Storm Weaver- 5

Maggie cat has stolen my prize,

She swats it across the floor.

With each swipe of her paw,

I hear the rattle of a pebble,

skipping across the tiles.

She plays with my treasure.

I don’t even know what it means.

“Shoo,” I say. But Maggie pays me no mind.

She’s carrying the bag in her mouth,

And drops it like it’s a dead mouse,

the bag empty.

I get on my knees.

with a flash light,

my hand chase dust bunnies,

reaching under the antique armoire,

I gather them.

There’s one missing,

The brown one,

And the cat smiles.

Power of One Hundred

A Story Form

There are lots of things counted by one hundred. There are hundred-year storms, hundred-year floods, one hundred pennies in a dollar, one hundred “bottles of beer on the wall” according to the song and then there’s the one-hundred-word story. Not a child’s book, an actual story. I want to thank a recent visitor to my blog for introducing me to this amazing form of storytelling (check out her website at

My first thought was, “How can a story be told in just a hundred words?” How indeed. The same way any story is told, one careful word at a time. The challenge is energizing. I couldn’t resist. So, here’s my foray into the hundred-word story realm:

Isabella Lived

Isabella claimed the honor of ninety -seven years old although many heard her say over the last ten, she was ready. She said it with a smile and meant it to be a happy passing on. There were not too many flowers, not too many tears, just quiet reflection of the days with her in them. Goodbye came from those that knew her as auntie, as nana, as friend who always had a kind word, a prayer, a warm squeeze of the hand. The day ended. Pumpkin purred, sleeping on her bed with her picture turned toward his whiskered face.

Think you have a good super short story? Coming soon, a 100 word story contest.