One Hundred-Word Wonders is a writing prompt that celebrates the marvel of storytelling in a concise form. Within the realm of micro-fiction, writers have mastered the art of crafting complete narratives in just a few sentences.
These bite-sized pieces should showcase the power of brevity, leaving readers in awe of the vast landscapes painted within a mere hundred words. So, how can a story be effectively told in such a limited space? Let's explore the possibilities together.
The word prompt and theme today is:
ABANDON
Write in exactly 100 words, a story, poem, or creative non-fiction in any genre, using the theme, prompt word, or both. The 100-word count does not include the title. Please use WordCounter or your writing software to ensure your piece is exactly 100 words.
Place (copy and paste) your 100-word response to the prompt with its title in a comment below. If you’d like, publish on your own Substack site with a link back to this page.
Tap those little hearts on responses in the comment section, if you are moved to do so.
At the path's end,
an old house looms,
shrouded in kudzu and shadows,
its stories buried in silence.
Once alive with laughter,
now it sags, off-kilter,
its windows, shuttered eyes,
boarded against the world.
Deserted toys hide in tall grass,
whisper rhymes of forgotten joy,
as fallen leaves rustle underfoot
in chilly autumn air.
On this Halloween’s eve,
the light breeze crackles with unease,
daring mischief makers to venture near,
but fear relieves them of pranks, tricks.
The house keeps watch,
its empty rooms echo with memories,
waiting, yearning for a heartbeat,
for life to return and break the stillness.
Author’s Note
Look for a new One Hundred-Word Wonders prompt every third Wednesday in a month.
Thanks very much for reading, subscribing, and sharing the stories, poetry, and essays in this space. If you like a story, poem, or essay please click on the heart. Also if you are so moved, please leave a comment.
Dad had his nose in his phone. It was work of course, ostensibly, but any tracker would show he consumed a liberal dose of ESPN not to mention the gyrating instagram models. Mom was on the face of it more engaged but mostly tending to the basket of snakes hissing and eating their own tails inside her head. They had not left the child; in fact, she was never out of eyesight. But she was abandoned in every sense, as much as if they had dropped her in a basket with a note at the back door to the firehouse.
In the Glow of Streetlamps
____
The city spits us out, drunk on rain and sweat,
her sequins glint like shattered teeth,
a grin cracked wide beneath her witch’s hat,
as if daring me to touch the sharp edges.
Moonlight claws its way down her face,
and I’m already lost.
.
She asks for a cigarette,
her fingers cold, sliding against mine.
We crouch under a streetlamp, its light sick and low,
her lips pull the flame,
and the night shivers around us, damp and broken.
.
We walk in abandon,
heels clicking like confessions.
She kisses me—
bruising, raw—
rain, smoke,
and something wild beneath it all.
Excellent as usual. Here is what I did.
Hide in Plain Sight
Dad had his nose in his phone. It was work of course, ostensibly, but any tracker would show he consumed a liberal dose of ESPN not to mention the gyrating instagram models. Mom was on the face of it more engaged but mostly tending to the basket of snakes hissing and eating their own tails inside her head. They had not left the child; in fact, she was never out of eyesight. But she was abandoned in every sense, as much as if they had dropped her in a basket with a note at the back door to the firehouse.