Tell A Story In One Hundred Words!

This is the place for a weekly flash fiction contest!

The Apples To Apples Drabble! 

Can you write a story in 100 words?

The Rules: 

  1. Write a drabble. A drabble is a 100-word story, with beginning, middle and end. A drabble can be any genre. Make it exactly 100 words. You can do it. That’s what adjectives and adverbs are for.
  2. Include each of the three Apples To Apples cards in the photo. All three. Not two. Not four. ALL THREE. New cards are chosen every week. And you can ignore the small words that explain it clearer. We just want the big three.
  3. Paste your drabble into the comments below. Then share this with your friends. The more comments you get on your entry, the more likely you are to win!
  4. Absolutely no links, screen shots or salesy type of behavior in the content entry. 
  5. Winners are chosen by the amount of positive response they get. Comments like, “This is great!” or “How funny!” or “Good job!” are the kinds of things that will be counted. Negative comments like, “this contest sucks” or “the rest of the entries are losers” or “WTF?” will be unapproved. The author of this blog reserves the right to ignore or block any content that is suspected of originating from trolls. In the event of a tie, winners will be chosen by this method. 
  6. Limit 3 entries per person. If you’re having fun, come back next Friday.
  7. This contest is open from 5:00 AM EST every Friday and closes down the following Sunday night at midnight. Comments are welcome throughout the week, but no more entries are allowed. 
  8. Winning entries will be announced on the 10 Minute Novelists Facebook group page the following Friday. The entry will also be published in the monthly digital newsletter, 10 Minute Novelists Insider. You can sign up for this here! 
  9. All entries must contain no profanity, no graphic violence or erotica, and no hate speech. Entries that do not abide by this rule will not be approved. Consistent abuse of this rule will warrant a blocked user.

This week’s cards!

Apples to Apples Drabble for March 17, 2017


Katharine Grubb is an author, poet, homeschooling mother, camping enthusiast, bread-baker, and believer in working in small increments of time. She leads 10 Minute Novelists, an international Facebook group of time-crunched writers. She lives with her family in Massachusetts.


  • Katharine Grubb

    This is Debolina Coomar’s entry:

    The actors on the stage were perfect in their act. The scene from Shakespeare’s Othello was impeccable in every aspect. Suddenly, his phone rang. “Is this Mr. Brooks? This is the police. Somebody broke into your house and killed your wife.” It coincides with a similar scene in the act, and his eyes kept looking at them, wide open. He disconnected the call. On stage, Othello said, “It’s because of the full moon. It comes too close to the earth and drives men crazy.” True, he sat in the audience, thinking about what he had done a few hours ago.

  • Katharine Grubb

    This is Elaine Bayless’s entry:

    The moon, stars, and planets make a wide path across the night sky as they perform each evening. Like actors on a stage, they teach us the deeper meanings of life. The ever changing human heart, waxing and waning. The labyrinthine path of planets, back and forth within the constantly advancing matrix of stars: just as we move from one objective to another, not seeing that even if we feel like we move backwards, we are nevertheless making progress. If God set the lesser lights to guide the night, perhaps She also set them to teach us about Her glory.

  • Katharine Grubb

    This is Kris Baker Dersch’s entry:

    “Use the wide angle lens, Henry! We need to portray a huge distance”

    The director turns to me. “Nice set, no?”

    “It looks more realistic than I thought.”

    “Scientists at Cal Tech have been over every inch. Only place you can get more realistic moon rocks is, well, you know.”

    “You honestly think it will fool, well, the world?”

    “It’ll fool more than that.”

    “What do you mean?

    He leans in close to me. “Sent these actors to so many astronomy classes, you don’t even know. Not only will the world think they are walking on the moon…they will too.”

  • Katharine Grubb

    This is Adrienne Fraser’s entry:

    Eva walked the wide-planked wood stage of the quiet theater. Her steps were nearly silent as she approached stage left, she knew the spot that creaked, one misstep and she’d be heard. She clutched the knife behind her, sheathed in the stitched black leather. She would need the smooth clean edge for this job. Eva approached the moon-lit party outside. The laughter was heard over the music, but she wasn’t in a mood for smiles. She had a job to do. She raised the knife, plunged it into the tiered chocolate cake, celebrating the actors’ closing night of the play.

