Wednesday, 10 December 2014

December 2014. Issue 6.

Welcome to Issue 6.

Welcome to the world in black and white.

But it’s not that simple. It never is.

We have a fantastic issue for you. A little more subdued, perhaps, than previous ones, but no less remarkable for that. Never one to bow to boundaries, we drift outside our own a little, with an array of stories that are not so easy to classify in terms of genre, not so easy to stick into one of the four boxes 101 Fiction has ascribed itself.

And that’s no bad thing.

There’s a strangeness that runs through the whole issue. One step outside of reality. Just close enough to almost pass as our world, to almost be our world...

In this issue you’ll find angels, nuns, and gods. Criminals, detectives, vagrants and victims. Wedding and divorce. Even the odd splash of colour amongst the black and white.

Read. Absorb. Enjoy.


Keep scrolling for the stories, or bring up the whole issue here.

Want to take 101 Fiction home with you? To bed with you? Anywhere you want? Issue 6 is available to download as a .pdf, for free, here.


by R.S. Bohn

Bare feet clinging to black rock, Fritzi wonders if any god will come to her rescue after she leaves the island.

Watching the girl on the basalt shelf saying goodbye amidst salt spray, one of them smiles.

"Not goodbye, little troublemaker." Reaching into the sea, it seizes a wriggling white fish. With a kiss, it is set free again – and goes streaking across the ocean.

A hundred island gods will breathe a sigh of relief when Fritzi steps onto that plane, but this one will close its eyes, and open them again as a white fish speeding towards new land.

Author bio: R.S. Bohn has no family gods to keep her out of trouble, so if any wish to volunteer, she promises lots of tea and windmill cookies.

'Aumakua is part of 101 Fiction issue 6.


by Sylvia Heike

Eliel looked over his shoulder into a dirty mirror. A single white feather nestled half-buried in the black plumage of his wing. He pinned the feather between his fingertips and pulled.

It hurt, but the pain was nothing compared to the memories it brought. Was this how it felt to be mortal? To ache for things he couldn’t have, yet to be mocked by them so he could never forget?

There was no way to age gracefully. Not for him. Eliel swore he would pluck out every damned white feather as they appeared. Where was he going to fly, anyway?

Author bio: Sylvia Heike lives and writes in Finland. Her favourite colour is white, and she loves snow. These two things may be related.

Exile is part of 101 Fiction issue 6.


by Kymm Coveney

“No one else was working,” said the Virgin. She recrossed her legs, bobbling the row of day-glo-orange plastic chairs.

“No,” said the cleaning lady, slapping her mop under the Virgin’s seat, nearly wetting the holy heel. Crossing herself.

“And the nun,” she continued, but was interrupted by the mechanical voice calling Number Fifty-Two. Blinking red dots. The nun, who was cross-stitching two seats down from the Virgin, held her needle up to the light, trying to thread it. The Virgin wished she could ignore the message, I shall fear no evil, falling in canvas folds on Sister Mary Xavier’s lap.

Author bio: Ex-pat from Boston living in Barcelona, raising polyglot kids and fooling with written languages.

Redundancy is part of 101 Fiction issue 6.


by Alan Dennis Harris

Melanie put down the colouring book and wandered out of her room, leaving crayons scattered across the floor. As soon as she left, the crayons started arguing. They didn’t like each other. The black hated the white and the white sought to distance themselves from the black, the beige, the brown and the blue. Green showed distrust for orange; the feeling was mutual. Red and yellow preferred to stay to themselves.

The family Labrador walked into the room, hungry and undiscerning.

And it came to pass that the crayons finally reconciled in the backyard, in soft piles like melted rainbows.

Author bio: Alan D. Harris writes short stories, plays, and poetry based primarily upon the life-stories of friends, family and total strangers. Harris is the 2011 recipient of the Stephen H. Tudor Scholarship in Creative Writing and the 2014 John Clare Poetry Prize winner from Wayne State University. In addition he is the father of seven, grandfather of six, and 2013 Pushcart Prize nominee.

Colours is part of 101 Fiction issue 6.


by Deidre Dykes

He polished the gold cufflinks on the pockets of his rich black tux coat for the eighth time, his hands shaking. He had never thought he would be so lucky as to end up here. Ah, but what a wedding it would be! Dinner and dancing and kisses by candlelight. An intimate reception with his closest friends. Perhaps his family would never understand but that didn’t really matter to him any longer. She walked down the aisle, the roses she held a striking crimson against her alabaster skin. He all but beamed, so happy he'd raised her from her grave.

Author bio: Deidre Delpino Dykes is a writer by trade and probably has a bird on her head. She lives in the Washington DC area with her husband and several parrots. She tweets regularly with the handle @gowordbird.

Wedding is part of 101 Fiction issue 6.


by W. M. Lewis

My head hurts. I stand, wobbling, in the too white kitchen. The lights are bright. Glare off the pots is dazzling; they hang from the ceiling like bats and catch sunbeams as if they were insects. Divorce papers printed on fine parchment lie on the bench, next to a jubilant soup recipe. I pretend to ignore the papers, which like slobbering dogs desperately seek attention. The recipe screams “Ginger in its kibbled form!” like a huckster. I place the recipe, ingredients and divorce papers in a blender. I hit Start. My black heart whirls, suddenly as light as the room.

Author bio: I'm an Australian poet and writer. My poetry has appeared in Alliterati Magazine, Best Australian Poems 2011, Cordite Poetry Review, Eclecticism, Multiverses, PoV Magazine, Railroad Poetry Project, street cake magazine, The Night Light and Tincture Journal. You can find me and my writing on Twitter at @mindintoword and at my blog, whatevertheysing.

Divorce is part of 101 Fiction issue 6.


by Sylvia Heike

In the beginning, there was a man with dark rich soil in his pockets. The soil carried within itself the seed of everything that he wished to grow. Every person, every organism, and every planet was buried in that waking darkness.

But things didn’t grow well in the dark. He reached into his pockets and spread the soil around him, and then he lit up the sun and the stars and let there be light.

Some things bloomed and others withered, yet he still tends to every fold of the universe, never leaving anything for too long without some light.

Author bio: Sylvia Heike lives and writes in Finland. Her favourite colour is white, and she loves snow. These two things may be related.

Beginning is part of 101 Fiction issue 6.


by John Xero

Brian sank into black.

Pain thrummed in white bursts: throbbing flashes of light writ bright across his consciousness.

And between, black claimed him. Swallowed and suffocated him.

While white cracks splintered outwards, sharp shining knives of searing pain.

And black devoured him. Consumed him utterly, until he thought he could not rise again.

Until he was dragged upwards, torn out into white agony.

And down again, deeper into endless black.

Surfacing in hurt and white and light and a face he ought to know. And words.

“Dad. Please. Wake up. Please.”

Black drew him down.

White blossomed.

Black loomed.


Author bio: John Xero wonders where all the time has gone. He used to have so much. Almost his entire working life has been spent amongst books, and one day he will finish writing his own.
He has a twitter (@xeroverse) and a blog (, and he really should use them.

