The end times are nigh. Let’s write some stories.

by thegooddoctor in News

With forced quarantines around the world, there’s never been a better time to stay in and write. I’d like to help. That’s why I’m adding a new feature to the site.

Beginning April 1st, each month I’ll be opening up submissions based on a particular theme or genre. Every day, I’ll post one story for the contest, saving my favorite for the last day of the month. Assuming we get enough submissions, that will be 20 or so stories a month. And that’s in addition to the general submission stories I’m already posting.

Basically, it means you’ll get to enjoy two stories a day instead of one. Plus, some lucky writer will get to tell their readers they’ve won a flash fiction contest.

For month one, starting in April, the theme will be Historical Fiction.

The rules are simple:

  1. All stories must be set in a time period pre-2000.
  2. While it doesn’t need to be obvious, there has to be some indication within the story what the time period is. This might be anachronistic costume or technology, archaic language, or anything else you can imagine. Be creative.
  3. The story must be exactly 100 words, not including the title.

That’s it. Start writing. I hope I get plenty of stories, so spread the word.

Could there be a better way to face the end of the world?

*Note: This contest is meant for fun. While there are no actual prizes, extreme bragging rights are involved!


The Path Between The Sky

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

A road runs from the bare hills until it touches by the river. It dips among the summer sage and beckons leaves to faintly whirl. For those who lightly travel, an aged silence lures a calm desire. The old pine chants along and offers to stitch a tired wish. The sun murmurs warmly as it climbs to the last needle’s tip and chatters with so many dewdrops. Rummaging through fading prints, a low sigh rustles to a scattered impression. Here, it etches away brief moments of wonder and whispers a promise to follow when wings stray below to quietly suggest.

From Guest Contributor Kristi Kerico

Kristi is a psychology major at Pikes Peak Community College. She is studying to become a horticultural therapist. She currently works at a bookstore and volunteers at a zoo and nature center. She began writing after enrolling in a creative writing course at PPCC. She enjoys poetry the most, considering it’s brief yet complex beauty. She also loves writing with a focus on nature.


The Sound Of Silence

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

I pine for smiling yellow walls, the low murmur of conversation.

Social distancing exiled me.

I try to write among sterile walls. Blank screens taunt.

There’s no favorite table in the corner. This space is devoid of smiling baristas with big glasses. No laughter from large rectangular tables or sizzling coffee. No undergraduates talking of failed chem tests and parties. I can’t inhale fragments of conversation or insert myself into their worlds.

There’s just silence, the occasional clump of feet upstairs.

I play movies, but my companions are always lonely 80s working-class characters or Lifetime psychopaths.

I surrender to silence.

From Guest Contributor Yash Seyedbagheri

Yash is a graduate of Colorado State University’s MFA program in fiction. Yash’s work is forthcoming or has been published in WestWard Quarterly, Café Lit, 50 Word Stories, (mac)ro (mic), and Ariel Chart.


His Plant

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

The only thing left of him was the plant. They’d taken everything else. Emptied every cupboard. Every last scrap. It’s their right, of course. They’re family. Me, just a roommate. As far as they knew, anyway. A roommate. Maybe a friend. Nothing more, surely. No reason to think otherwise.

There in the kitchen windowsill, his plant. Thin, green and white. Spidery. They hadn’t known it was his. I didn’t tell them. I’ll keep it alive now that he can’t. I’m no good at that, but I’ll learn. I have to.

Keep it alive. Keep him alive, by my side.


From Guest Contributor Louise Snape

Louise is a speculative fiction writer of Dutch and French origin and a graduate of Oxford Brookes University’s MA in Creative Writing. She dabbles in poetry, short fiction, and is currently working on writing her first YA fantasy novel.


Head Held High

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Amira’s mother quickly pulled the floorboard out, placed her daughter in the hole, shut it, then heard a loud bang. They kicked in the door.

“I knew we’d find a Jew here. Where are the others?”

Anita held her head high. “There are no others. Only me.”

“Take her.”

Amira’s body trembled as she listened to the footsteps and voices above.

“No, I won’t let you take me,” Anita struggled to break free and was shot. She dropped to the floor and whispered her daughter’s name.

Amira held back tears as the Nazi’s laughs and footsteps faded from her ears.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher


Love Note

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Even though the sign says, “Do not swim near seals,” we’ll have fun, go on a picnic in the hills, maybe spend the whole night there, so many stars that the sky looks perforated by cosmic buckshot, or we’ll sleep in and then helicopter over traffic jams, moving, breathing, shining from rehab center to wedding cake palace, while the angel of death rolls a cigarette and the border wall sinks another quarter of an inch, and this will happen again and again and again, people turning up at all hours to complain bitterly about being written out of our story.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie is the author most recently of Stick Figure Opera: 99 100-word Prose Poems from Cajun Mutt Press.


Prairie Phantom

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Sand rolls steadily along the prairie with a wild wind. The fox finds his home between the sagebrush and through the sunflowers. He leaps airily at ease with his snout grinning. Atop the hill, he shimmies about and slides down while birds depart. Below he creeps to the cemetery and waits for night to lay a veil. A gentle chill glides along as starlight washes over weary stone. With a swift bark and a bound, he weaves among the graves. Moonlight tickles his whiskers and mist wanders in. Here the fox dances with ghosts who once called his prairie home.

From Guest Contributor Kristi Kerico

Kristi is a psychology major at Pikes Peak Community College. She is studying to become a horticultural therapist. She currently works at a bookstore and volunteers at a zoo and nature center. She began writing after enrolling in a creative writing course at PPCC. She enjoys poetry the most, considering it’s brief yet complex beauty. She also loves writing with a focus on nature.


A Centuries Old Vanity

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

The prince stared at the parchment, as his ministers watched impatiently.

“This treaty will mean peace with the Empire and ensure that our kingdom remains independent.”

The prince hesitated as he dipped his pen in ink. He understood the ramifications. He knew that to continue fighting against the Holy Roman Empire would eventually lead to his destruction. The church could not tolerate anything they saw as a perversion.

But then he looked at the names at the bottom. King Ferdinand II and Prince Gabriel Bethlen.

He threw his pen aside. Vlad Dracula would never lie about his name. Not ever.

Getting excited about our historical fiction contest, and so I wrote this little piece, from 1620.



by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Did she hear right?

The curtains are parted. It is naked black in the bedroom except for a slice of light exposing one hazel eye, the outline of his angular face. Clare knows how soft that eye-brow is to touch and how it is to be in the centre of that dark gaze.

Moving to the window, she peers outside: they will never be two names chiselled into a hill, hewn into rock. For months she wished she was that whisper of sunlight on his face. That and no more.

‘I’m married,’ Mike repeats.

‘I heard you. So am I.’

From Guest Contributor Louise Worthington


Panic At Sea

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Mary attached her life vest to her body, squeezed through the screaming crowd and made her way to the lifeboats. The cold air chilled her body and numbed her feet; she could barely walk. Frozen in fear, she waited. After being placed in the lifeboat, panicked passengers tried to jump in as the deck hand began lowering them down. He took out his gun and started firing at no one in particular and shot a poor elderly man.

Mary, stunned, looked at the dark sea beneath, bodies floating by.

Titanic began to sink, and the lifeboat collapsed into the ocean.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher