January, 2010 Archives


In Private Company

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

It was love at first sight, all thirteen remaining members of H Troop floundering in the presence of Stella Grunwald.

We lingered during Corporal Mannheim’s interrogation, a volunteer detail of thirteen sentries where only one was needed. Anything for a glimpse of the German starlet.

The Chaplain once told me the difference between men and animals is animals can make a new home for themselves every night.

I guess he was making some theological point about finding your home with God.

Anyway, when the German tank brigade appeared, each of us was hoping to make a home with Fräulein Grunwald.

Genre: War


Permanent Vacation

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

I suppose you’ll want me to start with the beginning, get straight into the middle, before building to a conclusion, and all that other crap you learn in English class, but I really don’t give a damn. Lucy always went on about proper structure, like she wasn’t just repeating Mrs. Calloway, and it’s all trite as hell. People keep asking why I don’t go back to school if I want to be taken seriously. People are funny that way, always asking phony questions. Lucy was the worst. She’s annoying as hell, but she has big tits. Sometimes I miss her.

Genre: Salinger



by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

The mysterious caller asked to meet in the church tower. Grace suspected a trap, but planned a surprise of her own. She glanced down the stairwell trying to discern the source of echoing footsteps.

Professor Tobin had warned her the information in her possession was dangerous. He offered to take it off her hands, but her dying lover had entrusted the package to Grace alone.

She raced into the belfry, hiding in the shadows.

The trapdoor opened, and Dr. Tobin stepped into the light. A shot rang out. Grace slipped the revolver into her pocket and calmly descended the ladder.

Genre: Hitchcock


The Boilermaker Cooperative

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Chief Pilot and Brass Wainwright Extraordinaire Gordon Diggory, Esq., eased the Air Titan into position. Vapor hissed loudly as it was released from the hydraulic valves.

They had only thirty minutes to reach Oxford before the Boilermaker Cooperative’s planned detonation of the entire district.

“Enemy steampods, starboard side.”

Diggory stared out the window in shock, realizing the trap. “They aren’t interested in Oxford at all. It’s the Queen they want.”

He violently rotated the wheel in the opposite direction. They must reach Buckingham Palace, no matter the cost. If Queen Victoria were assassinated, Diggory would not receive his Christmas bonus.

Genre: Steampunk


The Sword And The Brush

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Jiro gripped his sword lightly, parallel to the ground. He regarded his opponent through unblinking eyes.

Bird song lilted over the courtyard, from a jōbitaki perched overhead. A stray cat licked the festering wound on its right paw. The scent of porridge drifted from the kitchen.

Seventeen students lined the walls, holding their wooden swords in clenched fists. They would not attack, so long as their master was alive. But should Jiro emerge victorious, they would feel obligated to fight for the Dōjō’s honor. He would regret their deaths.

His opponent lowered his sword by several millimeters. Jiro attacked instantly.

Genre: Samurai


Wooly Pachyderm Oliver Herm

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Oliver walked his forest home
looking about for his favorite comb.
“I need to part my big bouncy perm,”
said wooly pachyderm Oliver Herm.
He searched in the trees.
He searched on the breeze.
He looked under rocks
and peeked inside locks.
He asked all his friends,
with strange odds and ends,
whether fury or feathered,
uncaged or tethered,
“I’m stuck in a lurch,
and you must help with my search!”
They came with their dads, they came with their mums,
all of Oliver’s buds, pals, and chums.
Whether three toed sloth or echinoderm,
to help wooly pachyderm Oliver Herm.

Genre: Children’s Literature


Juror Number Five

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

For the 17th consecutive time, Juror Number Five cast his vote for not guilty, yet again the lone hold out.

“You have got to be kidding me,” complained Juror Number Eight.

“The evidence is airtight,” repeated the very exasperated Juror Number Three.

But they were growing resigned to the fact they would never sway Juror Number Five.

“I still say there is reasonable doubt,” he affirmed stubbornly.

“The DNA evidence might have been planted by an unknown twin brother he was separated from at birth in an effort to frame him does not constitute reasonable doubt,” sighed Juror Number One.

Genre: Courtroom Drama


The Book Of Jordan

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Abiasaph begat Hezekiah, and Hezekiah begat Jordan. Jordan married Immanuel, who bore him seven sons.

God looked down upon Jordan, and desired to test his faithfulness. God sent war and pestilence, killing Jordan’s family, and smiting him with leprosy.

Destitute and alone, Jordan entered the holy temple, and begged God for forgiveness. “I know not what I have done, but I submit myself to the Father’s benevolent mercy.”

God answered, “You are thinking of the New Testament God. You’ll have to wait a few hundred years to receive salvation. For now, I’m going to continue with the Old Testament retribution.”

Genre: Biblical


The Great Compromiser

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Millard Fillmore, born in a log cabin, the thirteenth president, cursed his predecessor. If Taylor had not died his second year in office, Fillmore would not be in this mess.

The problem was California. A remote territory infested with Indians and Mexicans. Who would ever want to live there?

But the South wanted a new Slave state and the North was adamantly opposed. There was talk of secession.

Fillmore sought a compromise. Let a future president worry over the problem. If the Union dissolved under his watch, his legacy would be ruined.

Nothing mattered more to Fillmore than his legacy.

Genre: Historical Fiction



by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Key, copper, brassed to pocket. All my pockets, cash folded at the corners. Dirty, keep my fingers pointed down. Pennies in mouth, brassy taste bitter on my tongue a cancer canker sore. Lincoln freed the slaves. Hopeless. Key in slot, key in slot, key in slot.

Down the stairs, construction lot, empty hole, the copper and stone and concrete, vacated bones, constructed homes. The crane a symbol. The modern bird, flightless, tall, littered in locust stone. Watch the step.

Brick dreams stacked red on red. Maybe brownish red. Brick red. Crayola whitewash. I can’t forget my key ever. Don’t forget.

Genre: Joyce