Pulse is part of 101 Fiction issue 6.


by W. M. Lewis

With pet paparazzi in tow he joins the long queue at the Godalming Club, they’re both high on something white and newly minted, him hidden by a thin disguise of shaven head and wee moustache, the photographer draped in her usual camera sleaze — an experiment this, really — feet shuffling, waiting in an everyday way, him craving what he doesn’t usually endure — time and people passing — and when they reach the front the ‘entry consultant’ says nothing but shakes a massive and sublime black head in precise samurai movements and raises an explicit meaty hand which utters No Entry, surprising everyone.

Author bio: I'm an Australian poet and writer. My poetry has appeared in Alliterati Magazine, Best Australian Poems 2011, Cordite Poetry Review, Eclecticism, Multiverses, PoV Magazine, Railroad Poetry Project, street cake magazine, The Night Light and Tincture Journal. You can find me and my writing on Twitter at @mindintoword and at my blog, whatevertheysing.

Celebrity is partof101 Fiction issue 6.


by Robin Jennings

The light is blinding. Blinding white. But it warms my face and relaxes me. I hear his voice like an echo and it snaps me back to reality. I can see the outline of his face – the black lines of his frown mostly. Handsome, but not as soothing as the light.

We’ve been at this for hours, me and him. He keeps asking the same question, but we’re getting nowhere. I’m getting bored.

“You’re really going to do this?” he asks.

I nod. There’s nothing left to offer him. He knows it, but he asks again.

“Where is her body?”

Author Bio: Robin Jennings is horror enthusiast based in the open fields of Northern New Jersey. Having previously optioned a full length screenplay called “Shudder”, she’s now focusing her creative efforts on short fiction.

Confession is part of 101 Fiction issue 6.


by Matthew Konkel

With black eyes, the man called The Psychologist stared over wire frames. He wanted to hire me.

“I’m no private detective,” I said. I was a struggling writer barely keeping his margins straight, fearful of the blank white stare of the empty page.

“Yes you are,” he said with calm assurance. “We’re all detectives wading through life’s mysteries, discovering the “ohs” and “ahs” to the hows and whys.”

He had a point. But I wouldn’t play his game.

“You’re already playing,” he said.

I balked. Then he told me the job.

“I want you to uncover who writes your story.”

Author bio: Matthew is a teaching-artist, playwright and independent filmmaker. His latest film is titled Neptune ( His fiction and poetry can be found or is upcoming at the Newer York, Paragraph Planet, Postcard Shorts, Linguistic Erosion, The Eunoia Review, Danse Macabre, Sein and Werden, Theme of Absence, Primal Urge and Streetcake Magazine. His plays have been produced nationally and internationally by theatre companies including Edmonds Driftwood Players, Pink Banana Theatre, Cupcake Lady Productions and Screaming Media Gi60. His short play Walk, Don’t Walk is published by Pennster Media.

Noir is part of 101 Fiction issue 6.


by John Xero

Hugh felt the rumble of the subway train thundering below him. Light cascaded up through the grills, illuminating the slow clouds of steam drifting from the warm tunnels.

Snow fell softly, white flakes bringing the cold of the black night sky down with them. It settled across the city, shying only from the gratings, retreating from the heat.

Hugh lay on his back, watching the gentle winter descend. Another train rattled below and for a moment he could pretend his shivers were just the quaking of the ground.

He wondered if he would sleep. He wondered if he would wake.

Author bio: John Xero wonders where all the time has gone. He used to have so much. Almost his entire working life has been spent amongst books, and one day he will finish writing his own.
He has a twitter (@xeroverse) and a blog (, and he really should use them.

Winter is part of 101 Fiction issue 6.

December 2014. Issue 6. Postscript.

When is the end not the end?

When it's the 101 Fiction postscript!

If you're here on December 10th 2014 then issue 6 will be going live throughout the day, with a new story every hour.

If it's not December 10th then you have reached the end of issue 6.

But do go on! There are issues 5 down to 1. And beyond that, stories that wandered alone, before 101 Fiction became a quarterly tribe.

I hope you've enjoyed our black and white issue, and I hope you'll come back for more. Look out on twitter for news of the next issue and submissions.

Thank you.

Keep reading. Keep writing. Have fun.

-John Xero

Saturday, 25 October 2014

December Issue Open for Submissions

** 101 Fiction is now closed for submissions. Thank you. **

I'm late. I'm late. I'm late!

Mea culpa. I got it fixed in my head that the next issue was January. It is, of course, December.

And so the doors have opened, late, but open they are. You have until the 24th November to get your stories in. It would be mean to make it sooner.

The second year of 101 Fiction is all about colours, and the December issue theme is: black and white.

But that's two colours, you say or, perhaps, none at all. And yet, it is still the theme. Your stories must feature those colours, they must be exactly one hundred words long, and they must have a title of only one word.

The title cannot be 'black' or 'white.'

You do not have to name both colours, but they must be obviously present. It could be a black bear stalking through the snow. A red slick spreading across the black and white flagstones of a farmhouse kitchen. The white pinpoints of stars drowning in the infinite nothing of space. The whites of a stalker's eyes emerging from the night. A chess set whose board is chequered day and night, whose pieces are ordinary citizens, moved by hidden masters. An arrow fletched with black feathers, buried in the eye of a white-scaled dragon. A silhouette advancing up the whitewashed stairwell. A white space suit, smeared black with soot, or alien blood...

By all means play with themes of stark contrast, of binary moralities. Give your story a noir atmosphere. But the colours themselves must be present too.

We are a genre magazine. Be it a broad spectrum of genres, and not always strictly adhered to. The most important thing is that the story has something special about it, it makes us sit up and pay attention, it grips us and makes us go back for another read... and another.

Full details and guidelines for submissions can be found on our submissions page.

Have fun, keep writing, be awesome.

Monday, 1 September 2014

September 2014. Issue 5.

Welcome to Issue 5.

Welcome to the blue room. A vast and infinite sky where your wildest dreams fly free. A crushing claustrophobic ocean in whose depths swim all your fears.

We enter the second year of the quarterly 101 Fiction with fifteen stories tuned to a theme of blue and spread across a suitably broad spectrum of genres. Each one a tiny hundred word seed that swells and bursts and blossoms inside your headspace, blooming blue behind your eyes.

Do you remember copper sulphate crystals in science lessons? Starting with a tiny shard and immersing it in the cool blue where it grew into something bigger, something special. That’s what a good drabble is, a tiny notion that sinks into your thoughts and softly expands into something bigger, something special. Something extraordinary.

Inside issue 5 you will find blue eyes, blue teeth, blue blood. Desire and obsession. Disaster and heartbreak. Murder and magic. Science and fantasy. Wordplay and wonder. Fifteen blue-based worlds to slowly unfurl through your thoughts.

Read. Absorb. Enjoy.


Keep scrolling for the stories, or bring up the whole issue here.

You can download issue four in its entirety as a .pdf as well, to take with you wherever you go and read whenever you please. Find that here. (right click and 'save link as')


by Glen Donaldson

Jenny Stain's courtship with the colour blue had begun early.

Triggered by an inconceivably rare reaction to a bluebottle jellyfish sting at age six, now, nearly two decades on, her colour immersion infatuation was near complete.  Hair, skin, even tongue – all dyed blue.  Converting her body's own waste products to pale azure with a daily oral dose of food colouring tablets had perfectly consummated the affair.

Yet love and devotion can be unfairly blind. One too many dye pills had brought on a sudden, and in Jenny's case, tragic condition – permanent colour blindness.

Out of the blue, love had soured.

