolph looking cross-eyed at his missing red nose and the sleigh sitting on six cinder blocks with its runners missing.

ClarkColeman, Pacific Grove

Redwoods Dreaming

Accepting the invitation, she settles into its lap. Once tall and majestic, the trunk, now a cradle, envelopes her. Noble giants connected by intricate webs rippling their heartbeats. What does it feel like to have a heart? Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

Is there something you wish to share? Was she asking the tree or was the tree asking she? Just rest and feel my love.

Every one magical and beautifully unique, the council looked on. There is no one. There is only all. Invite them to come home. Perfectly embraced, she closes her eyes and dreams the dreams of the redwood.

Maria Best, Salinas

Priming the Pump

“Can I have more cereal?” Jaxon asked his daddy. Drew filled Jaxon’s bowl with Sugary Coco Flakes. “How about chocolate milk with this round?” Jaxon beamed. “OK!”

Drew turned when Jill cleared her throat. “Special treat,” Drew explained.

Jaxon climbed onto the counter and grabbed a brownie. Looked at Drew for permission. “Go for it!”

Ten minutes later, Jaxon ran full-speed down the hall. “Hey!” Drew yelled. He handed Jaxon a Coke. “Here – stay hydrated.”

“When’s the ex coming to pick him up for the weekend?” Jill asked. Drew looked at his watch. “In about 20 more grams of sugar.”

Scotty Cornfield, no city listed

The Art Gallery

I looked at the animal and then at the door, knowing flesh gives, but wood, not so much. A painting leaned against the gallery wall; a mammoth gray beast cropped to just the head, part of the ears, the trunk and shadowed tusks – a framed, flat piece. But in the next room the floor creaked under the weight of the real thing. A musky, safari smell tried to drift from the building. My clueless co-worker’s lips moved, speaking. The beast behind her nodded, its trunk searched her shoulders.

Well, someone had to say it. “There’s an elephant in the room.”

NickiEhrlich, Seaside

Going with the flow

“Where you off to?” I asked Barkley. “I dunno,” he shrugged. “I got nowhere special to be so I thought I’d just go with the flow and see where I wind up.”

That wassoBarkley. I’ve never known anyone who put less stock in making plans, and yet things always seemed to work out for him. At least I’d never seen him hurting for anything. While I admit that I like a bit more structure than my aimless drifter buddy, truth be told, I have no more control over my existence than he does. “Why’s that?” you ask. We’re plankton.

Scotty Cornfield, no city listed

Words to live by

“Let me live to be 100 years old,” was my wish when I blew out the 60 candles on my birthday cake. Then I raised my glass of wine and made a toast, “I hope to be on the planet for another 40 years.” Every day I write as fast as I can, filling reams of paper with childhood memories, my mind swirling with wistful nostalgia about simpler times.Waves of melancholy ensue… so little time… so many stories to tell… I wonder if living to be 100 is realistic.

Next year, my wish will be, “Let me live on in 101 words.”

Georgia A. Hubley, Henderson, Nevada

Why the caged frog sings

The frog was stuck.Although he had never read Heller’s book, he knew he was in a Catch-22.If he didn’t move he would miss his cricket meal. If he did, he would be seen by the red-headed kindergartener wearing her Hogwarts hoodie. His stomach was rumbling. He darted for the meal and was swiftly picked up by smooth soft hands. The two-handed tunnel was dark but warm and pleasant.He was soon lowered into a glass enclosure with moss flooring and an abundance of live trapped crickets.He smiled and rested.

DanMirski, Carmel

Air it out

There was an old man sitting on a bench with his face to the sun, the most content smile she had ever seen on his face. “May I ask why you’re so happy?” she asked.

There was a twinkle in his eye. “It’s a lovely day. Need there be anything more?”

She thought for a moment. “I suppose not. May I join you?”

He nodded and she sat. She stared at the sun, basking in the warmth of the summer day and the smell of nature all around them.

The old man was right. Then he farted. His smile grew wider.

Tara Mann, Seaside

Divestiture

Today I broke up with my closet. I’m tired of arguing with uncomfortable shoes, reject shapeless tunics used to camouflage pandemic pounds, cringe from obsolete shoulder pads. I sever relationships with skinny patent leather belts, shabby culottes, an ankle-length fuchsia skirt. Shelves of spaghetti strap tanks and software logo T-shirts beg Goodwill relocation. Velvet capes, brocade vests, polyester pant suits are sent packing. We have irreconcilable differences, nothing in common. I’m already seeing a second-hand Rebecca Taylor on the side, indulge in a Dolce & Gabana ménage a trois, hunger for an orgy of haute couture, seek a liberating divorce.

Jennifer Lagier, Monterey

News flash

“This is Dano Verde, Reaction News 88, live at the protest. There’s a lot of angry people here.Let’s try and get some testimony.Sir!Why are you protesting?”

The lanky guy in a white lab coat put his sign down and spoke calmly into the mic, “We are here to protest vaccines, climate change, football overtime rules, and most importantly that our hairy cousin, The Sasquatch, is not a North American ape, but a multi-dimensional being of superior intelligence.Nessie would agree.”

“There you go folks.You can feel the anger.This is Dano Verde.You take care.”

