by Roisin o'Hare
Winter is harsh here. Deny the claws that rend your hollow stomach, eat sparingly of hoarded food. The days are brief and grey, the nights unending. Ice lurks treacherous, snow temptingly soft, wind pierces clothing to steal warmth from any unguarded flesh.
And the winter walkers rise.
Truly the corpses of loved ones lost or simply snow-puppets, cruel caricatures. It makes no difference. Their cries need no breath, their broken fingers scrape at door and window. When the last leaf falls, the siege begins again. Despair kills more than the cold.
It will be too long before we see crocuses.
Author bio: Roisin o'Hare, an Irish girl living in Oxford who spends too much time saying 'I should write' and not enough time writing.
Cycle is part of 101 Fiction issue 2.
Sunday, 1 December 2013
December 2013. Issue 2. Postscript.
December first 2013 - issue 2 of the quarterly 101 Fiction. If you're here on the day then you will see stories go live hourly. If you've arrived here on any other day, then you've just read and reached the end of issue 2. Thank you, and I hope you enjoyed it.
Keep on scrolling down, or clicking back (however you may be browsing), because there are nearly two hundred more fantastic drabbles right here.
There's issue 1, of course, but before that, 101 Fiction was publishing individual stories weekly and twice-weekly for over two years. A hoard of tiny little gems of imagination and character and spark.
The next issue will sprout on March first. I hope you'll be back to see what spring offerings we have, as a reader and, if the inspiration takes you, maybe a writer.
Keep reading. Keep writing. Have fun.
John.
Keep on scrolling down, or clicking back (however you may be browsing), because there are nearly two hundred more fantastic drabbles right here.
There's issue 1, of course, but before that, 101 Fiction was publishing individual stories weekly and twice-weekly for over two years. A hoard of tiny little gems of imagination and character and spark.
The next issue will sprout on March first. I hope you'll be back to see what spring offerings we have, as a reader and, if the inspiration takes you, maybe a writer.
Keep reading. Keep writing. Have fun.
John.
Tuesday, 15 October 2013
December Issue Open for Submissions
16th November update: Submissions are now closed. Please do come back on the 1st December as the stories go live throughout the day. Thank you.
The gates are once more open! From now until November 15th we will be taking submissions for the December issue.
Stories for the December issue should use one or both of our themes - winter and undead. For full submissions guidelines please read the submissions page.
You are free to use the themes as loosely or tightly as you like, and you don't have to include the word itself if you don't want to, so long as the theme is identifiable within the story. Try not to use the theme word as the title.
For an idea of what we're looking for, check out Issue 1, but what excites us most is variety and creativity. It's a tiny piece so take the time to make every sentence perfect. Winter and undead resonate well with each other (although you don't, of course, have to use both themes) and we're hoping for some classic undead - ghosts, zombies, skeletons - as well as some more unusual twists.
Have fun. Keep writing. Good luck.
The gates are once more open! From now until November 15th we will be taking submissions for the December issue.
Stories for the December issue should use one or both of our themes - winter and undead. For full submissions guidelines please read the submissions page.
You are free to use the themes as loosely or tightly as you like, and you don't have to include the word itself if you don't want to, so long as the theme is identifiable within the story. Try not to use the theme word as the title.
For an idea of what we're looking for, check out Issue 1, but what excites us most is variety and creativity. It's a tiny piece so take the time to make every sentence perfect. Winter and undead resonate well with each other (although you don't, of course, have to use both themes) and we're hoping for some classic undead - ghosts, zombies, skeletons - as well as some more unusual twists.
Have fun. Keep writing. Good luck.
Sunday, 1 September 2013
September 2013. Issue 1.
Welcome to the inaugural issue of the new format 101 Fiction. Eight drabbles, eight hundred words, eight tales rising from the flames of creation. All inspired by one or both of the issue's two themes: phoenix and Autumn.