Author bio: Glen Donaldson is a Brisbane schoolteacher who embraces the ridiculous when he thinks no one is looking. He holds firmly to the view he is not cynical, just experienced.

Dyed is part of 101 Fiction issue 5.


by Matthew R. Czarnowski

Desire isn’t red. I know because her eyes are blue.

They are winter; me skating across the ice in the park, holding Halie Smith’s hand...

They are spring; a delicate sun shower sprinkling atop a canopy as I share my first kiss with Natalie Flowers...

They are summer; waves crashing against the sand as I lay with Kelly Dominguez, her hand buried deep in my swim trunks...

They are autumn; the cool glow of twilight as Jennifer Schuele scratches long lines down my back...

I put her eyes on the shelf next to Cassie Dunway’s hands. Her nails are blue.

Author bio: While writing is his passion, Matthew spends a lot of his time learning survival skills in preparation for the zombie apocalypse. He currently teaches English in Las Vegas, Nevada.

Memories is part of 101 Fiction issue 5.


by Shenoa Carroll-Bradd

He likes his girls to look a certain way.

Black hair. Blue eyes. Red lips. White skin.

Not pale, but white. Bloodless.

So for him, I dyed my hair. The chemicals stung my nose, but blackened my curls into silken ash.

I bit my lips until they swelled, full and red.

And for him, I died.

My joints are too stiff for dancing now, but my skin is perfect, milk-white and cool.

Eyes clouded over into murky blue.

He likes his girls to look a certain way, and when he sees how far I've gone, I know he'll love me.

Author bio: I like to write in just about every genre, but my favourites are horror and fantasy. 
My author homepage is and I can also be found on twitter @ShenoaSays

Fetching is part of 101 Fiction issue 5.


by Danielle Bordelon

She stroked the dark spot on her neck, eyeing it in the mirror.

“It will fade with time,” he promised.

She nodded.

Secretly, she didn’t want it to. She thought the colour was rather pretty, like that of the ocean depths. It marked her as his, as someone special.

Then the nights grew darker, the bruise grew larger, and she grew weaker.

She collapsed against the bed frame, her naked torso a canvas of indigo and alabaster.

“You said that it would fade!”

He smiled as he sank his fangs into her chest.

Her heartbeat slowed, then stopped.

“It will.”

Author bio: Danielle Bordelon is a fiction writer currently focusing on short stories and the editing of her novel. She lives in an apartment with three friends, hundreds of abused books, and an overactive imagination. Her short stories have been published in in literary magazines including Black Fox Literary Magazine, Quail Bell Magazine, and the Fast-Forward Festival and are available on

Fade is part of 101 Fiction issue 5.


by Laura Davy

At midnight they took her from her bed, asleep and unaware. They wore robes and smelled of smoky incense. She used her fingernails like claws, blooding three of them as they tied her to an oak tree.

She cried as they poured bitter liquid into her mouth and onto the roots below. She spit and cursed, but she swallowed too.

She screamed out, "Why?"

Their silence was her only answer.

They watched the tree's bark slowly inching across her skin, itching more than it hurt.

After three days they departed, leaving behind a tree blemished only by blinking blue eyes.

Author bio: Laura Davy lives in California with her husband and two cats. She has been previously published in Apex Magazine, Nth Degree and Plasma Frequency Magazine. You can learn more about her at

Eyes is part of 101 Fiction issue 5.


by Kelly Dwyer

I walked into that ball feeling like a princess, with the gown that brought out the blue in my eyes, and my glittering glass slippers. As soon as the prince fixed on me, I knew I had a chance to change my life for good. Three days later, when he visited each house, I stared into his eyes, sure that he would recognise me. But he didn't. I had to try on that damned shoe to prove that I was me. He had fallen for a silhouette in a pretty dress and sparkling shoes. He didn't even know my name.

Author bio: Kelly Dwyer grew up near Disneyland. Now she lives in Wisconsin, where she is working on a collection of plays and flash pieces based on the Disney Princesses at middle age.

Dress is part of 101 Fiction issue 5.


by Jonathan Hawk

I clutch the test in my hands. My stomach wrenches. My head reels. I start crying in the stall.

"Cheater!" accuses my geometry textbook from the floor.

My parents can't find out.

"You're an idiot," scoffs the toilet beneath me.

God. I'll get kicked out of cheerleading.

"What about Aiden?" taunts the skirt at my ankles.

After prom we were gonna be each other's first! This isn't right. Ashley and I only fooled around a little when he tutored me. Just that one time…

But that damn test has a big, fat, blue plus on it.

"You're pregnant," it says.

Author bio: Jonathan Hawk is a sesquipedalian and "ugly bag of mostly water" from the Baltimore, Maryland area. He's an avid free culture enthusiast and Creative Commoner. His stream of consciousness haunts Twitter as @doublecompile.

Cheater is part of 101 Fiction issue 5.


by Tom Sheehan

Your dress over the chair's arm. Dinner waiting. A cup your father gave you on the shelf. Sheer petals between paddock and palaver, booked forever. Your shawl. Wallpaper where no light happens. This forearm vein a doctor tries, calls anfractuous. My paint pants, three times in the trash. Recollected. When I was cold, and six. A still pigeon on December eave. May fog under streetlight, my brother sea-bound in ’42. A back room song, words I cannot remember. The sky the last time you let go, how it sifts itself out, filling other places, other eyes, falling away, away, blue.

Author bio: Sheehan served in the 31st Infantry, Korea 1951. Books are Epic Cures; Brief Cases, Short Spans; Collection of Friends;From the Quickening.  eBooks; Korean Echoes, The Westering, (nominated for National Book Award); from Danse Macabre areMurder at the Forum (NHL mystery), Death of a Lottery Foe, Death by Punishment, and An Accountable Death. Work inRosebud, Linnet’s Wings, Copperfield Review, Cahoodaloodaling, Literary Orphans, Ocean Magazine, Frontier Tales, Western Online Magazine, Provo Canyon Review, 3 AM Magazine, Nazar Look, Eastlit and Rope & Wire Magazine. He has 24 Pushcart nominations. In the Garden of Long Shadows published by Pocol Press, 2014, to be followed soon by The Nations, about Native Americans.

Happening is part of 101 Fiction issue 5.


by Kymm Coveney

One teardrop rose from the August pond, became a fingertip of cloud. Intent on writing her heart across the morning, she persisted, despite having to cross out, erase, start over. She soon used up all the blue.

He felt the raindrops halfway through his run. Saw the cloud cover, a storm rolling in grey from the East. His breath was ragged, his lungs straining against the miles that remained.

Exhausted, her message undelivered, the tear plummeted back down to plop against his cheek. She rolled in a caress to the corner of his mouth, where he licked. Took her in.

Author bio: Ex-pat from Boston living in Barcelona, raising polyglot kids and fooling with written languages.

Soulmates is part of 101 Fiction issue 5.


by J. J. Steinfeld

A year ago, I received a phone call from a rasping voice warning I would die a hideous death in exactly a year, when there would be a blue rain coinciding with a phone call from Satan. An idiotic prank, I thought. This morning, out my window I have been watching a blue rain fall, and much to my dread the phone has begun to ring. Now I am reassessing the absurd prophecy. I will not answer the phone. I will go outside and get wet, covering myself in blueness, and gain insight, I hope, into the nature of dying.

