Category Archives: 101 word short story

Arthur Smalley had always been a pessimist, disgruntled and dejected. He did not take care of his appearance either and was always disheveled. His mind was worse, always getting discombobulated by the simplest things.

But today Arthur was going to change all of that. Today he would dismantle his life and mantle it back again.

Arthur started with mind exercises to combobulate his brain. Then he ironed his clothes and sheveled his hair and left for work a new man. With resolute determination he greeted everyone with a gruntled “Hello.” By the end of the day he was optimistic, feeling jected.

“Baking is a science,” Master Pastry Chef Rupert would say at least five times a day whether there was anyone around to hear him or not. “It’s all about proportions and chemical reactions.”

Melissa, an apprentice with dreams of her own small café still dancing in her head, had memorized this speech and mouthed the words as Rupert continued. “Anyone can fry an egg! Only the very best can bake a pastry just right.”

Over the course of seven months, Melissa found Rupert’s statements enlightening, then dull, then stale, then horrendous, then aggravating, then hilarious. Now she found them endearing.

When she smiled at him, he told himself he would be acting selfishly if he told her how he felt about her.

When she batted her eyes toward him, he told himself he valued her friendship too much to put it at risk.

When she was lonely and heartbroken, he told himself it was not his place to comfort her in her grief.

When she found comfort in the arms of another man, he told himself he was happy for her.

When she stopped thinking of him ever again, he told himself there was nothing else he could have possibly done.

“Who is taking all the macaroni and cheese? I’ve been up to this buffet three times and it’s always gone. I see it getting refilled when I’m sitting down, so I know somebody is getting macaroni and cheese!” Crimson Death yelled out at the annual Super Villain Get-Together and Karaoke. Everyone else tried to ignore him.

“So, has anyone here ever committed mass genocide?” General Overkill asked the table.

“Look I just want some macaroni and cheese. Is that too much to ask?” Crimson Death called out.

“I will by the end of the day,” Wolf-bat Man growled through gritted teeth.

“Be an individual,” the men in suits say, “like us.”

A suit wraps itself around me like a boa constrictor, limiting my movement, squeezing the life out of me.

“It is the only way we will accept you,” the men in suits sing as they watch me die. “You can only be an individual if you kill every part of you that makes you different.” They sound as only a single voice.

A casket closes in on me. You should always dress your best for your own funeral.

“Conformity is the only approved path to individuality,” the men in suits say.