We launch with Ship, a poignant slice of science fiction from James E. Anderson. Then Robin Wyatt Dunn delivers a magnificently shifted vision of a future not so far removed from our own. R.S. Bohn gives one girl cause to curse the bird, before we follow Lela Marie De La Garza on a wondrous Journey, leading to a synesthetic Implosion from Kymm Coveney. We have a pair of Phoenix, from Stella Turner and Russell Bernstein, two terrible tests of a man's mettle. Finally, as in everything, we must flee the inexorable turn of Seasons.
Welcome to issue one.
Read. Absorb. Enjoy.
Keep scrolling down for the stories or pull up the issue by itself here.
Alternatively, if you would like to download the whole issue and read at your leisure on your phone or your favourite eReader then you can download the PDF here.
We launch with Ship, a poignant slice of science fiction from James E. Anderson. Then Robin Wyatt Dunn delivers a magnificently shifted vision of a future not so far removed from our own. R.S. Bohn gives one girl cause to curse the bird, before we follow Lela Marie De La Garza on a wondrous Journey, leading to a synesthetic Implosion from Kymm Coveney. We have a pair of Phoenix, from Stella Turner and Russell Bernstein, two terrible tests of a man's mettle. Finally, as in everything, we must flee the inexorable turn of Seasons.
Welcome to issue one.
Read. Absorb. Enjoy.
Keep scrolling down for the stories or pull up the issue by itself here.
Alternatively, if you would like to download the whole issue and read at your leisure on your phone or your favourite eReader then you can download the PDF here.
Ship
by James E. Anderson
"Ship, tell me a story," the traveller commanded.
"Long or short, sir?" asked a disembodied contralto.
"Short. I grow sleepy."
"Happy? Sad?"
"Happy. I desire a pleasant hibernation."
"Very well. There once was a gentle woman who loved a man from Autumn World."
"I hail from Autumn World!"
"Indeed, he had your dark looks and cruel smile."
"Cruel smile? Ship, are you joking?"
"Alas, he abandoned her to marry another."
"Stop! I ordered a happy story."
"In her despair, she joined the Phoenix Corps, and was reborn a starship."
"A starship? Which starship?"
The air chilled.
"Happy dreams, my love."
Author bio: James E. Anderson teaches at a public university in the Great Lakes region, writes short fiction (very short, mostly), and blogs at jimthewriter.net.
"Ship, tell me a story," the traveller commanded.
"Long or short, sir?" asked a disembodied contralto.
"Short. I grow sleepy."
"Happy? Sad?"
"Happy. I desire a pleasant hibernation."
"Very well. There once was a gentle woman who loved a man from Autumn World."
"I hail from Autumn World!"
"Indeed, he had your dark looks and cruel smile."
"Cruel smile? Ship, are you joking?"
"Alas, he abandoned her to marry another."
"Stop! I ordered a happy story."
"In her despair, she joined the Phoenix Corps, and was reborn a starship."
"A starship? Which starship?"
The air chilled.
"Happy dreams, my love."
Author bio: James E. Anderson teaches at a public university in the Great Lakes region, writes short fiction (very short, mostly), and blogs at jimthewriter.net.
Reopening
by Robin Wyatt Dunn
The politicians daren't touch the shovels now, nor the scissors. The ceremonial toss of earth and snip of ribbon is a risky endeavour now, with the snipers.
All sorts of armed people, old and young, informal and well educated, they induct a ceremony of their own: democracy. Over the internet and at gunpoint, talking over tea, on the telephone, the street.
We build things now, on our own. Some of us wear ties. We wear the ribbons in our hair, and the earth upon our cheeks.
We’re rebuilding our cities, guns on hips.
You're one of us, did you know?
Author bio: Robin Wyatt Dunn lives in southern California and is the author of three novels. A member of the Horror Writers Association, he is proud to have been born in the Carter Administration. You can find him at www.robindunn.com.
The politicians daren't touch the shovels now, nor the scissors. The ceremonial toss of earth and snip of ribbon is a risky endeavour now, with the snipers.
All sorts of armed people, old and young, informal and well educated, they induct a ceremony of their own: democracy. Over the internet and at gunpoint, talking over tea, on the telephone, the street.
We build things now, on our own. Some of us wear ties. We wear the ribbons in our hair, and the earth upon our cheeks.
