100-Word Stories Return Fare
One Hun·dred Word Sto·ries
n. pl. 1. Short stories that are a hundred words in length, not counting the title. They are sort of an excecise in writing and boredom.


Argino bobbed about the white swells as he watched the water lap against the porcelain shores. He sat calmly in the water, grateful for the respite granted him by the giantess's absence.

It had been 5° warmer when she had dunked Argino beneath the surface of the water, holding him there for an unbearably long time, before letting go. And then she leapt from the water and giggled as she disappeared over the horizon.

Thus did Argino swim alone, contemplating escape - shaking his wings out and taking flight. But Argino couldn't fly.

The yellow duck bobbed, resigned to his fate.


Pete slid along the slippery tunnel until he could move no further. This was his fiftieth-no sixtieth foray into the small hole, and like each time before, he pulled himself back out and tried again. It was an endless cycle, but Pete was determined to go deeper this time - deeper than ever before.

Suddenly, on his next push inward, the entire tunnel began to shake and contract, squeezing Pete and pinning him fast. Pete reacted to the tremors violently as he vomited all over the tunnels floors and walls.

Withdrawing, Pete lay limply at the entrance, weak and tired.


You had to look past the blue house… which was Herculean, as this was the Platonic form of blue - a blue that never could be. Except clearly it did.

You had to look past it to see the little shack of a cabin with its lesser colors. And in truth, it wasn't so much that you saw the cabin… rather you saw an imperfection on the fringe of the transcendent blue.

Behind that cabin was a little tree that bore the sweetest pears you'd ever eat - as pure a pear as the blue was blue.

She was buried beneath there.


She's the eldest sister, the tall blonde one, say those around her. I think I first noticed her eyes and her cheeks - not that I could tell you what color either were. Too busy writing the story of our life.

We court and then move-in together after six months or so - living in sin, is the phrase. Which we happy to do for many years. No rush to get married. The romance and the comfort keeps us happy enough. Marriage and kids and "happily ever after" comes later. For now the chapter ends - playing house with the cute lawyer chick.

Unless otherwise noted all material on this page is copyright ©2002-2003 by Trevor Weede.
Return Fare