Rhinebeck Reality is posting your 100-word stories each month. Each story will have a maximum of 100 words and follow the theme of the month. The theme of the month is posted on flyers around the school. To get involved just submit your 100-word story to Sarah Szabo at [email protected] and Zelda Kosofsky [email protected] for the theme of that month.

Alejandra Dickens

The wildflowers grow in the spring and the summer and the snow falls in the winter. The endless cycle goes on and on. When I am not there to see it myself the cycle still goes on. The isolated flower field will always be there. Snow slowly smothers the flowers far away as I go on about my day. The flowers will grow back just around graduation as I grow into myself. Some things we have so much control over but over and over again the cycle goes on. The wildflowers grow and then die without any of my intervention.

Rebecca Reed

Trekking through the snowy forest. Snow clings to every bare branch. Stumbling slowly to our favorite spot. I’ll always know my way back from here, we’ve been this way so many times. Sitting on the wet, frozen ground, leaning against our tree, with you leaning against my shoulder. Telling you all the things I wish I could’ve said before. After getting everything off my chest, I stand up and grab my shovel. I wish things didn’t have to end this way. Giving you a final kiss goodbye, I roll you into the grave and cover your beautiful face with snow. 

Kye Rose

Trees wizz past my face and leaves crunch under my feet. I have to keep running. If I stop running, I die. If I trip, I die. If I make a single mistake, I die. I hear it’s feet breaking the tree branches and pushing past the trees.
“No… Nononono… No!”
I come face to face with a wall of fallen rocks. Hearing the creature approach me I slowly turn around, fear in my eyes. As the Bull scraped at the ground kicking up dust it made the only sound I could expect from a bull.

“I’m comin’ for ya!”  

Radha Lahiri

A leopardess scratched at a tree for the last time. Sharpening her claws to perfection, she recalled that dreaded night. She could still see the long-maned lion tearing through her husband’s rosette skin and how he shamelessly licked his lips at her with blood dripping from his mouth. The long walk across the dry grass only felt like seconds, until she finally laid eyes on him again. His eyes opened upon the last few footsteps. In just two more delicate steps, she angled into position. The lion looked up, but it was too late. Her vengeful claws sunk into him. 

Killian Briggs

Each day, I watered my red amaryllis flower. I took my mother’s green watering can and filled it with cool water from the rusted tap. With quiet eyes fixed on my captivating plant, I poured the water while humming a song I couldn’t name. I loved this ritual, loving any routine I found pleasantly formulaic and firmly familiar. I saw it as my only world entirely untouched, planted in scarlet petals.
Now, a jarringly quiet day leaves me uncertain. My eyes have stopped meeting theirs. Within hours I find myself staring, voiceless and vacant, into my white plant pot. A wilted and dying red amaryllis flower lies uselessly in front of me. And I have no one to tell.

The theme for February is Love. Start writing your 100-word tiny LOVE stories.