We’re rebuilding our cities, guns on hips.
You're one of us, did you know?
Author bio: Robin Wyatt Dunn lives in southern California and is the author of three novels. A member of the Horror Writers Association, he is proud to have been born in the Carter Administration. You can find him at www.robindunn.com.
Chicken
by R.S. Bohn
In '46, my great-grandmother poured herself some tea. Out the spout came a phoenix, damp and bedraggled, like a kaleidoscope of coloured paper. That evening, great-grandpa changed the dial on the Silvertone and dropped to the floor. The entire block was out a week.
In '91, my mom married. Her salesman husband lasted a week before showing a Dart with an ignition problem to a prospective buyer.
A day after my first kiss, my science-geek boyfriend made a mistake in chemistry. They say the phoenix is lucky, but I wouldn't care if I saw another one for a thousand years.
Author bio: RS lives in Detroit, where they aim for a zombie theme park. She thinks one already exists in her head. Admission is free: http://rsbohn.blogspot.com
In '46, my great-grandmother poured herself some tea. Out the spout came a phoenix, damp and bedraggled, like a kaleidoscope of coloured paper. That evening, great-grandpa changed the dial on the Silvertone and dropped to the floor. The entire block was out a week.
In '91, my mom married. Her salesman husband lasted a week before showing a Dart with an ignition problem to a prospective buyer.
A day after my first kiss, my science-geek boyfriend made a mistake in chemistry. They say the phoenix is lucky, but I wouldn't care if I saw another one for a thousand years.
Author bio: RS lives in Detroit, where they aim for a zombie theme park. She thinks one already exists in her head. Admission is free: http://rsbohn.blogspot.com
Journey
by Lela Marie De La Garza
The phoenix hatched out in late Autumn of a year folding gently into winter. The skies were dreary and dark; the air was turning cold. The phoenix decided to leave in search of better weather. It found skies of turquoise stippled with ivory and pearl mists of cloud. It flew over oceans that dazzled like diamonds and sapphires; into jungles of silver and jade leaves. Suddenly it felt the inward call of home, for the earth had shifted and the sun’s rays tilted. The phoenix went back to its birthplace, bringing with it the emerald and gold bounty of spring.
Author bio: Lela Marie De La Garza has had work published in “Behind Closed Doors”, “Pound of Flash”, “ChickLit”, “Daily Romance”, and “Creepy Gnome”. She was born in Denver, CO. in 1943 while her father was serving in WWII. She currently resides in San Antonio, TX. with two cats, a kitten, and a visiting raccoon.
The phoenix hatched out in late Autumn of a year folding gently into winter. The skies were dreary and dark; the air was turning cold. The phoenix decided to leave in search of better weather. It found skies of turquoise stippled with ivory and pearl mists of cloud. It flew over oceans that dazzled like diamonds and sapphires; into jungles of silver and jade leaves. Suddenly it felt the inward call of home, for the earth had shifted and the sun’s rays tilted. The phoenix went back to its birthplace, bringing with it the emerald and gold bounty of spring.
Author bio: Lela Marie De La Garza has had work published in “Behind Closed Doors”, “Pound of Flash”, “ChickLit”, “Daily Romance”, and “Creepy Gnome”. She was born in Denver, CO. in 1943 while her father was serving in WWII. She currently resides in San Antonio, TX. with two cats, a kitten, and a visiting raccoon.
Implosion
by Kymm Coveney
Her gall was the deep, almost purple spread of spilt wine as it leeched into the tablecloth's crisp, white fibres. She gathered her russet, seething fury into piles; raked in the fallen eidolon, tawny skeletal debris crackling upon release.
Sparks leapt from her long fingernails as they struck – rat-a-tat-tat – the marble upon which she meant to lie. The meagre flares from her ire would not do. She removed the shawl of tightly-woven violet threads, placed his smile next to the way he tied his shoelaces. She spoke his name; with the sigh that had ruffled his beard, fanned the flames.
