Reader's Digest 100-Word-Story Competition- Micro Fiction

Started by Under Lights, February 18, 2016, 10:12:06 AM

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Under Lights

http://www.readersdigest.co.uk/100-word-story-competition

QuoteOur incredibly successful 100-word-story competition is back for a sixth year. This is your chance to win £2,000 and see your work published in the magazine—all you have to do is write a brilliant work of fiction in just 100 words!

100-Word-Story Competition rules:

There are three categories—one for adults and two categories for schools: one for children aged 12–18 and one for children under 12.

Your stories should be original, unpublished and exactly 100 words long—not even a single word shorter or longer!

Entries must be in by February 20.

The editorial team will then pick a shortlist of three in each category and post them online on March 6.

You can vote for your favourite, and the one with the most votes will scoop the top prize. Voting will close on March 27 and winning entries will be published in our June issue.

Entry is open only to residents of the UK, Channel Islands, Isle of Man and Republic of Ireland.



What you could win

In the adult category:

The winner will receive £2,000, and two runners-up will each receive £200.

Submitted a few to this. Have found it really fun creating a story in 100 words. Gets creative juices flowing.  If anyone feels brave enough to post their attempts here. There is an under 12 category and under 18 as well. Would be great for English teachers to get their classes involved.


One of mine below:

QuoteStay

I long to be held. Lifted. To be playfully scooped up, hoisted upon his shoulders and dance through the kitchen. To snuggle in beside her as she reads the same story over again, as I mouth the words.  To play them silly games that had no logic or meaning but just because they were fun. I remember fun. Laughter. But it's no longer possible. Not that I deserve it anyway. It's because of me they can no longer smile. I'm the reason they can only look at one another through tear-filled eyes. It's all My fault. Because I couldn't stay.



macdanger2

Very good story Under Lights, I'd be rubbish at this sort of thing.

Under Lights

Quote from: macdanger2 on February 18, 2016, 11:06:19 AM
Very good story Under Lights, I'd be rubbish at this sort of thing.

I have no experience at anything like this either to be fair. First attempt was with this and I really enjoyed it.


Another one I have submitted is
Quote
Torn

The moon is at her full.
I am at my strongest.
I must make the most of my vigour.
There have been more patrols, red and blue flashing lights.
They close in.
If they find me as the day walker, they would slit my throat.
As the beast they would not contain me.
I only hunt two towns over to protect him, to protect me.
My nostrils flair.
A scent.
Movement.
A couple on a stroll through the park.
Unaware.
The dark of the night cloaks my pursuit.
Prowl.
My eyes narrow.
Instinct takes over.
The screams are short.
Beute.

heganboy

If the irish news were running this Tony would be in like Flynn.

Great work under lights. 2 nice, and very different pieces. Good to see a bit of board talent on display
Never underestimate the predictability of stupidity

ONeill

Well done Under Lights. Takes balls to produce stuff on here.

Some of the experts' attempts:

Robert Thorogood:

There's no such thing as a victimless crime.
Or so they say.
As my wife hugged me, I realised that she still didn't know about all my affairs—or my plans to clean out her bank accounts and start a new life without her.
She was smiling as she stepped back from me.
That's when I noticed the knife in her hand. A knife that was dripping with blood.
And I'd never felt a thing.
Pain screamed into my chest, I collapsed to my knees, and I realised that maybe my wife had just committed a victimless crime after all...

Daisy Waugh:

As Madam of the finest brothel in Honeyville, Phoebe felt duty bound to maintain appearances. She wore a corset. So she was always in pain, but it was worth it.  The punters loved Pheobe. And Phoebe loved money.

There came a time when it was too painful to remove the corset, so she slept in it. Until one day she died in it. The mortician couldn't get it off without ripping the flesh, so she was buried in it too.  Afterwards the punters said "Good ol' Phoebe'. And from her heavenly cloud, she whispered back: "Screw you".

May she RIP.

Sue Limb:

Clarissa sat by her garden pond and wondered if there was a God: a glorious world up there where everything would be perfect. Her goldfish Henry peered up through the twinkling water. He knew she was God, because he dimly glimpsed her up above, and believed in her glorious world where everything was perfect. Clarissa threw Henry a handful of rainbow pellets.

"The Supreme Being loves me and looks after me," thought Henry. "And when I die, she will take me to her bosom and I shall nestle there for all eternity."

Clarissa did love Henry, but not that much.

Sophie McKenzie:

His office is empty. I circle the desk. Her photo rests against his computer: Mr Pitiless and his smiling whore. Footsteps echo outside. His beautiful, treacherous face in the black glass of the window. He strides in, eyes wide. "What are you doing here?"
The fist around my heart threatens to squeeze.
"It's not a good time. I have a meeting."
"I know."
A line creases his forehead. "What?" I stand up. Walk over. "I am the meeting."
"I don't understand," he says. "What's this about? What are you here for?"
I take the knife from behind my back. "You."

Stuart MacBride:

His fingers tremble against hers—breath ragged, then fading. Then silence. Margaret wipes her eyes. It looks as if Colin's crying too, but it's just tears of condensation rolling down the inside of the freezer bag over his head. He's so peaceful. So still. Gone before the chemotherapy could get its claws into him. After all, who wants to die of a brain tumour? Much more dignified this way. Margaret smiles down at him. It took three dirty weekends in Cornwall to get Doctor Phillips to fake Colin's test results, but it was worth it. Poor gullible, rich, old Colin.
I wanna have my kicks before the whole shithouse goes up in flames.