Author bio: J. J. Steinfeld is a Canadian fiction writer, poet, and playwright who lives on Prince Edward Island, where he is patiently waiting for Godot’s arrival and a phone call from Kafka. While waiting, he has published fourteen books, including Disturbing Identities (Stories, Ekstasis Editions), Should the Word Hell Be Capitalized? (Stories, Gaspereau Press), Would You Hide Me? (Stories, Gaspereau Press), An Affection for Precipices (Poetry, Serengeti Press), Misshapenness (Poetry, Ekstasis Editions), and A Glass Shard and Memory (Stories, Recliner Books). His short stories and poems have appeared in numerous anthologies and periodicals internationally, and over forty of his one-act plays and a handful of full-length plays have been performed in Canada and the United States. In the speculative-fiction 100-word-story universe, Steinfeld has published fifteen drabbles in The Drabbler (from 2009 to 2014).

Rain is part of 101 Fiction issue 5.


by I. K. Paterson-Harkness

It wasn't being abruptly eaten alive that surprised Alex. It was that the mouth was blue. Entirely. Even the teeth.

It came from nowhere, like a sudden storm cloud, shrouding the streets in dark shadow. Cars swerved; people ran from shop doors and stood, pointing. At the blue mouth. Sky blue. Like the sky was hungry.

And then it lunged, lips stretched backwards over azure gums. It engulfed the top stories of the tallest buildings; then the balconies and billboards; then the leafy tips of the highest trees. It was only a matter of seconds before blue swallowed him whole.

Author bio:  I. K Paterson-Harkness lives in Auckland, New Zealand. She has published stories and poems with Random Static, The Kiwi Diary, Liquid Imagination, Writing Tomorrow, and more. Recently she was nominated for a Sir Julius Vogel Award for 'Best Novella in 2013'. You can visit her website here:

Bite is part of 101 Fiction issue 5.


by John Xero

The prince’s limbs were distributed liberally around the room. An arm dangled from the chandelier. His head stared up from a silk-upholstered chair seat. Blue blood dripped.

In the centre of the room, Carson sat cross-legged, chewing on an ear.

Billings stared aghast from the doorway.

“What have you done?”

Carson smiled, “The blue blood of royalty, eh?”

“They all have blue blood, you fucking psychopath, they’re aliens. You’ve gone and started a fucking war with a goddamned interstellar empire.”

“Language, detective. You once told me I couldn’t kill everyone. A provocative challenge. I think I rather have, don’t you?”

Author bio: John Xero writes every day. A little bit of something big or, sometimes, a big bit of something little.
@xeroverse: for little bits of Xero. for more Xero, including ongoing serials in hundred word episodes.

Blood is part of 101 Fiction issue 5.


by Steve Green

The Melancholy virus had taken just seven weeks to overrun the planet.

Bacterimelanchol, or Bluebug as it came to be known, was aggressively infectious. It could make the jump from electronic circuitry to biological with horrifying ease, affecting machine and animal with impunity.

Soon the germ was hooked into everything. Television, internet, satellites. No system, or system operator was beyond its reach, or control.

Doom and gloom were spread through every possible media.

Until the whole world was wrapped in the black cloak of depression.

And ultimately, the button was pushed.

And then, oh my, how that bug did laugh...

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

Bacterimelanchol is part of 101 Fiction issue 5.


by Andrew Patch

In the dirty light of the hold Vince inspected his mottled blue skin. He didn’t have much time. Dropping down from his bunk, he slunk past slumbering refugees fleeing a world devastated by war and disease.

A disease he had unwittingly brought aboard.

The thrum of the hyperdrive masked his footsteps down the oily veins of the ship. The blue was spreading fast, his mind losing focus.

He had to get to the airlock, flush himself into space.

Vince reached for the console, his hand completely covered, the airlock interior beckoning.


He needed to feed.

Vince retraced his steps.

Author bio: A drinker of black coffee, scribe of flash fiction and an inadequate footballer. Say hello @imageronin

Butterfly is part of 101 Fiction issue 5.


by Brigitte Winter 

“The earth sky was blue?” My Abigail presses her little nose against the glass and stares into black space.

My heart hurts for my ship baby, member of the in-between generation that will bridge those of us who left with those of us who will arrive.

“Blue like your eyes, baby. Beautiful blue.”

My child will live and die a life of artificial light – of steel walls, colourless sky.

“That’s cool, I guess.” Abigail shrugs and skips away, all youthful, giggling ignorance.

The realisation hardens in my chest. The in-betweens are the lucky ones. It’s me who’s cursed with blue.

Author bio: Brigitte Winter is a collector and teller of stories, a theatrical director, a cookie baker, a wannabe world traveler, and the Executive Director of Young Playwrights’ Theater, a Washington, DC nonprofit dedicated to inspiring young people to realize the power of their own voices through creative writing ( She has a passion for boundary-busting speculative fiction, and her current novel-in-progress is a pre-apocalyptic coming of age adventure. All of her celebrity crushes are on authors. You can follow her blog at for anonymous magnetic poetry, errant street signs, and other word wonders.

In-between is part of 101 Fiction issue 5.

September 2014. Issue 5. Postscript.

The end that announces the beginning! It's the 101 Fiction postscript.

If you're here on September 1st 2014 the stories will be going live throughout the day and into the evening. By tomorrow there will be a whole issue sat here waiting to be devoured, or downloaded as a .pdf (to be devoured later)...

If you're here on any other date then, sadly, you have reached the end of Issue 5.

But weep not! Carry on, traveller. For just beyond here lies issue 4, and there be dragons. In fact there are hundreds of drabbles on 101 Fiction. Stretching even further back than issue 1.

I hope you've enjoyed our blue-flavoured issue 5. I hope we've excited and inspired you, and maybe you want to play too. Keep an eye on for the next submissions period and theme, or follow us on Twitter - we'll shout about it when we're looking for stories.

Thank you.

Keep reading. Keep writing. Have fun.

-John Xero

Tuesday, 15 July 2014

September Issue Open for Submissions

** 101 Fiction is now closed for submissions. Thank you. **

Send us your stories!

From right now (July 15th) to August 15th we are open for submissions. We're looking for themed stories one hundred words in length for publication in our September issue.

This will be our fifth issue, the start of year two. The themes for the first year were all mythical creatures of some sort: phoenix, undead, nature spirits, and dragons. With a new year we start a new cycle of themes, and we're going for something broad and unusual: colours.

The theme for September is blue.

Anything and everything blue. Literal or figurative. The sky, the sea, a pair of eyes, the pattern on an oriental plate. A desultory mood, a filter, a way of seeing the world. It can be an impression, or a synaesthetic scent. It doesn't have to be the focus of the story, and you definitely don't have to use the word 'blue,' so long as it is identifiable and recognisable. It could be a topaz necklace like tiny icebergs strung together, or the flash of turquoise from a kingfisher's wings.

We do loosely hold to four genres - science fiction, fantasy, horror and surreal - but we're generous in our interpretation of those. If the story grabs us, shakes us, scares us, excites us, sings to us in some way, that's the important thing.

The word count is one hundred, with a one word title. The title cannot be 'Blue.'

Please check our submissions page for full details and guidelines.

Have fun, keep writing, stay creative.

Sunday, 1 June 2014

June 2014. Issue 4.

Welcome to issue 4.

