I feel like the tone for this one is a little different than my usual work, but I like it anyway. The prompt was fancy.pexels-photo-417196


Twinkling at her eye-level, his lapel pin was a breaching humpback whale, with tiny black diamonds for eyes. A little gaudy, perhaps, but his presence here supported a good cause.

Ever since she was a little girl, she’d wanted to Save the Whales. She didn’t know that sitting at his table that night at the gala would give her life the one thing it was missing. She had a career, she had a purpose, she had hobbies. All that was left was companionship.

He kissed her fingers when he bid her goodnight, promising to call her tomorrow for dinner.


© 2018 Heather Stephens



I’m sorry it’s been so long since I have posted. Executive function is something I lack immensely, and I haven’t been motivated to write. When I have been motivated, I’ve worked on my novel. It’s shite, but I’m writing it anyway. I’ll post more often. It only takes a few moments out of my day to write a 100-word story, so I can. I will.

The prompt was springpexels-photo-156203.

The stirrings of the season made themselves known in the beat of her heart. Crocuses pushed through the earth, birthed like other forms of carbon-based life, yet different in subtle ways.

Yet like the green things that blanket the planet,  she too draws sustenance from the strengthening sun. The light is not a meal for her, but it gives her energy of another kind.

Deep within her heart, a seed of magic is beginning to grow. Now is the time for forging her own world into existence, leaving the shadows for later. Their time will come.

But for now, life.

© 2018 Heather Stephens


The prompt was Past.

This one is autobiographical.




It weighed upon her like so many rocks, stifling her breath, taking away her ability to think straight.

It wasn’t painful. It was more like breathing in toxic air every time she inhaled.

She inhaled more anxieties. She inhaled more poisonous memories.

Without an acute sense of identity, she was lost. Fallen to the ravages of time not well-spent.

What did she have to show for it? Not much.

A home of strife, burnt to the ground. It was never perfect, but it had been hers.

Her life was like that. She’d never build a better one on broken foundations.

© 2017 Heather Stephens



The prompt was Lost. I could have gone a million different ways with this, but I chose this way. I hope it’s coherent and my point comes across clearly. If you’ve read my other posts, my 100-word stories are always a little bit abstract, but I wasn’t sure if this was too abstract. My husband says it’s coherent, and that’s good enough for me. Here you go!



Basically, she couldn’t find it.

She’d looked for it everywhere. Everywhere. She’d looked for it in Greece. She’d looked for it in France. She’d looked for it at every job she’d held in the past two years, and she’d had too many of those.

Giving up was not an option, so she kept looking. Desperately, fiercely, painstakingly searching for it everywhere she went. In flower shops and cafes, in bookstores and shopping malls.

It wasn’t until much later that she realized she’d been picking up pieces of it all along.

It was up to herself to put it back together.

© 2017 Heather Stephens



The prompt was Diary.

This is my favorite thing I’ve written. It is very dear to me.



She didn’t weep as she wrote her miseries onto the paper. Her tragedies were her own, internal, and she had no desire to give them up. Speaking them out loud would set them free, and that would end her.

She held on to those miseries as if they were lifelines. Her regrets were strength. If she could build up a kingdom for a life on top of the ashes of her dreams, she would truly have won.

She didn’t feel like she was winning.

And as she scribbled down her melancholy, she swam in the warm comfort of her struggles.


© 2017 Heather Stephens




The prompt was “Water”.

Water is always blissful for me. I love being near it. Whether I’m at the beach, looking out on the Pacific Ocean with a thousand other people or I’m walking along a river or I’m gazing at a lake, I find peace always.

Water calms me. If I’m feeling capricious or my mental illnesses are too much to bear, I know I can at least find some semblance of focus.

I love being near water.



The lake always gave her tranquility.

And it was a gift. Tranquility was something she did not usually possess. Yet as she sat on the shore, a blessed calm passed over her, blanketing her in warm silence.

Her mind, too, was quiet.

So she relished this, away from the pressures of a life gone horribly wrong. A life that could have gone a thousand ways, but had chosen a harsher course.

Still, she had the lake, and all that it gave to her. Strength could be found in its peaceful waters.

Heeding the wisdom of the still water, she survived.

© 2017 Heather Stephens



It is said that those with chronic illness or mental illness only have a certain amount of energy with which to do tasks, needful tasks, like personal hygiene and housekeeping. That is why so many with such afflictions either can’t work or perform poorly when working or attending school.


I personally struggle with several debilitating illnesses and afflictions. Some days I can’t brush my own hair, other days I can’t shower. The sicker I get, the more often these days occur. I need help preparing my food. Some days I can’t even feed myself and I need my husband to spoon my food into my mouth.

It’s too much.

But other days, like today, I am capable. I can write, I can think clearly. These days are gifts and I take advantage of every single one.


A messy room. A dirty kitchen.

Lessons in tidiness never heeded.

She stepped over the piles of clothes on her way to get a glass of milk.

It had gone sour.

Of all the reasons one might have to keep a house neat, she possessed only two that kept it filthy.

Her mind. Her sorrows.

Should she obtain a way out of the muck that grimed the kitchen countertops, she would feel a new sort of responsibility. To keep it that way. The thought exhausted her.

The burden of freedom. ‘Twas too much to bear.

She resigned to her suffering.


© 2017 Heather Stephens



To Fly



Whenever I’d ask her about her hopes and dreams, she’d always say that she wished to fly. But women are not made for the skies. They must be grounded, sincere. That’s what




She never wanted to hear it. She would brush me off, telling me that I didn’t understand. So




that she would never be happy until she learned to choose happiness. She discarded my advice like it was irrelevant to her. When, finally,




that I wanted to marry her, she laughed. She walked away as if she couldn’t hear me.




©2017 Heather Stephens



I can’t find my antidepressants, so I felt I should write this little beam of positivity to try and fake it ’til I make it, so to speak. So it goes. The prompt was “Adventure”.




Where should she go?

She has her whole life ahead of her. Never felt better. Armed with a degree and a car, she can only move up from here. Crippled with debt she may be, but she is young. She can crawl and claw her way out from under the mountain of obligation sitting on top of her.

She just has to figure out what she wants to do with her life. The life that belongs to only she. She, the arbiter of her own destiny.

She’ll find her way, eventually. She’s always had the knack.

Where should she go?


© 2017 Heather Stephens




Another dollar, another toy.

She was spending as fast as she was earning. Her husband hated it. He knew she thought she was being careful, but the finances just didn’t add up every month like he wanted.

But she was kind. She was determined. She worked so hard and chased her dreams like everyone should. Hard. Unrelenting.

He never mentioned the money. It was hers to do with as she willed. He trusted her, knew that if circumstances should change, she’d adapt.

Mutual trust. Mutual respect. He didn’t have to agree with her choices to love her for making them.


© 2016 Heather Stephens