December, 2011 Archives


The Greenhouse

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Every desert harbors an oasis at its heart. The more consuming the landscape, the more bountiful its sanctuary. The soil squeezes every spare drop into hidden, long forgotten recesses, where it will be conducted to safety.

The great desert of my homeland is no different. For the past thirty years, I’ve acted as gatekeeper for the lonely greenhouse at its center. I have always guarded its doors with my life, allowing entry only to the meekest of souls.

They’ve promised me a taste of a single drop of water, a generation in the making, on the day of my death.


A Flaw In His Character

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Georghi Kuritsa worked a short time for the Bolsheviks. They were always an unruly sort and Georghi was punctual and well-organized, just the sort of personal assistant that made revolutions a piece of cake.

It was truly unfortunate that a flaw in his character made it impossible for him to continue in their employ. If he had not been fired, the split may never have occurred, and Stalin probably never would have ascended to power. Millions of lives would have been spared had the purge never happened.

So it really is too bad that Georghi was actually a giant chicken.


I’m With The Fashion Police

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

I’m looking at you. You’re sitting on your pulpit, grandstanding and demanding, acting as if the whole world is against you.

I know what you’re thinking. You’re some kind of Achilles, and we are all Agamemnons hellbent on keeping you from what’s yours. You came here pure of intent, and we sullied your name and deprived you of your one and only chance at true love.

Well, let me be the one to tell you: the problem isn’t that you’re black and she’s white. The reason she’s not into is that you are always wearing a cardigan with a tie.


We Each Deserve Our Own Bathroom

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

They lived in a state of perpetual cacophony. They bickered and sermonized, battling each other over everything, from the deepest philosophical questions of their own existence to who should get to use the bathroom first. They lived in tight quarters, and were forced to look at each other constantly. They hated each other. They hated the numbers that served as names and they hated the implied hierarchy of the whole affair.

The scientist who oversaw the entire program looked at his creations ruefully. He should have foreseen the now patently obvious consequences of cloning the Great Leader so many times.


The Magic Bunny Farm

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

The white rabbits used by over 90% of the working magicians in Europe and North America originate from a single farm in rural Holland. The family-owned estate specializes in churning out the best rabbits in the business. In addition to being fed and groomed, they are taught the many necessary skills expected of them.

They are trained to remain motionless for long periods of time. They are taught not to fear small, confined spaces. They are even conditioned to wrinkle their nose and twinkle their eyes to the sound of applause.

But mostly, they are just expected to fuck like bunnies.


The Grandfather Paradox

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

They had told Christopher that time travel was impossible, that it violated the laws of physics. It took twenty years of obsession, but he proved them wrong.

Christopher had always been that way. Whatever walls surrounded him, he knocked them down. He remembered what Grandfather Warren had said, that he would never amount to anything. The insult burned at him every day, spurring him on.

So it was with great regret he discovered there was one law of physics he would never be able to break. No matter how hard he tried, Christopher was never able to kill Grandfather Warren.


The Christmas Cheer Brigade

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Every year, for reasons of geography and religious practice, children all over the world are ignored during Christmas. Certain men and women, let’s call them the Christmas Cheer Brigade, are determined to see to it these children never miss out on Christmas ever again.

The Cheer Brigade meets in secluded offices and hideaways, some of them more than 100 stories off the ground. Like the heroes in comic books, they choose to remain anonymous from the public.

You see, they know that nothing ruins Christmas cheer quite like the knowledge it’s being propagated by large corporate interests. Billionaires are not stupid.


The Only Way To Travel

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

The city was known for its bus system. The government promoted the buses incessantly. Giant billboards covered the city’s buildings and, yes, the buses themselves, testifying to their cleanliness and convenience and proclaiming that the city had the best bus system in the world.

The campaigns were obviously working. The buses were always so packed you were barely able to breath, even in the middle of the night.

It wasn’t until many years later that the city realized the only people riding the buses were out of town tourists and undercover police officers. Most normal people just rode their bicycles.


Where Fireworks Come From

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Every Spring Festival, the Chinese people explode millions of fireworks. Most people never think to ask where those fireworks come from, or how they make the journey from factory to consumer.

Every firework, from the smallest firecracker to the most ornate skyrocket, are made in one remote village in the mountains of Sichuan. The only outsiders who are allowed to set foot in the town are the truck drivers who haul the pyrotechnics to market.

Perhaps, if government officials took the time to uncover the truth of what happens there, the giant panda would no longer be an endangered species.



by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

No one understood the value of something as well as Mr. Henderson. He pushed his shopping cart up and down Jamaica Hills, watching everything with the eyes of a raven. He could spot a scrap of discarded metal from 200 yards away.

Mr. Henderson would never let you litter. He’d eat your bread crusts or use your cigarette butts to line his jacket. And he could fix anything. Nothing was ever too broken for Mr. Henderson.

I always wonder what happened to Mr. Henderson. The last time I saw him, he was unconscious in that storm drain, surrounded by paramedics.