ShawnBoyle, Pacific Grove

Corporate expansion

Santa hung up the phone and turned to his wife. “Corporate said I can have Ginger and Milo this year. The two extra reindeer will be a big help for this year’s haul.”

“Isn’t 10 reindeer excessive?” Mrs. Claus asked. “How many toys are you delivering?”

Santa arose from his desk and beckoned Mrs. Claus through the threshold to the sleighport. An additional cargo trailer sat hooked up to the sleigh’s trailer hitch, its compartment brimming over with lumps of coal. Santa looked at the load shaking his head. “A lot of children are refusing to wear masks or get vaccinated.”

ClarkColeman, Pacific Grove

Transit in Second Person

You get on the train. You sit in the same seat every day. Under the seat, there’s a wad of gum. Your obsession will not allow you to not look. You get on your hands and knees just to see if the one you added is still there. It was fuchsia, a giant gobstopper that should look like the largest of the constellation Mass Transit Major. You smile,tharshe is. You sit back in your seat, look out the window, reflecting on your greatest contribution to the Public Transit System.

Miriam Mack-Piccone, Pacific Grove

Nothing to say

Hey 101-Word Short Story judges… I decided not to submit a story to the 101-word contest this year. It’s a combination of being on a long road trip leading up to the deadline, being very busy in a good way and, truth be told, being somewhat discouraged by my poor track record with the contest – only one accepted story out of at least a couple of dozen submissions. I won’t give up but that’s all for 2021. Oh wait, is this a story?

Peter Hiller, Carmel

Length matters

“Where’s my $50,000?” the henchman said, exhaling cigarette smoke into Gerald’s ear. His sidekick, Rick, smacked his bubblegum and smiled.

Gagged and tied to a chair, Gerald winced. Next to him sat a record player and a stick of dynamite, its fuse bent toward the center spindle.

“Rick, your gum,” the henchman barked. Rick spit his gum out and the henchman caught it then placed it on the tonearm. He stuck his glowing cigarette on the gob. “So you love vinyl? Which record should I play? The Ramones “Blitzkrieg Bop” on 45 or the “In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida” side of Iron Butterfly?”

Clark Coleman, Pacific Grove

Trooper at the door

The State Trooper stood – enormous, motionless – on our front porch… ominous, in the darkness. But I was only 11 and I wouldn’t have used that word then. He appeared even larger, framed by the doorway as Mom shrunk on the hallway floor. Her heart having been pierced, she collapsed at the sound of his words.

Or did she already know, before he even spoke? Nothing good ever came from a knock at the door at 2am.

And so three light sleepers united for his call of honor.His eyes were kind and sad. Was his heart breaking, too?

Michael Kwasnoski, no city listed

A prickly situation

Hawkins knew he should have read that fermentation book before taking a swig from his latest prickly pear wine concoction.He thought maybe he could walk it off. It’s not often you see Santa Claus and a leprechaun drinking beers in the woods together.He thought Santa would be tired of hanging out with elves.The unicorn peeing and the cyclops eating yellow snow also did not help calm his nerves.The singing squirrels having the air guitar contest on the roof was the final straw. He laid down on the door and spun his way through the galaxy until morning.

ShawnBoyle, Pacific Grove

Don’t answer

I was in the tea aisle at Whole Foods, comparing brands of chamomile tea. A young woman rushed up to me. “Do you bake bread?” she blurted out desperately.

“Not for years,” I replied.

She made an exasperated face. “I have to bake bread. I’m asking every white-haired woman here.”

She charged down the tea aisle and into Produce, stopping at another woman, approximately my age. “Do you bake bread? I’m asking every white-haired… ”

I tossed two boxes of chamomile tea into my cart, checked out, drove home. “What color is my hair?” I asked my husband.

Elaine Whitman, Pacific Grove

Joey Two Toss

To everyone in Atlantic City, Joesph Piccolini was “Joey Two Toss,” who only needed to toss his pizza dough twice before it was ready for topping. One day a hurricane struck while Joey was working dough. He saw approaching waves, and with a few powerful tosses made an enormous pie. As water flooded his shop, Joey jumped on that pie and floated out to sea, staying atop his gas-filled dough for days.

Rescued by the Coast Guard, he fed their 15-person crew with his pizza raft. From then on, there was always saltwater pizza on the boardwalk along with taffy.

Steve Schechter, Irvine

The Lord of the Rings (abridged)

Elrond summoned the hobbits. He looked at Frodo. In a grave voice he said, “The Ringbearer is setting out on the Quest of Mount Doom.”

Gandalf called Gwaihir the Windlord, greatest of all the Eagles of the North. Frodo was lofted up and borne swiftly away to Mordor, the land of darkness. They alit before a door in the Mountain’s side. Within was a long cave cloven by a great fiery fissure. Frodo took the Ring from its chain and cast it into the Crack of Doom.

“Piece of cake,” he said to Gwaihir. “Let’s go back to Rivendell.”

Donnolo Beren, Carmel

Butterflies

“Look, Mom, it’s a monarch butterfly. You remember?” pointing at the eucalyptus limb before it twittered off. “You remember, when you brought me here, as a kid, when those branches were covered in orange and black blankets undulating in the breeze?”

Green eyes glistened upward as her daughter grabbed her hand. “I remember the butterflies, but who are you?”

RC Roach, Gonzales