And a hot and fiery issue it is. Hopefully herald to a glorious hot summer, though possibly a summer with fewer dragons than you’ll find here. Possibly.

The themes for this issue were summer and dragons, and you’ll find one or both present in every little tale. Which goes some way to explaining the heat coming off these pages. You’re about to read sixteen sizzling tales from thirteen talented writers, running a whole range of genres.

Nathan Alling Long kicks things off, looking from spring to summer. A hot summer, perfect for Judy Harper’s hot couple. There’s no respite as Odessa Cole breathes fire, and Rhonda Eikamp’s Sigh just fans the flames. Perfect conditions for Patrice Sarath’s S’warm.

Shenoa Carroll-Bradd has a lesson for us, before R.S. Bohn takes us for a maiden flight. Then Alex Brightsmith leads us into the desert, right up to John Xero’s Volcano. Chris White’s Predator is a dragon of a more modern kind, and Julia Reynolds pulls us further forward with her futuristic wonder, her Terra-Drake.

R.S. Bohn jumps us into another world, complete with its own customs, and dragons. John Xero’s Quest brings us to world not quite our own, while Matthew Czarnowski’s dragon is all too real. Christina Im brings a shiver despite the heat, then Chris White gets the fires going again and leaves us dreaming of colder days.

Thanks for being here. Thanks for being a part of a little ‘zine with big ideas.

Read. Absorb. Enjoy.


Keep scrolling for the stories, or bring up the whole issue here.

You can download issue four in its entirety as a pdf as well, to take with you wherever you go and read whenever you please. Find that here. (right click and 'save link as')


by Nathan Alling Long

You talk of fairy tales, back when dragons roamed.

“Where do you think they went?” I ask, but you don’t know.

There’s not much time left for us, so I decide I should tell you.

“They’re still here,” I say. “We just aren’t good at seeing them. Look at that range of hills: a dragon’s back.  That volcano: its head, its nostrils.”

“But it doesn’t move,” you say.

“It moves,” I explain. “We’re too fast-paced now to see it. Soon, the planet will be warm enough and they’ll all awaken. It will be their world then.”

“When?” you ask.


Author bio: Nathan Alling Long grew up in a log cabin in rural Maryland and travelled around the world before settling in Philadelphia, PA, where he writes, bakes bread, and teaches.  His work has appeared in over fifty journals and anthologies, some of which can be found at his website:

Spring is part of 101 Fiction issue 4.


by Judy Harper

Phil flipped a match. Its head touched the blistering sidewalk, burst into flame.

"Cool," she said. "Lemonade?"

"Thanks." The chilled liquid slid down his parched throat. His eyes slid over her. Moist golden-brown skin, curly auburn hair, body radiating sultry heat.

"Folks away?"

"Sick. Heat stroke. Bad summer for them."

Standing barefoot on the burning concrete, she smiled, extended her hand.

"But good for us."

Mesmerized by her smouldering eyes, he clasped her hand, stood, screamed as her exhaled fire enveloped them.

They rose together on leathery wings, talons entwined, leaving a single pile of ash on the steaming sidewalk.

Author bio: Judy Harper has been writing almost as long as she has been talking... and that's a long time. As a technical writer and e-learning designer, she wrote in the mainstream to help people get work done, generating 25 years’ worth of instructional manuals, reference books, user guides, and web content. Now, in semi-retirement, she writes on the edge, creating short stories and inspirational articles to help readers experience life from different perspectives. Her obligatory novel is, of course, in progress.

Cremation? is part of 101 Fiction issue 4.


by Odessa Cole

“Dragon’s breath,” Granny called it, the searing west wind that shrivelled the garden by May. She pointed at the sun, low and red. “His child.”

“Let’s go kill it!” Tommy said. Stupid. But I went.

Struggling over steep hills, past dead houses. Softened asphalt dragged my feet, hot air burned my lungs. The dragon’s breath dried sweat to salt.

“There!” His voice croaked from the hilltop. I peered into the painful wind. Flames ate the downed city. No dragon: only fire, glowing stone, jagged buildings’ remains.

“New York?”

Granny pressed damp cloths on my burned face. “Was.”

“Dragon’s child, now.”

Author bio: Environmental scientist Odessa Cole writes science fiction in New Mexico.

Breathe is part of 101 Fiction issue 4.


by Rhonda Eikamp

A hot gust scoots her hair. The anthropologist glances toward the window, quill poised over her letter home. Dragon's Sigh, the Melahrians call these winds.

Dearest, I am among barbarians, she writes, thinking of her fiancé in cooler climes, who believe a simple breeze is a promise from their lizard god that He will return.

And yet shouts rise from below. Trembles, earthquake-sized. Darkness falls. Another sigh slaps her, fiery. Staring out, she sees the sky's become a maw. With fangs. She leaps up screaming, hair already burning. Sees her letter curling black, the last words she wrote.

I love

Author bio: Rhonda Eikamp lives in Germany, but is originally from Texas, where summers do get hot enough to set your hair on fire. Stories of hers have appeared or are forthcoming in Daily Science Fiction, Lightspeed, Lady Churchill's Rosebud Wristlet and The Journal of Unlikely Cartography. Catch her blog at .

Sigh is part of 101 Fiction issue 4.


by Patrice Sarath

"Whatcha waiting for?" the kid asked, wrinkling her freckled, sunburnt nose.

"Dragons," the old man said, shading his eyes against the glare on the drought-baked Tennessee badlands.

"Ain't no such thing," the kid said.

"Girl," the old man said. "You watch."

The Smoky Mountain ridgeline shifted, turned on its side. Soil, blistered trees, rock slid down into the valley, uncovering dirt-crusted scales, a jagged spine, first one articulated wing, then another. A second mountain slid, a third, and soon they heard the beat of vast and distant wings.

"Dragons sure do love them some global warming," the old man said.

Author bio: Patrice Sarath is a novelist and short story writer in Austin, Texas. You can find out more about her work at

S'warm is part of 101 Fiction issue 4.


by Shenoa Carroll-Bradd

"Two wizards began to duel. One called forth a dragon, the other, a cloud of bees.

“The dragon exhaled, sending half the swarm to the ground in a hail of sizzled wings and ashen abdomens.

“The survivors landed on the beast and crawled into the tiny chinks between his scales, stinging where his claws could not reach.

“The dragon scorched his own hide trying to kill the pests, until he swelled up, smouldering, and collapsed.

“The bees won the day, my son. Can you tell me why?"

"Because cunning and persistence beat brute strength?"

"Precisely. Now, back to your studies."

Author bio: Shenoa lives in Southern California and writes whatever catches her fancy, from fantasy to horror and erotica. 
Say hi @ShenoaSays or visit for more info.

Lesson is part of 101 Fiction issue 4.


by R.S. Bohn

Unicorns prefer a maiden's touch, and suffer no other. The villagers tie young women to a tree in the forest on the night before their wedding, and some mornings find them slumped against their binds, gored through. They pat the young men's shoulders sympathetically.

The dragon prefers his unicorns roasted rare, and his young men crispy, with blackened skulls. A young woman clever enough to escape her ropes, however, he'll allow to climb a leathery wing – maiden or not.

Then, with a furnace beneath their legs, the women ride into the dawn sky, their village nothing but shadows behind them.

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:

Flight is part of 101 Fiction issue 4.


by Alex Brightsmith 

Nobody followed us, not even the athletic young priest who had so nearly caught us.

