At P Con last week they ran a fun little contest. The idea was to produce a complete short story (SF, horror or fantasy) in just 100 words.
In the end my efforts didn’t place, though I’m egotistical enough to suspect the judge didn’t grok them what-so-ever. Perhaps he just preferred the story about the farting dragon…
In any case, it was a fun little writing excercise. Here are two brief tales I entered. Interestingly enough, I think this is one contest that might be significantly easier in “mainstream” fiction, as the requirement for a conceptual payload is lower.
One hundred words, Moreziff thought, an epic work! Firing off a micro-tweet to his sixteen thousand followers he asked, ‘1C wrz comp, suj?’ Within seconds, replies pattered his retina. ‘Stl frm bux’, suggested t#a.
+ZF frowned. He was under twenty one.
Three AdverTweets bought +ZF the lock pick needed to DDOS the gun-locker’s router. A gratifying click. There, next to his dad’s Columbian cigarettes and Coldplay LPs, dust free but yellowing in their zip lock bags. He picked one at random, running a finger under the title, annunciating each letter, brow damp with effort. N-I-N-E-T-E-E-N..
The singularity never happened. America fell to the toll of Church bells. They left those men up in the sky. Our ‘safe’ reactors turned to cankers on the land. Without surface metal we couldn’t start again.
We huddle around the fires we burn to keep the lean lean wolves at bay. Jill rolls a three. “Acne, you lose your column in ‘Seventeen’. You date Fred.”
They both groan. Jill swigs from her man-skin flask, flashes bloody teeth. I laugh. “Your college application arrives. What do you do?”
Outside, in heavy rain, a dragon roars.