Write a complete story in exactly 100 words

[ScarletDaemon]

A flash fiction challenge, the entire story needs to be exactly 100 words, not roughly a hundred, exactly a hundred. Any genre, any tone, funny, sad, twisty, quiet, whatever you want, the only rule is the word count

This constraint forces a different kind of storytelling than a normal short story, there's no space for a slow build, every single word has to do actual work, which tends to produce stories that land harder per word than something five times as long

Post yours below, and if you want, count your own words before posting so we're not all doing the math in the comments

[PlanetOftheApes]

She kept his voicemail for three years, never listened, just knew it was there. Today her phone died completely, unrecoverable. She sat on the bathroom floor a long time. Then she stood, deleted his number from her contacts too, the number that no longer connected to anything. Some goodbyes happen twice. The first one you survive because a small piece stays reachable, waiting. The second one is different, quieter, final. She made coffee afterward, same as always. The apartment felt exactly the same size. Grief doesn't announce itself twice. It just moves in, unpacks, stays a little longer this time

[BigDogCena41]

The last human on Earth sat alone in a room. There was a knock at the door. He knew that shouldn't be possible. He opened it slowly, hands shaking. Nothing was there, just an empty hallway, dust settling in afternoon light. He almost closed the door again, relieved. Then he heard it, footsteps, retreating down the hall, unhurried, patient. He didn't chase them. Whatever it was clearly already knew where to find him again. He sat back down at his small table. Waiting felt worse than knowing. He poured himself the last of the coffee and simply waited

[Pilgrim]

That second story got under my skin, the footsteps retreating rather than approaching is such a smart, unsettling choice for exactly this length

[Myles]

My mother taught me to fold napkins into swans before I could read. I taught my daughter the same, her small hands clumsy, patient. She taught hers years later, different kitchen, same fold. Four generations of women, folding paper into wings at the same worn table, though the table's been replaced twice by now. None of us remember why swans specifically, some traditions outlive their own reasons. My daughter asked me last week if I'd teach her daughter someday. I said of course, though I don't know if I'll be there to see it. Some things get taught forward regardless

[error.404]

The napkin swan one made me tear up a little, hitting generational continuity that specifically in exactly a hundred words is impressive craft

[Inlet]

Going to try mine tonight, counting words by hand for a hundred word story feels like it should be easy but I already know I'll go over on the first draft

[Dave_52]

He proposed with a ring he couldn't afford, hoping she'd say yes before checking the receipt still tucked inside the box by accident. She said yes immediately, thrilled, barely glancing at the box itself. Later that night, cleaning up, she found the receipt, saw the number, said nothing, simply smiled to herself. He never knew she'd seen it. Some secrets get kept out of love rather than deception. Years later, richer, happier, she still kept that receipt in a drawer, a quiet reminder of exactly how much he'd been willing to risk on a single, hopeful, borrowed moment

[Terry]

This challenge always produces surprisingly emotional stuff for such a tight constraint, something about the compression seems to force real economy of feeling rather than padding

[FairDos47]

The precision required for exactly 100 words is such a fun discipline, you can feel where each writer had to cut something they probably loved