It was weeks before we allowed ourselves to trust to that appearance, and we frittered away our waning energy on sentry duty as we waited out the heat of the day, and wasted the cool relief of the short nights jumping at shadows.

It was only when we found the skeleton that we understood. We trudged past the long form, stared at the great horned head, bleached white by the unremitting sun. Why pursue us? We had fled into a desert that killed even dragons.

Author bio: Alex Brightsmith was born and raised in Bedfordshire and defies anyone who was not to place it on a map. Bedfordshire is so obscure even its own residents struggle to agree which region it belongs to, and its legacies have been a resistance to categorisation and a lasting fondness for sprouts.

Alex has published two character-driven contemporary thrillers featuring traceuse, thief and potential government agent Kathryn Blake, but is also readily distracted by flash fiction in a range of genres and by the development of an epic fantasy set around the Khyran provinces and the Tormaben plains.

Profligate examples of Alex’s work and can be found at

Unpursued is part of 101 Fiction issue 4.


by John Xero

Gerret knelt before the mountain.

He drew an ornate dagger from his robes. Its bone handle was scaled, the hooked blade etched with silvery flames. Possessing it was breaking the New Law. But he was Mu’radi; he was old people.

He raised the dagger.

Summer’s sun glinted from the blade as he plunged it into his chest.

The New Law was just words, and words can mean anything, or nothing. The Mu’radi god was fire, purity, truth.

The ground shook and the mountain roared, spewing flame from its lips. As Gerret’s vision dimmed, he saw the mountain spread its wings.

Author bio: John Xero loves words. They can mean anything, or nothing, or everything. Put the right ones together, in just the right way, and magic happens. | @xeroverse

Volcano is part of 101 Fiction issue 4.


by Chris White

High above the terracotta earth, adrift on the rolling cloud-seas, a dragon waits.

High on gossamer wings it waits, invisible.

Scatter your protective talismans, your pretty trinkets of glass, hide in the shadows. Burn your votive offerings unto him – a mountain of rubber set aflame, a pillar of midnight.

High above the clouds it waits, an Angel of Death, with wings of steel.

With talons of blazing metal to rend the flesh.

Thirsting, unquenchable.

Target acquired.

In a world of serene unknowable silence a Predator lurks, watching its prey.

In an eruption of violence, the Predator drone strikes, spitting fire.

Author bio: Chris White is an author living in Brisbane, Australia. His words have been published both as ones and zeros and as ink on dead wood. More of them can be found on his blog:

Predator is part of 101 Fiction issue 4.


by Julia Reynolds

Summer landed the shuttle on the empty planet’s icy equator. “Good luck with that worthless ice-ball,” the Explorers’ Union had said.

Summer smiled. Then she drank a cup of tea. Then she woke the Terraform Drake.

He growled, uncoiling a titanium tail. His blood ran liquid nitrogen and his fusion heart throbbed with the power of a star. She’d raised him from an egg she designed herself.

She sang him a code-sonnet, last minute instructions. Terra-Drake launched himself.

Five years later he returned, Summer’s dragon, spent and victorious. He napped while she sat in sunshine and sang another code-sonnet, sleepy-shutdown.

Author bio: Julia Reynolds is a writer in Austin, Texas.  She is an alumna of the Viable Paradise Writing Workshop and a member of the Cryptopolis writing group.

Terra-Drake is part of 101 Fiction issue 4.


by R.S. Bohn

They'll be jumping the broom this July, all the couples who survived the spring. There's been a bit of rearrangement; Courtney'll be jumping with Marc, Tom with Rachel. Always happens after spring, this reshuffling of hearts.

As if hearts have anything to do with it! It's fire and claw, and the bone-deep need to procreate, that's what tenders change.

Mountain dragons descend in March, April. They come hungry, go back up sated. And the broom-jumpers wait for July to divvy themselves anew.

November? That's when we go up, and we go there hungry.

And slake our grief on dragon hide.

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:

Jump is part of 101 Fiction issue 4.


by John Xero

Charlie was obsessed with the dragons. She pored over photos, freeze-framed videos, searching for something.

Something I could never understand.

We went to the caves, the mountains, wherever there were sightings. The real tourist traps.

Then she found the hardcore message boards. The serious dragon chasers. The nerds collating data and running simulations. Their dragon algorithm.

That summer they made a prediction, and we drove to the dales.

I was bored. I stayed in the car. Missed everything.

But I saw the footage. Filmed from flameproof hides.

She thought she was one of them. They thought she made pretty bait.

Author bio: John Xero chases dragons all the time. Dragons called stories. They’re powerful beasties and difficult to capture in all their magnificence. But he’ll keep trying, and sharpening his weapons, and one day he’ll nail a big one. And that will only be the beginning. | @xeroverse

Quest is part of 101 Fiction issue 4.


by Matthew Czarnowski

The day we met Danny Fletcher, he told us a dragon lived under Maycomb Avenue. “That’s what started the fire that killed Bobby Brennan.”

“No way,” we said. Everyone knew that crazy Mrs. Brennan burned the place down with cigarettes and vodka.

That summer, he said the dragon lived in his house. His dad grounded him a week for lying.

He showed up one day, left eye swollen shut, two teeth missing.

“Dragon do that?” We laughed. He didn’t.

That was the last time we saw Danny alive. The cops arrested his dad. Guess Danny was right about that dragon.

Author bio: While writing is his passion, Matthew also spends a lot of his time learning survival skills in preparation for the zombie apocalypse. He currently teaches English in Las Vegas, Nevada.

Danny is part of 101 Fiction issue 4.


by Christina Im

Death told me her name.

I kept it, because she will bring me to my knees someday. I was born halfway into the coffin, dearest, where none can touch me but her.

It was more a word than a name, a word that would shatter my skull if she didn’t whisper. A farewell. It lives, now that I've heard it, in that secret shuddering space between the crook of my neck and my windpipe.

She will collect me soon.

Summer solstice, she said. Her shadow will grace our porch. Her first breath will stop my heart, even as you tremble.

Author bio: Christina Im is an aspirant wordsmith and a believer in madness. She received a gold and silver medal in the 2014 Scholastic Art and Writing Awards, and her work has appeared in several publications, including Hogglepot, Foxglove Hymnal, and The Plum Collection. Christina can be visited online at

Christening is part of 101 Fiction issue 4.


by Chris White

Grey storm clouds gather, a black armada that promises no rain. Helicopters grasshopper-leap above the searching fingers of flame, their red and gold carapaces glittering like jewelled bugs; their belly loads of water will never quench the fire’s thirst.

Summer rages, unchecked, while we dream of winter.

A dream, a prayer, a memory.

We dream: winter rains falling, frost blanketing the forest, now burnt black.


Black and grey.

An alien world beneath the sunrise, the trees blackened stumps, skeletons.

An eerie silence falls.

Then we hear the whisper of flames, burning beneath the bark.

We dream of winter’s rain.

Author bio: Chris White is an author living in Brisbane, Australia. His words have been published both as ones and zeros and as ink on dead wood. More of them can be found on his blog:

Dreams is part of 101 Fiction issue 4.

June 2014. Issue 4. Postscript.

This is the end! Or... possibly... the beginning.