Author bio: Ex-pat from Boston living in Barcelona, raising polyglot kids and fooling with written languages.
www.betterlies.blogspot.com
@KymmInBarcelona
http://kymminbarcelona.tumblr.com/
Her gall was the deep, almost purple spread of spilt wine as it leeched into the tablecloth's crisp, white fibres. She gathered her russet, seething fury into piles; raked in the fallen eidolon, tawny skeletal debris crackling upon release.
Sparks leapt from her long fingernails as they struck – rat-a-tat-tat – the marble upon which she meant to lie. The meagre flares from her ire would not do. She removed the shawl of tightly-woven violet threads, placed his smile next to the way he tied his shoelaces. She spoke his name; with the sigh that had ruffled his beard, fanned the flames.
Author bio: Ex-pat from Boston living in Barcelona, raising polyglot kids and fooling with written languages.
www.betterlies.blogspot.com
@KymmInBarcelona
http://kymminbarcelona.tumblr.com/
Phoenix
by Stella Turner
Drool hung like thick curtains from its cavernous stinking mouth. The putrid aroma, reminding me of decomposing corpses, filled the room. Had it eaten someone already, my wife? I wanted to call out her name but its beady little eyes kept me spellbound. What should I do, distract it or let it climb the stairs? My baby son asleep in his crib.
Without a backward glance I crept from the house. I knew I should have called someone but who would believe me? Rising from the ashes of my burnt out home I went in search of a new family.
Author bio: My name is Stella Turner and I'm known as stellakateT on twitter. I have had three of my flash fictions published in three anthologies and long-listed in the Fish competition for the last two years. I adore flash fiction because I love the brevity of it.
My blog can be found at http://stellalikesspidersandothermyths.blogspot.com/
Drool hung like thick curtains from its cavernous stinking mouth. The putrid aroma, reminding me of decomposing corpses, filled the room. Had it eaten someone already, my wife? I wanted to call out her name but its beady little eyes kept me spellbound. What should I do, distract it or let it climb the stairs? My baby son asleep in his crib.
Without a backward glance I crept from the house. I knew I should have called someone but who would believe me? Rising from the ashes of my burnt out home I went in search of a new family.
Author bio: My name is Stella Turner and I'm known as stellakateT on twitter. I have had three of my flash fictions published in three anthologies and long-listed in the Fish competition for the last two years. I adore flash fiction because I love the brevity of it.
My blog can be found at http://stellalikesspidersandothermyths.blogspot.com/
Phoenix
by Russell Bernstein
Autumn is the season of death. The Phoenix rises and falls with Autumn, and with it once great empires topple like decayed leaves in the wind.
Bryan was just a peasant, but today he vowed to end this vicious cycle. Here he stood, staring into the very face of death. The Phoenix's eyes were red with anger, the slightest hint of surprise evident in its expression for no one had ever dared to face it.
"I will destroy you!" Bryan screamed.
"What's that, Honey?" His mother called.
"Nothing, Mom!"
The wind carried strange voices. Distractions. He lunged at the Phoenix.
Author bio: Russell Bernstein is a twenty-eight-year-old aspiring writer. The web series he wrote is currently in production. His Middle Grade Fantasy novel is currently under review by multiple literary agents.
Autumn is the season of death. The Phoenix rises and falls with Autumn, and with it once great empires topple like decayed leaves in the wind.
Bryan was just a peasant, but today he vowed to end this vicious cycle. Here he stood, staring into the very face of death. The Phoenix's eyes were red with anger, the slightest hint of surprise evident in its expression for no one had ever dared to face it.
"I will destroy you!" Bryan screamed.
"What's that, Honey?" His mother called.
"Nothing, Mom!"
The wind carried strange voices. Distractions. He lunged at the Phoenix.
Author bio: Russell Bernstein is a twenty-eight-year-old aspiring writer. The web series he wrote is currently in production. His Middle Grade Fantasy novel is currently under review by multiple literary agents.
Seasons
by John Xero
Samuel flees through the blushing forest.
He runs for verdant green, the sweet breath of fresh life; he can see it, but the rich ruddy reds are faster, passing.
Behind him he hears the crackle of dry leaves falling from trees, and behind that, a lonely frost-ridden wind blowing through bare branches.
