August, 2014 Archives


Good Little Girl

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

The little girl waited. She waited in the casket where her mother had gently placed her before they were discovered. She couldn’t see anything from within and could hear very little, but dared not make a sound. She kept instinctively mum. She heard rapid footsteps approaching their caravan, some voices faintly saying, “There’s the witch, burn her alive.” She felt a stone bouncing off the casket and screaming accompanied by sounds of something being dragged. Much later a pungent smoky odor started filling the casket, but she still dared not move. Laboriously breathing she waited for her mother to come.

From Guest Contributor, Manjiree Marathe


Someone With Nothing

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

On the first day, they took everything. On the second day, they took everything else. On the third day, I had nothing. (Least of all myself.) This was going to make it really difficult to get everything back. But only if I really wanted it all back.

I think they had taken all of everything from me due to an error of some sort. Some algorithm got confused. Ink bled into a ledger and a decimal was dropped and they took everything. And everything else. (Including me.) They possess even my will to have it all returned. So I’m okay.

From Guest Contributor, Russ Bickerstaff



by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

6:17 am. Chilly out. Her teeth, against the pink roses on the gold-leafed rim of her chipped tea cup with matching saucer cradling renegade drops of Lipton’s–headquarters in Hoboken–clink and chatter. Behind her, tractor wheels first crunch and smash the little stick fence, cracking like femurs, then pummel the daisies, until finally the front door splinters apart. Empty Campbell cans and Hellman’s jars, lost tin and remnant timber crash the family photo, not hers, from a Sears’ catalog, but nonetheless… Miss Dallyworth takes the last sip, while the gentrification continues on, at her new address: the curb.

From Guest Contributor, Jennnifer Sarah Cooper


The Songbird

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

There’s a songbird outside my house that knows the tune to every standard of the last fifty years. He drives me crazy.

He never stops singing, not while I’m at home anyway. How sexually frustrated does this bird have to be to tweet Paul Simon and Barry Manilow all day long? Visitors find him quaint and always want to take video, and then they make me watch their posts on YouTube. I’m thinking of shooting myself.

He says he’ll keep at it until I do, because of how I shot his wife last winter. It’s a decision I regret now.