If you're here on June 1st then stories will be going live through the day. Keep checking back, this is our biggest issue yet and we've got a great mix of stories for you, all different, all fantastic.

If you've already enjoyed all of issue four's drabbles, and after all that summer heat and dragon fire you're thirsty for something a little cooler, check out issue three (spring!), or two (winter!). Keep going further back and you'll hit issue one, and even that isn't the beginning; there are hundreds of teeny tiny stories here, hundreds of worlds to discover.

Hopefully you've been excited and inspired by what you've read. And maybe you want to have a go. Keep an eye on 101 Fiction (or our twitter) for when we announce our next themes and submission period.

Thank you.

Keep reading. Keep writing. Have fun.

-John Xero

Tuesday, 15 April 2014

June Issue Open for Submissions

We are now closed for submissions. The next issue will go live on June 1st. Thank you.

From now (April 15th) until May 15th we are looking for one hundred word stories for the June issue of 101 Fiction.

The temperature is rising and summer doesn't seem so far away. The themes for the next issue are Summer and Dragons. Use one theme, or both; use them loosely, figuratively or literally. Feel the heat, feed the fires, listen for the crackle of hungry flames and the beat of leathery wings. Carve them in a hundred words.

The title, as always, must be one word. And preferably not one of the issue's theme words. Make it matter, make it important, make it grab me before the story has even begun.

For full submission guidelines please read the submissions page.

101 Fiction is a genre site (science fiction, fantasy, horror, surreal), but we're pretty free and loose in defining those. Be unusual, exciting, and interesting.

Check out the previous issues for an idea of what we're looking for (and for some fantastic tiny fiction):
Issue 1 :: Issue 2 :: Issue 3

Have fun, keep writing, stay cool.

Saturday, 1 March 2014

March 2014. Issue 3.

Welcome to issue 3.

The issue that nearly didn’t happen.

Shortly after the submissions period, the 101 Fiction laptop forgot how to boot, and though its super future powered android replacement did many shiny wonderful things, none of them were particularly useful (the Win-do-8 model). Then chrono-thieves stole the end of February. Two whole days, gone. (Someone should do something about that.)

So you’ll forgive me for being a little self-indulgent and including three of my own drabbles this issue. I think they’re all of the same quality as the other excellent stories, and I think they all bring something different to the table. I hope you agree. And I hope you’ll forgive me for tempting fate further with a thirteen drabble issue...

Thirteen thrilling fictions that swing through an impressively wide range of different styles, ideas and moods. All inspired in some way by one or both of the issue’s themes: spring, and elementals or spirits of nature.

We like to mix things up at 101 Fiction, so we begin with an Interlude by R.S. Bohn. Things get serious in Chris White’s Famine, and with the coming of spring, Paul Cosca’s AN-723 brings a moment of poignancy to the post-apocalypse. John Xero Maroons us on an alien world, then Ryan Cox brings the aliens to us. Elizabeth Archer dishes up a cautionary Breakfast, but watch those eggs, because Thomas High’s Hatchlings are up next, and we follow them into space to meet John Xero’s Exile. Nathan Alling Long’s protagonist may not be Alone, but Stella Turner’s Alcohol is definitely not a reassuring answer. Kymm Coveney wraps us in a dreamy Rapture. John Xero Whittles myth from words. And Christian Bone brings us full circle with battling Seasons.

Thank you for stopping by. Thank you for being a part of 101 Fiction.

Read. Absorb. Enjoy.


Keep scrolling for the stories, or bring up the whole issue here.

Alternatively you can download issue three in its entirety as a pdf, to take with you wherever you go and peruse at your pleasure. Find that here. (right click and 'save link as')


by R.S. Bohn

The lady's slipper bulged, drooped, and out he fell, damp and curled.

He ended his hibernation always thus, in pink petals newly emerged from curving green stems, themselves freshly pushed out of the dark earth.

Standing, he brushed specks of snow from his knees. The cobwebs of Winter's soul surrounded him: melting ice and patches of white.

Spring stepped from shadows into the sun and banished them.

Behind him, a cold sigh on his neck.

"Not another minute? Or three?"

Spring smiled. "Half a minute, no more."

Winter slipped cool hands beneath Spring's tunic.

Spring shivered, and counted the seconds.

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:

Interlude is part of 101 Fiction issue 3.


by Chris White

She rose, engulfed in the swarm, eyes ablaze, copper discs behind the crush of black bodies, devouring those scraps that remained.

You have summoned me. Her voice was like birdsong, like the droning of bees, like the howl of hunting wolves. Desperate times, desperate measures. Different seasons, different pleasures. Her chitin-flesh crawled, a living-dead mockery of a smile. The burghers pressed back, away from this dead thing they had impregnated with power.

Her price was too high, always too high.

In the end they paid it, with the flesh and blood and bones of another child.

Winter ended. Spring began.

Author bio: Chris White is a freelance writer of many styles (but mostly magic realism and science fiction.) He lives in Brisbane, Australia, on the other side of the world. An emerging writer, he pours out a flurry of flash fiction and short stories, mostly here:

Famine is part of 101 Fiction issue 3.


by Paul Cosca

It was a monarch. The sensors picked up the flash of orange and brought back information instantly. Danaus plexippus. The encyclopedia entry scrolled, and the picture matched up. Affirmation. The mobility functions of AN-723 had been manually disabled 165,600 minutes earlier, freezing it in a skyward-facing position, and there had been little need of its ever-weakening sensors since. The monarch hovered, then came to rest on the visual sensor of AN-723. It spread its wings and, for a moment, the machine saw the world through an orange filter. The monarch basked, then moved on, oblivious to the destruction all around.

Author bio: Paul Cosca is a novelist and playwright who spends too much time on the internet. Find him there through his website at

AN-723 is part of 101 Fiction issue 3.


by John Xero

Rogan was a bad man and a worse captain, marooned on a long dead planet by his treacherous crew. He wandered between trees that swayed like dancing skeletons – dried husks of pliable alien plant matter that swung and rustled and sniggered in the warm winds.

He chewed on fingers of broken branch with a taste like salted nutmeg.

His flask had run dry. He was parched. Delirious.

He leant against a thick spongy trunk, sank into it. Rough bark-skinned fingers stroked his face, pulled him down, deeper, into cool damp darkness.

Voices whispered in his ear. Inside him. Inviting. Welcoming.

Author bio: John Xero is a husk of pliable alien plant matter who dreams of one day being a real boy. He pays too much attention to the whispering in his ears.

He tweets (sometimes): @xeroverse

Marooned is part of 101 Fiction issue 3.


by Ryan Cox

They came first with the flowers and the bees. No one knew they were here. But I saw them.

And I saw them coming when they returned the next year. That’s when they took me.

When they finished – when I was all used up – I woke up in my bed, beside my husband, with our son between us. Like it always was. Like we always were.

But I wasn’t the same.

The snow melted today.

They’re coming.


“No… no!”


“No… please… I’ll come… just… just don’t take my son. Don’t take them.”

I’m sorry Megan. We’re taking everyone.

Author bio: Ryan Henry Cox is a musician and writer working out of Detroit, MI.

Contact is part of 101 Fiction issue 3.


by Elizabeth Archer

When I woke up, I was starving. That’s always a bad sign. My stomach rumbles when I’m hungry, and in my case, that attracts attention. On the plus side, that used to always mean that someone came and fed me, fast. Lately, no one seems to care about feeding me before I get hungry enough to cause trouble.

