Friday, 27 July 2012


by Steve Green

The idea for the story came to me in a dream.

Today I would give it life.

Several hours later and the words are still gushing forth, the story is like an irresistible force, compelling.

The computer had frazzled out after only a few hundred words, so I continued with a ballpoint pen and notebook.

When the ballpoint dried out I reached for my trusty old fountain pen.

When the ink ran dry I had to find another writing source. This story simply had to be written.

I only hope I can complete it before I run out of blood.

Author bio: Genre-hopping flash fiction writer who blogs at The Twisted Quill.

Wednesday, 25 July 2012


by John Xero

Kyle’s fingers had no knuckles.

Sheryl yelped and stumbled backwards, tripping over her discarded clothes and landing painfully. She hardly felt the splinters from the rough wooden floor.

“You weren’t supposed to see.”

She stared as his fingers flexed like fat worms, curving instead of hinging at a joint. He pulled his gloves back on.

“You would have enjoyed it, you know.”

She opened her mouth but no sound came out; her brain was a dead line, all dial tone and no connection.

“It’s ok.” He reached for her, stopped himself.

He turned his pale eyes away from her fear.

Author bio: John Xero runs this joint. He loves all kinds of stories, whether they be huge or tiny.

Friday, 20 July 2012


by Sandra Davies

Rise before May dawn, middle of meadow, wash face in dew.

Surrender all common sense: next man met so stunned by my beauty he insists on marriage.

Yeah, right.

And such a gullible, desperate, idiot that I almost fail to see the beautiful dog fox just twenty yards ahead.

Abrupt gasping halt, thinking “Christ – if that’d been a man, my luck really would have been in!”

But no: one arm (mine) wrenched up behind, another holding a sharp knife against my throat.

A rasping voice in my ear commands “Stand still my beauty – he’s stuffed – and it’s your turn next.”

Author bio: Recent writer, printmaker, east-coast orientated: and links therefrom

Wednesday, 18 July 2012


by John Xero

The Mercy of the Gods shook as it rode the raging space-time distortions. Gravity grasped at the ship from all sides. Alarms shrieked and metal moaned.

Captain Shilo gripped the arms of his chair and shouted to his Helmsman, “Krya.”

Krya yelled back over the screaming starship, “We’re committed now, captain; this trillion dollar ship just became the most expensive barrel ride in history.”

“Courage, Krya,” Shilo replied.

They spiralled down inside a tornado of angry physics.

Somewhere down there was Earth, and the Apocalypse Device. Shilo had never before had to disarm a bomb as it was actually exploding.

Author bio: John Xero is the editor at 101 Fiction.
For more, try or @xeroverse.

Friday, 13 July 2012


by John H. Dromey

The newly-appointed editor of the lifestyle section of the local newspaper finagled an interview with a successful medium.

Looking around the paranormal practitioner’s plush apartment, the journalist asked her, “What’s your favourite possession?”

“I think I’d have to say it’s when I’m channelling Jack the Ripper and I lose all control.”

Not the answer the editor expected – she’d meant material possessions – but she decided to play along. “Can you demonstrate?”

“Sure,” the interviewee said, and she did.

When the medium was finally herself again, she surveyed the scattered body parts and said, “Cleaning up afterwards is my least favourite part.”

Author bio: John H. Dromey was born in northeast Missouri. He’s had flash fiction published online at Liquid Imagination, The Red Asylum, Thrillers, Killers ’n’ Chillers, and elsewhere.

Wednesday, 11 July 2012


by John Xero

In my dreams his head is a black cube, rotating slowly. It shimmers and glints with the galaxies that spin within. He has the whole universe in there, I think.

He is God. He is my father. His tears are starlight.

Somehow I know he is looking at me.

When I wake I remember the last time I saw him. I remember the birth of a terrible universe, the end of a world. I remember the crimson galaxies exploding away from each other, the awful nothing at the centre.

My world was his prison. In my dreams, he has escaped.

Author bio: John Xero is the editor at 101 Fiction.
His recently released collection of short and flash fiction, This is the New Plan, is out now for Kindle.

Friday, 6 July 2012


by Helen A. Howell

The wind stung his face and chapped his skin. Its icy fingers lifted the snow into a frenzied dance, to fall as a blinding blanket upon the ground. He bent his head against the weather and willed himself towards the shack and refuge. I’ll be safe there for now, he thought. But how long before they come?

He lifted his head when he reached the door then grasped hold of the latch and the door creaked open. He stepped inside, relieved to be out of the cold.

Shadows clung to the walls. In the darkness in a corner, something smiled.

Author bio: Helen is a fiction writer, who writes in several genres which include fantasy, noir, horror and humour. She has written several short stories, flash fictions, poems and completed her first novel, a children’s fantasy fiction. 

Her website is

Wednesday, 4 July 2012

Editorial: Thank you.

To everyone who read and everyone who commented, thanks for making June a great month.

To the writers, a double thank you.

The first contributor story, Dismissed, is the most viewed story this site has ever had, and rightfully so: it's fantastic.

I'm taking my Wednesday slot to pause and say thanks, and for two more reasons.

One is that my blog, the xeroverse, is two years old, and I'm celebrating by having some guest flash fiction every day this week. I urge you to go on over and check it out, there's some great writing, and some of it by 101 Fiction contributors.

The second is to mention my new book, This is the New Plan. It collects 33 of my best short and flash fictions and is available on Amazon (US & UK).

And in case you missed them, June's 101 word wonders:

Dismissed, by Peter Newman. "I tire of them..."

Reconciliation, by Lily Childs. "I was eternally earth-bound..."

Body-art, by Sandra Davies. "I sat unmoving, hypnotised by the patterns..."

Majordomo, by Dom Camus. "When we met, she smelled of cardamom..."

Footprints, by Miranda Campbell. "Drowning in sound colour..."