  • Katharine Grubb

    This is Kristy Fairlamb’s entry:

    They were all actors. No one actually hated Penelope, but when you wanted to look the part, you played the part. You laughed when people called her names, you made a wide berth as she collected her fallen books in the school yard, you never looked her in the eye.
    On the night of the beach party as the tide flowed in, and laughter filled the air, Penelope stood unnoticed further along the beach. Oblivious to their passive neglect, no one saw as she stepped into the water, or disappear beneath the murky waves—no one but the moon.

  • Michel Daw

    “OK, let go for the wide shot!” John picked up the mounted 8mm and walked to the of the sandlot.

    “Good, let’s do it again. This time, Macia, try to bounce a little when you walk. You are on the moon, after all!” Modesto was not the moon, but it would do.

    Marcia removed her helmet and trudged towards him. “George, you said we would go driving tonight!”

    ‘Actors!’ he thought, not for the last time. His space epic would have to wait.

    “That’s a wrap, Mr. Plummer!” he called to John.

    “Righto, Mr. Lucas!” John replied in mock formality.

  • Katharine Grubb

    This is Joanna Lance Barker’s entry

    The hotel room was dark; the only light glowed from the screen of Ian’s laptop, reflecting on his wide eyes and taut jaw as his fingers flew across the keys.

    “What is going on?” My voice was shrill. “Who were those men at the house?”

    My brother shot me a disbelieving glance. “Who do you think?”

    “The government?” My eyes narrowed, focusing on his laptop. “You hacked them.”

    “Yeah.” His fingers paused as he stared at me intensely. “Sarah. The conspiracy is true. They were just actors.”

    “What conspiracy?”

    “The moon landing. They faked everything, and I have the proof.”

  • Katharine Grubb

    This is Carol Conlogue’s entry:

    The outdoor play is a roaring success! The comedic actors making the enthralled audience split their pants with laughter.

    But the cameraman notices the moon quickly getting bigger and closer, ready to engulf all in attendance.

    He screams, “Quick, run for your lives! This is more than a frightening phenomenon!”

    Panic set in. Everyone was trying to scramble away.

    “What’s happening,” cried a little girl. “It’s the end of the world”, shouted a man, his eyes wide with fear.

    Then screams, pushing, shoving, chaos, pure panic as people tried to escape.

    The excited director yelled “Cut… it’s a wrap!”

  • Laura

    The special effects are cheap and unimpressive by today’s standards; the actors could hardly even be called actors. The cuts between shots are obvious to modern eyes and the storyline might be considered ludicrous and juvenile. The only sound is the accompanying music. My great-grandchildren, steeped in action movies and loud cartoons, become restless about three minutes in.
    But in 1902, Georges Melies was a magician not only to little girls like me, but to everyone. And so I watched, wide-eyed, with many other theatre goers as the people on the screen took A Trip to the Moon.

  • Michel Daw

    Case File 2345.23: The actors in this particular drama weren’t the usual suspects. The moon was particularly bright that night, and crazy was spreading far and wide. This night saw the demise of both Fluffy the cat and my dignity. Fluffy was old, and it was his time. I was not, and unfortunately without pants. I was digging a hole in my backyard to rest poor Fluffy when floodlights came on and a loudspeaker called, “Freeze Johnson! You’re covered!” I stood in my underwear, shovel in hand. Who was Johnson? “Sergeant Hernandez? What’re you doing here?” Burying my cat, idiot.

  • Katharine Grubb

    This entry is by Kai Harris:

    They met by accident, on a morning damp with regrets. His wink, meant for another, caused a wide smile to stretch across her plain face. Plain, but better. He had to know her.
    They loved too fast, tumbling like comets pitched from the sky. To their audience, they were perfectly in love. He was the moon; she his too-delicate stars. But truly, they were actors. They committed to the roles they’d been given, spitting rehearsed lines on stages perfectly set.
    When it ended, their audience howled and begged for an encore. But by then, the curtains had slammed noiselessly closed.

  • Katharine Grubb

    This is Eric Olsson’s entry:

    The news finally broke in interrupting the television show. I was disappointed – not from the show and the bad actors, but because they took so long.

    The anchor anxiously warned that the police were on a city-wide lookout for a man, a potential serial killer, and everyone should stay indoors. They gave a description and broadcasted the sketch artist’s rendition from the lone witness.

    Once they returned back to normal broadcasting, I went out onto the porch, lit a cigarette, stared up at the moon and smiled at how that drawing was uncannily accurate.

    Perhaps I should grow a beard.