That’s bad. My stomach just growled, and my whole body shook. I can feel them running all over, trying to get away. Don’t they realize if they’d just chuck a couple of human sacrifices down my mouth I’d go back to sleep?

Author bio: Elizabeth Archer writes flash fiction and poetry, and is working on a novel.

Breakfast is part of 101 Fiction issue 3.


by Thomas High

The ones with gravel driveways went first. Before word could get out to the people with brickwork paving, more of the hatchlings were waking up, and those who remained were taken in other ways. Rocky beaches took seaside towns; medieval architecture took cities; Ayer's rock single-handedly conquered Australia. Carrying their stony shells on their backs like hermit crabs, they scuttled across the planet in swarms, eager to be fed.

When all was done, the cracks the newborns had made in the Earth grew bigger. A set of spindly legs sprouted from the planet's crust, and it scuttled off into space.

Author bio: Thomas High lives in Norwich. He tries his best to write sometimes. His favourite colour is green. You can visit him at

Hatchlings is part of 101 Fiction issue 3.


by John Xero

This rock was a planet once. We – humanity – labelled it such, before reclassifying it, demoting it. It seems fitting this should be her prison. Mankind asserts itself, flashing its hubris to the stars.

Everything is ours, to do with as we choose.

They tell me she takes many forms, but today she is a man. Handsome, toned, slender. Naked. When I enter he is already seated, cross-legged, comfortable, waiting. His eyes are greener than any human's.

I ask his name.

"The old ones were best," he replies with an easy smile, "Cel, Terra. I’ve always been particularly fond of Gaia."

Author bio: John Xero can’t keep his hands off myths and legends. They are the original stories, and still some of the best. He likes to reshape them, he hopes they will forgive his hubris.

His own legend will be 140 characters long: @xeroverse

Exile is part of 101 Fiction issue 3.


by Nathan Alling Long

In the woods, he had always felt it, that silent invisible, moving when he moved, still and patient as he stood still or sat quiet on a rock. He thought it was just the flow, which moves through all things, or his lonely mind, imagining a presence to accompany him on his days.

But once, when he whipped his head around, he saw it for an instant, before it flashed behind a tree. The pale face, like snow; the matted fur or clothes, like leaves. And those eyes, some deep water, staring at him. Now he wished he were alone.

Author bio: Nathan Alling Long grew up in a log cabin in rural Maryland and travelled around the world before settling in Philadelphia, PA, where he writes, bakes bread, and teaches.  His work has appeared in over fifty journals and anthologies, some of which can be found at his website:

Alone is part of 101 Fiction issue 3.


by Stella Turner

The only Spirits I’ve ever known where the ones in optics behind the bar or in my drinks cabinet. Dorothy announcing she had them in her home was no big shakes. Not until I saw her one day with a slim, good looking toy boy on her arm. I tried hard not to gawp but Dorothy was an overweight fifty year old, not some lithe youth. Each time I saw them together she looked older and thinner, he younger. Like spring and winter, a tiny strong sapling and a withered old twig. Put me right off spirits. I’m tee-total now.

Author bio: I'm Stella Turner, aka StellakateT on Twitter
My blog is

Alcohol is part of 101 Fiction issue 3.


by Kymm Coveney

Dying had been like dreaming, except he woke to find himself in free fall. His sylph muscles clenched in panic then rewarded him with the sharp snap of wings spreading wide. Soft June breezes cradled him, nudged him forward.

He conjured her, understood he might reach her by sunbeam, but his balance was shaky and new. Arms windmilling against forewings, he bounced off a cloud. With her as his only thought, he soared finally, arriving on a trail of dust motes. Fairy whispers tickled her ear. She looked up to see his imprint – shoulder and left ribcage – against the sky.

Author bio: Author bio: Ex-pat from Boston living in Barcelona, raising polyglot kids and fooling with written languages.

Rapture is part of 101 Fiction issue 3.


by John Xero

The soft snick snick of Oshi's knife licked curls of wood onto the floor and the branch slowly settled into its true shape.

Miro was scornful. "Why do you bother?"

"It is old way of worship, the making of a fresh effigy."

"The gods are gone, Oshi. Fled. Dead. Abandoning us to tyrants."

"So they say." He nodded. "So I pray."

"Ugh." She knocked the figure from his hand and stomped out.

He sighed and followed.

The wooden icon trembled. Stretched its limbs. Blinked.

It coughed wood dust.

"Rebirth," it rasped. "Revenge. Spring is come. I must wake my brothers."

Author bio: John Xero likes to write long, and whittle away words until the drabble’s true form is revealed.

Much like his approach to tweets... @xeroverse

Whittled is part of 101 Fiction issue 3.


by Christian Bone

Winter stood on the frozen battlefield, at the edge of Spring’s sword.

He was fierce but elderly while Spring was young and blooming.

Winter’s tale was to end.

“Your reign is over, old man,” Spring cried over the biting wind.

“Why do you do this?” Winter replied. “I have ruled well.”

“You are bitter and cold-hearted. It’s time for a regime change.”

Winter closed his eyes. This was a natural process, he told himself. Like the melting of the snow around him. Like the switchover of the seasons.

Spring sprung. Winter fell.

Soon, another sword unsheathed.

‘My turn,’ said Summer.

Author bio: @ChristianABone is a retired detective who keeps bees on the Sussex Downs. Either that, or he is a writer who doesn't understand the difference between fiction and reality.

Seasons is part of 101 Fiction issue 3.

March 2014. Issue 3. Postscript.

Thus ends the third issue of 101 Fiction...

Unless you're here on publication day. If today is March 1st 2014, then the stories will be going live on the hour, every hour, from 10am to 10pm. If it hasn't yet reached that time then I urge you to come back later and enjoy all of issue three's fantastic drabbles.

In fact, I urge you to come back later, regardless. Because in three months time there will be another issue! And, of course, we'll be open for submissions before that if you would like to have a go yourself. I really hope you've been inspired. Drabbles are great fun and challenging to perfect.

If you have read all of issue three, then do continue onwards, into the past. We have hundreds more drabbles for your delight on 101 Fiction.

Thank you.

Keep reading. Keep writing. Have fun.

- John Xero.

Wednesday, 15 January 2014

March Issue Open for Submissions

We are now closed for submissions. Please come back March 1st for the next issue of 101 Fiction.

Time to look beyond the log fire and the snowbound landscape... Spring is coming and 101 Fiction is open for submissions!

It seems strange to say that when here in the the East of England we are yet to have any snow at all. Still, from now until February 15th we are open for submissions and I want you thinking spring thoughts. The next issue's themes are spring (of course) and spirits/ deities/ elementals of nature (make of that what you will).

You can use one or both themes, you are free to use them 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 a theme word as the title.

For full submissions guidelines please read the submissions page.

December's issue was very horror-oriented, and we had a good time, I think, creeping ourselves out during the long nights, but 101 Fiction is a place of many tiny wonders. The new quarter's themes lend themselves well to fantasy, and nature's revenge is a well-established horror theme, but I'd like to see someone make something science fiction from them, or something delightfully, lyrically abstract and surreal. Ultimately, the most engaging pieces, the tightest writing, will be what make it into the issue, regardless of genre, so write the best one hundred words you can.

Have fun. Keep writing. Good luck.