He struggles with each further step, feels his flesh failing too, wrinkles spreading with every shortened breath. The hairs on his arms rise in anticipation of the coming cold, whitening in sympathy with the world as soft flakes sift down from a greying sky.
And winter takes him.
Author bio: John Xero knows you shouldn't struggle against the turning of the seasons, but instead enjoy each one in turn. He doesn't tweet as much as he used to, and blogs even less.
He is the editor of 101 Fiction.
He once published a collection of short and flash fiction: This is the New Plan.
Samuel flees through the blushing forest.
He runs for verdant green, the sweet breath of fresh life; he can see it, but the rich ruddy reds are faster, passing.
Behind him he hears the crackle of dry leaves falling from trees, and behind that, a lonely frost-ridden wind blowing through bare branches.
He struggles with each further step, feels his flesh failing too, wrinkles spreading with every shortened breath. The hairs on his arms rise in anticipation of the coming cold, whitening in sympathy with the world as soft flakes sift down from a greying sky.
And winter takes him.
Author bio: John Xero knows you shouldn't struggle against the turning of the seasons, but instead enjoy each one in turn. He doesn't tweet as much as he used to, and blogs even less.
He is the editor of 101 Fiction.
He once published a collection of short and flash fiction: This is the New Plan.
September 2013. Issue 1. Postscript
When does a postscript come first...?
If you're reading this on September first, two thousand and thirteen, then you'll see new drabbles appearing on 101 Fiction throughout the day. Issue one will unfold before your eyes.
If you're reading this on any other day then, sadly, you've reached the end of the first issue of the new format 101 Fiction. Thanks for reading, I hope you've enjoyed the stories as much as I did. I hope you'll come back in the future, as a reader and, maybe, a writer?
So you've reached the end, what now? Well, there are hundreds more stories that were published earlier, individually, for you to browse and enjoy at your leisure. And on December first... Issue two. Winter.
Have fun. Keep writing.
John Xero.
If you're reading this on September first, two thousand and thirteen, then you'll see new drabbles appearing on 101 Fiction throughout the day. Issue one will unfold before your eyes.
If you're reading this on any other day then, sadly, you've reached the end of the first issue of the new format 101 Fiction. Thanks for reading, I hope you've enjoyed the stories as much as I did. I hope you'll come back in the future, as a reader and, maybe, a writer?
So you've reached the end, what now? Well, there are hundreds more stories that were published earlier, individually, for you to browse and enjoy at your leisure. And on December first... Issue two. Winter.
Have fun. Keep writing.
John Xero.
Monday, 15 July 2013
September Issue Open for Submissions
16th August update: Submissions are now closed. Please do come back on the 1st September as the stories go live throughout the day.
We are open for submissions!
From now until the 15th August, we will be taking submissions for our first new-format quarterly issue.
Stories for the September issue should use one or both of our themes - phoenix and Autumn. For full submissions guidelines please read the submissions page.
Hopefully the themes will inspire a wide range of work, and you are free to use them as loosely or tightly as you will. You don't have to include the word itself if you don't want to, so long as the theme is identifiable within the story.
Have fun. Keep writing. Good luck.
We are open for submissions!
From now until the 15th August, we will be taking submissions for our first new-format quarterly issue.
Stories for the September issue should use one or both of our themes - phoenix and Autumn. For full submissions guidelines please read the submissions page.
Hopefully the themes will inspire a wide range of work, and you are free to use them as loosely or tightly as you will. You don't have to include the word itself if you don't want to, so long as the theme is identifiable within the story.
Have fun. Keep writing. Good luck.
Wednesday, 12 June 2013
Editorial: Phase 3
No story from me today. No stories for the next little while. But have no fear; 101 Fiction is not dead, just resting.
This started as a personal project and grew to take other people's stories. It has been a fantastic experience to be an editor (on however small a scale), and I'm deeply honoured that people chose to submit such fantastic work to me time and time again. I really am.
Now it's time for 101 Fiction to evolve again.
I'm going to try and publish as a quarterly e-magazine. The first issue will be this September (followed by December, March, June). Issues will be loosely themed, on two subjects, with writers picking one or both themes for their stories.