Tony Baloney

Done on the phone. Harder than it looks. 100 dead I think.

How did I get here? A mantra I have been repeating since I arrived shackled.

No Friend Request. Just met in the street. The old fashioned way. Wrong place at the wrong time. Both then and now.

He said we'd meet for a beer. In the old days "a beer" was never a beer. The evening slipped into that familiar groove of the 90s. Craic becoming a haze, the haze becoming a fog. I don't know why he mentioned her name. My bottle connects. Glass bottle. He lies prone. A silent witness. Wrong place at the wrong time.


ONeill

I wanna have my kicks before the whole shithouse goes up in flames.

ONeill

His baseball cap slipped awkwardly over his right ear as he staggered to correct his stagger. Twelve pints and the same amount of chasers had left Hardstation's eyes predictably strained. He menacingly stared once more at the bright whitened menu. His cap, now on his shoulder, almost made a run for freedom.

'Wha ye mean there's no pasties left, yis kuntz?'. His mate shuffled his Nikes, embarrassed yet again, staring at the rain beating mercilessly at Raffo's window.

'Come on Hardstation, you'll get barred, again'

'Aye, yer ma'.

Unfortunately his mate was already in the car with his ma, again.
I wanna have my kicks before the whole shithouse goes up in flames.

rrhf

#8
A sheepish wave to another unpaid taxi man and a stumble through an open doorway.  She pushes past knocking him over... Equally inebriated..determined there'll be no accident.  Angry awkward and gorgeously proportioned, her panda eyes, a telling  of the last 48 hours... finds the door. . An old pine kitchen chair, a first stop, and as he crashed through the tender timbers he felt little pain as he  pulled himself onto his back...basking, surveying the ceiling , head spinning, lampshade, photos on the walls, his teams, his family. He wrestled with his jacket pulling out the little  box and opened it for what must have been the 1000th time that day.  He looked in wonderment.  A tear crossed his cheek..the cistern flushed. 

blewuporstuffed


As he uneasily walks through the player's entrance to the old ground, nerves, present since he first awoke, are joined by familiarity.
The smell of the grass.
The echoing voices down the corridor.
The knowing glance from a friend, a team mate, fill him with a sense of contentment.
Nervousness gradually replaced by pride, by a determination.
'We'll win this'.
The usual rituals follow.
Promises to each other uttered.
The jersey he has worn a hundred times pulled over his head. 
A burst down the tunnel, and out.
Nerves gone,
Now he is certain,
this is where he is meant to be.

I can only please one person per day. Today is not your day. Tomorrow doesn't look good either

Hardy

Quote from: Tony Baloney on February 18, 2016, 10:25:48 PM
Done on the phone. Harder than it looks. 100 dead I think.

How did I get here? A mantra I have been repeating since I arrived shackled.

No Friend Request. Just met in the street. The old fashioned way. Wrong place at the wrong time. Both then and now.

He said we'd meet for a beer. In the old days "a beer" was never a beer. The evening slipped into that familiar groove of the 90s. Craic becoming a haze, the haze becoming a fog. I don't know why he mentioned her name. My bottle connects. Glass bottle. He lies


Edited to comply with the rules.

Under Lights

Quote from: blewuporstuffed on February 19, 2016, 10:42:28 AM

As he uneasily walks through the player's entrance to the old ground, nerves, present since he first awoke, are joined by familiarity.
The smell of the grass.
The echoing voices down the corridor.
The knowing glance from a friend, a team mate, fill him with a sense of contentment.
Nervousness gradually replaced by pride, by a determination.
'We'll win this'.
The usual rituals follow.
Promises to each other uttered.
The jersey he has worn a hundred times pulled over his head. 
A burst down the tunnel, and out.
Nerves gone,
Now he is certain,
this is where he is meant to be.

Enjoyed this.

Great attempts all around.

This is last years winner-

QuoteGRAND-PRIZE WINNER: TIMELESS
By Michelle Brueger, Bennettsville, South Carolina

I've always been a daddy's girl. On road trips, we competed over who sported the most hawks first. Our favorite competition was, upon seeing each other, who could say the words "I love you best" first. If I got him first, Dad would reply, "I'll get you—just wait."

My dad died the night before my 50th birthday. The next day, Mom brought me a gift, saying, "This is from your dad. He bought it for you five years ago." Inside was a beautiful gold pocket watch. Engraved on the inside were the words I love you best—Gotcha.

guy crouchback

this is mine.

The bright winter sunshine flooded the backseat of the new car. Well, new to them, the newest car they ever had. Picked up the day before it all happened, the day before the ambulance and the sirens and the new car's first trip to Dublin.
Now the return journey to the west and the bright winter sunshine flooded the back seat and made the little white coffin shine and its gold name plate sparkle. After the burial that new car would carry them back, as fast as it could go, for the other little one was still alive, for now.

Tony Baloney

Quote from: Hardy on February 19, 2016, 11:06:42 AM
Quote from: Tony Baloney on February 18, 2016, 10:25:48 PM
Done on the phone. Harder than it looks. 100 dead I think.

How did I get here? A mantra I have been repeating since I arrived shackled.

No Friend Request. Just met in the street. The old fashioned way. Wrong place at the wrong time. Both then and now.

He said we'd meet for a beer. In the old days "a beer" was never a beer. The evening slipped into that familiar groove of the 90s. Craic becoming a haze, the haze becoming a fog. I don't know why he mentioned her name. My bottle connects. Glass bottle. He lies


Edited to comply with the rules.
Hi boy, the top line was merely background. You should cast your critical eye across some of the other entries.