September, 2016 Archives


The Final Voyage

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Grandfather boarded the old boat cautiously, wary of his footing. But once he’d left the docks behind, his balance actually improved. The years on shore might have accelerated his aging. We all silently hoped that being on the water might reverse his decline.

We waved optimistically as he pushed away from the pier, careful to act like this was any other departure. As Grandfather awkwardly raised the sails, he lacked the same proficiency of his younger days, though they eventually caught the wind and the boat glided away.

We cried then, knowing we’d never see Grandfather again. The horizon beckoned.


What Should Have Been

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

She was my first kiss at seven, she had a crush on me. She moved away a year later and was forgotten until high school when she found me on social media. I was busy, having parties and ignored her texts. In university, she found me again, through a friend, but I had no time, as I needed to study. Years later, by fortune, we bumped on the street. We talked for a few minutes, but that was all. Once more we met, this time at a funeral. Here I realized my folly, as I said goodbye to my soulmate.

From Guest Contributor Jordan Altman



by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

It floated in a four-foot cube glass case with runes etched into the gold frame and tiger’s eye gems set into all eight corners.

Connor found his gaze drawn to their chatoyant lustre and wondered if the sphere was only an optical illusion.

“It must be,” he verbalized. “There’s no such thing­–”

“Ah, ah…unnatural,” the mage corrected. “You were never going to get this from nature.”

The image of Claudia moved inside the time-bubble. Connor watched his daughter smile: a welcome change from the burial mask.

“I’ll take it,” he said, smearing tears with the back of his hand.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid


Verbal Therapy

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

“Hello, sir!” she exclaimed as she and two friends got out of their old car.

“Hi,” I replied as I bent over to remove my gas cap.

After fourteen hours of steady driving, my seventy-year-old back hurt, but in two more hours I would be home. Our vacation would then be over.

While pacing behind my car, waiting for my wife and enjoying the warm summer evening, the three teenagers returned to their car parked at the gasoline pump ahead of me.

“Good-bye, sir!” she shouted as she closed her car door before pulling away.

My back no longer hurt.

From Guest Contributor Gerald E. Greene


Old Mrs. Meyer

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Johan returns with the potatoes for lunch. Mrs. Meyer, who lives opposite, opens her door. Though he’s eleven, the kind old lady still gives him candy.

However, seeing the two Gestapo officers with her, Johan hides.

“My father was German,” she says.

“The Reich is grateful,” they reply.

Soldiers arrive. Knocking down their front door, they drag out his parents and the family in the attic.

“Jew-loving Dutch swine!” says a soldier, spitting at his father.

Johan never sees them again.

His eyes meet Mrs. Meyer’s, peering out from between her curtains.

He never forgets her look of triumphant malice.

From Guest Contributor Ian Fletcher

Born and raised in Cardiff, Wales, Ian has an MA in English from Oxford University. He has had poems and short stories published in Schlock! Webzine, 1947 A Literary Journal, Dead Snakes,, Anotherealm, Under the Bed, A Story In 100 Words, Poems and Poetry, Friday Flash Fiction, and in various anthologies.


Bountiful Harvest

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

“Beautiful garden,” a man interjected. “Looks like a good harvest.”

Judy paused from pulling out weeds. “Not really. July was too rainy. Zucchinis are rotting on the plants and maggots have infested my apple tree. It’ll be a chore to salvage what’s edible.”

“Do you need help? I have lots of time being on my own.”

“Sorry, it’s getting dark,” Judy answered.

The man turned around and started walking.

“Wait!” Judy called out. “Pot roast is almost ready. Would you like to join me for supper? I too live alone.”

Harvest became bountiful with the start of a new friendship.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. Her work has been published at: Nailpolish Stories, 50-Word Stories, 100 word story, 101 Words, Boston Literary Magazine, From the Depths (Haunted Waters Press), ShortbreadStories, SixWordMemoirs, and Espresso Stories.


Robot Monkeys

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

“Daddy, why are there bars on the robot monkeys’ windows?”

Roger picked a bit of cotton candy off his son’s nose. “Danny, it’s a zoo.”

“But Daddy, they aren’t wild animals like the others. We don’t keep our robots in cages.”

Roger laughed and tousled Danny’s hair. “Well, Buddy, our robots have Gen IX brains. These little guys are first generation. Nobody wants them and they could never survive on their own.”

“But why keep them then? Why aren’t they just recycled?”

“Daniel. We’re not barbarians. We gave them life. We can’t just throw them away. Besides, aren’t they cute?”

From Guest Contributor Simon Hole


No More Grant Wood

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Francis stared gawping at the bleak picture of a white house on a twilight prairie for at least a couple of minutes before breathing. Hattie linked arms with him and pressed close.

“Well, what do you think?”

Francis sighed a wordless soliloquy.

“Isn’t it wonderful? Look at the shading, the perspective, the detail.”

“I just finished that wallpapering.”

“Soot from the aromatic candles and sewing chalk.”

Francis frowned.

“All dangerous hobby stuff is locked away. Candles…top shelf.”

Francis confirmed the press was locked and tight against the wall before addressing his two-year old son.

“Grant, you’re one creepy-ass kid.”

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid


Lunch With Maurice

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

I was doing time at another warehouse.
Another W2 in a factotum year.
Maurice, pudding formed with a handlebar mustache, sat across from me.
He liked security. “I keep a weapon in every room. I don’t even lock my door. I have got a shotgun on the wall, a handgun in each room unregistered. I got a bat in the bathroom and a sword under my bed with a knife between my pillows.”
“Expecting trouble?”
“My dad was in the navy. Antiwar activists target the relatives of veterans.”
Maurice was found dead in his apartment.
Stabbed in the eye.

From Guest Contributor Michael Zone

Michael is the author of Fellow Passengers: Pubic Transit Poetry, Meditations & Musings and Better than the Movies: 4 Screenplays. His work has been featured in Because Eileen, Dead Snakes, Horror Trash Sleaze, In Between Hangovers, Three Line Poetry, Triadae, and The Voices Project. He scrapes by in Grand Rapids, MI


What Is Written

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

At age two, baby Suresh miraculously wrote the words yes and no on to foggy glass. His family gathered in awe around him wondering if he would write again, maybe?

With pencils, chalk, twigs in sand he wrote the words over and over.

What divinity was this, what genius? No one had taught him. Being pious people, his parents immediately told the household servants that all future decisions, big or small, would be made by baby Suresh.

“Please,” said Chef, “tonight shall I cook chicken or lamb?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” baby’s mother snapped. “He can only answer yes or no.”

From Guest Contributor Faiza Bokhari