Category: 100 Word Stories

#131 Eight of Light

“Oh sweet scented apple. Temptress off the vine—,” she stopped short. “Sid, this line doesn’t work. Apples don’t grow on vines. They grow on trees. Who wrote this crap, anyway?”

“I did,” Sid, the writer and director, seethed through gritted teeth. No one uttered a word. Waiting. “Fine. You may say ‘branch’ but please bite the damn apple so we can all go on break.” She nodded. “Lights!”

“Oh sweet scented apple. Temptress off the branch,” she said, taking a bite. She grabbed her throat and collapsed.

“This is why we have rehearsals,” he said, standing over her dead body.

#130 Seven of Light

Every night I dream I’m running through the woods at night. Dark and mysterious. I’ve never been there before yet it feels like it’s my home. The ground beneath my bare feet is wet from rain. I’m being chased by something in the dark. I can hear its heavy breathing and low growl behind me. A beast?

I know I’m dreaming. If I can just make myself wake up then I’ll be safe. My chest is tight with fear as—

—suddenly I’m falling. Above me I can see stars in the sky. The wind against my face just before I—

#129 Six of Light

“These shores are not to be reckoned with, mum. Best to keep the lamps burnin’, if yer catch me meanin’,” Smythe said, leaning in so close his breath made her eyes water.

“Nonsense. It’s an old pirate tale. A mermaid scared of light?” she questioned, as clouds covered the full moon.

“MERMAIDS UP AHEAD!” shouted the crewman from the lookout. He pointed a shaky finger towards the black murky waters while the men strained to catch a glimpse of her.

All except the woman. There are no such things as mermaids, she thought, until their siren song called to her.

#128 Five of Light

The man is obsessed with me. Every time I come in he’s staring at me. Never  watching what he’s doing. But he’s the only butcher for miles. And a house cannot run without meat to nourish the souls that live within.

Today the shop is packed with customers. I am fourth in line, but that doesn’t stop his eyes from trying to catch mine. He raises his cleaver in the air and brings it down with purpose, narrowly missing his fingers. His eyes never leaving mine. A perfectly cut rump for the gentleman.

The next chop isn’t quite so lucky.

#127 Four of Light

“Are you sure now is the right time?”

“Quit shaking your leg. You’ll bring attention to us,” he said, calm and cold. “You’ve paid me half. When it’s done you’ll pay me the rest and I’ll be on my way.”

“Yes, but…what if he—” Before she could finish the man got up from the booth and walked towards the exit just as my usual plate of breakfast arrived.

The thought crossed my mind, briefly, that I ought to say something to the proper authorities? Right after I’ve eaten. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, after all.

#126 Three of Light

“Are you sure about that bid, Harold?” Sally asked, grinning innocently at her partner who studied his cards again, then tapped his fingers on the table.

“Oh no you don’t. No signaling to each other with some sort of code,” Jim said.

“Speak for yourself. Sally and I know you two cheat. We just haven’t figured out how.” They all laugh out loud.

“Welcome holiday shoppers! This weekend we have a sale on card tables for you and the whole family…”

A curtain parts revealing four mannequins sitting around a card table, playing Spades, with painted smiles on their faces.

#125 Two of Light

His eyes darted around the room but he couldn’t move or speak. 

“I can see you’re worried. Don’t be. You see, I’ve done this before,” she whispered through her masked face at a naked man strapped to a gurney under a dim light. 

She moved to a tall bookcase. His eyes followed as she pulled a cord and drapes parted, revealing shelves of jars. Each containing a heart.

“I loved them all. But none compare to you.” He looked down at his chest and saw black lines. She hovered over him, a scalpel in hand. “This might leave a scar.”

#124 Ace of Light

The horses hooves on the cobblestones echoed down the dark and empty street pulling an empty carriage. The driver steadied their pace to a trot, admiring the full moon and stars. In the distance, standing under a dimly lit street lamp, was a woman of questionable character, smoking a cigarette.

Behind her, lurking in the shadows, stood a man watching. Waiting. The horses sped up. From a trot to a gallop the driver veered to the left, the carriage struck the woman in an instant.

The man stepped out of the shadows and blew his whistle.

“After her!” he shouted.

#123 LEAVES

She ripped the page from her notebook, then crumpled and threw it at her wastepaper basket, surrounded by dozens of similar failed attempts. Her notebook had just a few sheets remaining.

“This is so stupid,” she muttered to herself.

She wrote the word THE and stared at it till it lost all meaning. Her doctors said writing was the best medicine, in their professional opinion.

“Don’t let an accident stop you,” they said. Her award winning books taunting her on the shelves. She wanted to scream. The words just wouldn’t come anymore.

Then she wrote END, and that was enough.

In keeping with the theme for the rest of August, check out the publication whose name I used for the story you just read. And if you like their writing, give them a Subscribe to let them know!

LEAVES

Short character-driven fiction, evocative travel tales, memoirs and a lot of laughs. Always free. Receive a couple of 🍁LEAVES in your email twice a week. Guaranteed better for your mental health than the daily newspaper.

By Sharron Bassano

Special thanks to for being a part of the Substack Fiction Community and now a part of my 100 Word Story journey.

#122 Toasted Fiction

She exited the Rusty Anchor about as gracefully as one would expect anyone who’d spent the entire evening accepting free drinks from stranger men. Her stiletto heels made it impossible for her to take a steady step so she removed them.

Feeling the cold cobblestones beneath her stocking feet brought sobriety just in time to feel the hairs on the back of her neck get all prickly. This was not an uncommon occurrence. She gripped one heel in each hand. Bracing for anything.

The tenements were just a few blocks away. She heard footfalls quicken as she started to run.

In keeping with the theme for the rest of August, check out the publication whose name I used for the story you just read. And if you like their writing, give them a Subscribe to let them know!

Toasted Fiction with Chris Patrick

Stories of all shapes and sizes from writer, author and playwright Chris Patrick

Special thanks to for being a part of the Substack Fiction Community and now a part of my 100 Word Story journey.