The bandit Ishikawa wanders to a steep cliff, a prosperous village the other side. He steps onto a rope bridge hovering above the misty abyss.
Halfway across, Tanuki appears, scratching his big tummy and sipping sake.
Ishikawa draws a dagger.
“The village has nothing worth stealing,” says Tanuki, “except this bridge.” He tips his straw hat to the ropes. “They wove this bridge from gold fibers.”
“Trickster!” shouts Ishikawa. “That can’t be.”
Tanuki belches. “See for yourself.”
Ishikawa glances down. The ropes glisten gold.
“The bridge is yours,” says Tanuki.
Leering, Ishikawa’s dagger hacks at the rope, his bandit fortune.
A twang. The rope snaps. The bridge tips, hurling Ishikawa into the abyss.
Tanuki yawns. “Gotta fix the bridge again.”
Note: The Despot realizes this story has 120 words, not 100 words. The Despot makes the rules in this realm. The Despot will allow this small infraction, but only this once, for the sake of this story alone.