Submissions for the September issue will be open from mid-July to mid-August. The themes will be 'Autumn' and 'phoenix' (for obvious reasons, I hope). As mentioned above, you can pick one or both themes, and use them as you wish - metaphorically, literally, allegorically...
It's been a great year, I hope you've enjoyed it, and I hope you are all as excited by this next step as I am.
Thank you, writers, readers, supporters.
-John Xero.
This started as a personal project and grew to take other people's stories. It has been a fantastic experience to be an editor (on however small a scale), and I'm deeply honoured that people chose to submit such fantastic work to me time and time again. I really am.
Now it's time for 101 Fiction to evolve again.
I'm going to try and publish as a quarterly e-magazine. The first issue will be this September (followed by December, March, June). Issues will be loosely themed, on two subjects, with writers picking one or both themes for their stories.
Submissions for the September issue will be open from mid-July to mid-August. The themes will be 'Autumn' and 'phoenix' (for obvious reasons, I hope). As mentioned above, you can pick one or both themes, and use them as you wish - metaphorically, literally, allegorically...
It's been a great year, I hope you've enjoyed it, and I hope you are all as excited by this next step as I am.
Thank you, writers, readers, supporters.
-John Xero.
Friday, 7 June 2013
Practice
by Peter Newman
The radiance forced his eyes shut, humble. “Are you…” he whispered, “…the one who made us?”
“I am.”
“Please, tell us why.”
“Well,” she mumbled. “We all had to practice.”
He frowned, trying to understand. “There are other Makers?”
“Yes, twenty six in my class. I was supposed to scrape you all out afterwards. I forgot. Sorry.”
“Wait, we’re a failed experiment?”
The light became warmer. “Err... I learnt loads growing you. My latest world is inspired by yours.”
“You made a new race of man?”
“No, cats. Cats are awesome. We love watching cats, way more fun than humans.”
Author bio: I love writing, running, roleplaying, gaming and cats!
Stories and blog here: www.runpetewrite.com
Banter here: @runpetewrite
The radiance forced his eyes shut, humble. “Are you…” he whispered, “…the one who made us?”
“I am.”
“Please, tell us why.”
“Well,” she mumbled. “We all had to practice.”
He frowned, trying to understand. “There are other Makers?”
“Yes, twenty six in my class. I was supposed to scrape you all out afterwards. I forgot. Sorry.”
“Wait, we’re a failed experiment?”
The light became warmer. “Err... I learnt loads growing you. My latest world is inspired by yours.”
“You made a new race of man?”
“No, cats. Cats are awesome. We love watching cats, way more fun than humans.”
Author bio: I love writing, running, roleplaying, gaming and cats!
Stories and blog here: www.runpetewrite.com
Banter here: @runpetewrite
Wednesday, 5 June 2013
MacroCosmic
by John Xero
The Great Tree has many names – Yggdrasil, the White Tree, Existence, and more. From time to time it bears wondrous golden apples, of youth or knowledge or bright burning hydrogen.
It straddles the barriers between dream and reality, between life and death, story and history.
It is dying now, withered and scarred and bare, like a gnarled hand clawing at the dark cosmos. You can see the notches where knives and axes have cut into it, where its sap, its precious lifeblood, has been decanted.
It is the Tree of Life, and when it fails, so too do we all.
Author bio: John Xero writes little big stories. The longer, bigger stories are proving more troublesome.
@xeroverse | xeroverse.com
The Great Tree has many names – Yggdrasil, the White Tree, Existence, and more. From time to time it bears wondrous golden apples, of youth or knowledge or bright burning hydrogen.
It straddles the barriers between dream and reality, between life and death, story and history.
It is dying now, withered and scarred and bare, like a gnarled hand clawing at the dark cosmos. You can see the notches where knives and axes have cut into it, where its sap, its precious lifeblood, has been decanted.
It is the Tree of Life, and when it fails, so too do we all.
Author bio: John Xero writes little big stories. The longer, bigger stories are proving more troublesome.
@xeroverse | xeroverse.com
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