100 Words: Cold Open

.

e tugged the brim of his felt fedora until the arcing line of shadow depended onto the bridge of his nose. Then he pulled on a trenchcoat, the uniform of his trade. He exited. The angles of sunlight coruscated across the Berlin rooftops as the sharp, box-shaped outline of Marius Eichert bled into the early morning crowd and disappeared toward the rusty U-Bahn.

Across the street, little more than a fish-eye reflection in a brash American motorcycle, Johann Wü​steschon watched Eichert vanish, touched the gun-shaped bulge in his overcoat pocket, and smiled a crooked smile. “Auf Wiedersehen, Marius,” he said.

by Daniel Le Ray

100 Words: Willful

.

took comfort in her presence. Her silence asked no questions, demanded no answers. By now, we both understood that this way was better. It had taken a few years, a few uncomfortable conversations to get to this point, but these days we knew. She smiled up at me, settled. Further into her chair, more closely into the evening. Yes. These days we knew. I had never asked her, so she never had to answer. We let the silence speak for itself.

by Shelly Holder

100 Words: The Vanishing Act

.

here were various objections to shopping malls offering indoor mountain climbing, mainly from environmentalists. After Tim Willem’s disappearance the critics became more vocal. Despite several highly publicized search operations the body was never found.

His brother wrote a book about the events, but legal threats from the mall got it censored. As the movie rights had already been acquired, the film was also rewritten. In The Vanishing Act Tim Willem disappears while playing golf. The poster depicts an empty golf cart in a spectacular magenta sunset. It was probably for the best. After all, indoor mountains are not very cinematic.

by Maija Haavisto

Still life with lamb

Untitled cyanotype by Thomas Smillie, 1890

Still life with lamb, sunprint, by Emily E. Jones, 2011

My image is in many ways a reversal of the original.  A sunprint is a variation on the cyanotype process using similar chemicals, but creating a reverse image.  By placing objects onto the paper and using the sun to expose the image, the covered areas remain white and the uncovered go dark in the sun.  The original cyanotype preserves the light and dark tones observed by the eye.

Furthermore, while the taxidermied lamb in the original image is an attempt at preserving a lifelike appearance while entirely removing the animal from its natural habitat, my paper cutout abandons all hope of appearing natural, while attempting to recreate an abstracted, artificial habitat for an abstracted, artificial image of the lamb.

100 Words: The First Rush

.

’m going to go into the tunnel and slide around it like a tongue on a swizzle stick until I’m so dizzy that every color blurs into mud that cakes on my forehead and scratches a mysterious message onto the sheets so that we have to get everything that we can into grandpa’s old suitcase before the last bus leaves filled with canisters of shaving cream and mockingbirds booked into Radio City Music Hall for their big reunion tour, but you’re pulling my giant ears off and staring right into my eyes yelling, “Baby, don’t trip out. Stay with me.”

by JW Rogers

A Werner Projection

You and I can say and feel with certainty
That our toes have become one,
I have twenty of them all of a sudden,
And so do you when we wiggle them,
The fingers moving over me remain yours,
But my back is their property
Though now I own your spine and ribs,
We share goose bump craters in common,
Along with breaths like tides,
Certain spaces fold together in the darkness,
And the only thing that is split is the room
That our indigo halos of embrace divide.

100 Words: Sit Here

.

it here,” the woman with shiny nails said to the man on the tram, who had just gotten on and couldn’t decide between two empty seats. “Sit here,” she said in English on an early winter Helsinki afternoon on the 10. She moved her bag from the seat to the floor. He did sit down next to her. But then he started reading the Sanomat and wasn’t interested in her shiny red nails and her shiny red lips, and her lashy looks just hit the outside of his newspaper. Maybe she wrote, later that night, “Well at least I tried.”

by Frauke Uhlenbruch

100 Words: Feet First

 
baby, soft and daring, waiting on a precipice.  In it for the danger, the challenge.  Carefully he pulls himself up, grasping the crib to support his wobbly body.  Step one, accomplished.  He is finally tall enough to throw his leg over the infernal cage where his parents confine him.  One chubby calf at a time, he maneuvers himself over the top, towards freedom.  Step two.  He hangs, toes dangling twelve inches from the carpet that will cushion his inevitable crash.  He lets go, drops heavily, rolls over, and giggles.  His father watches silently from the door, grinning unabashedly.

by Emily Markussen Sorsher

100 Words: Seven years and one falafel

.
ou come around the corner from out of a time machine. A few hairs on your beard have gone white but otherwise the only thing that has changed is the presidency and my teeth. Also you are wearing new glasses. Perhaps you don’t remember the time you put me in a headlock and I instinctively punched you in the face, my fist backwards, the way you’d taught me. Pieces of glass fell in triangles at our feet. I notice them now between the concrete and futility between us. I was so proud of my strength back then. I still am.
by Audubon Dougherty

 

100 Words: The Travelers

.
om is strong enough to walk for weeks after her trips. She remembers her parents, old loves, the smell of pineapple fields at noon. “Money can’t buy time, but it can buy time travel,” she says. “And it’s my money.”

The Travelers follow up with house visits. “They’re like Gandhi,” she says, even when people start coming back wrong, phantom limbs then whole bodies gone missing. The Travelers promise, smile, shake her hands. She travels on Tuesday to June, 1967, Savannah. She won’t say why. “Leave me. I’ll miss you,” she says, and the Travelers have a contract ready.

by Marcella Hammer