December, 2017 Archives
Dec
Listening To Punchdrunk Lovesick Singalong On Repeat
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
David waited at the red light. He scratched at his scalp as the skin peeled away.
Diane wrapped the glassware in last Sunday’s edition of the Times. She remembered having to nag David for months before he wrote those thank you notes.
David cursed so that the driver next to him turned and offered a look. He stared straight ahead and debated offering an apology.
Diane loaded the last of the boxes into the trailer. Her father offered a hug that she refused.
David pulled into the driveway, turned off the ignition, and cried.
Diane watched the landscape blur by.
This is post number 1,111. Thank you to every one who has read one of these stories or contributed one of their own.
Dec
Two Birds
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Tom and Ruth had been married forty years. The heart monitor was beeping with every breath Ruth took.
“I’m going to miss you,” Tom said. His weathered hands were one with Ruth’s. Two streams of tears ran from his eyes.
“I’ve lead a good life. I’ll be okay,” Ruth said.
“I don’t know how I’ll…” Tom asked.
“We’ll be together soon enough, love. The children need you. You have to be strong for them.”
She closed her eyes quietly. A bird took off and flew high into the clouds towards the sun. Its counterpart sat pensively, wondering where to go.
From Guest Contributor Steve Colori
Steve was born in 1986 and during undergrad he developed schizoaffective disorder. Over the years he has worked hard to overcome the disorder and help others while doing so. Steve has published thirteen essays with Oxford Medical Journals, he has written freelance for Mclean Hospital since 2011, he writes a column with The Good Men’s Project titled “Steve Colori Talks Mental Health,” and he has a memoir available on Amazon, “Experiencing and Overcoming Schizoaffective Disorder.” A quote he has come to live by is “To Improve is to Change; To be Perfect is to Change Often.” (Winston Churchill)
Dec
What Happened To Ben?
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
“So, uh, what happened to Ben?”
“Twitter. Once he discovered that, well, he just sort of fell into a black hole.”
“Do you talk to him on Twitter?”
“Oh yeah. All the time.”
“That’s funny. I can’t get him to return my calls. I even went to his house one day and he didn’t answer the door.”
“Just tweet him. He’ll respond.”
“That seems weird. Does he make sense? Talk in complete sentences?”
“He’s hilarious. Same old Ben.”
“Only he’s not really there. He’s just a digital ghost.”
“When you put it that way it just sounds sad.”
“I know.”
From Guest Contributor Dan Slaten
Dec
Secretly Thankful
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The story I’m told, is my cousin ran a red light, hit an oncoming car and died on impact. This happened the day before Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving Day, my aunt and uncle are preparing for his funeral.
I told my cousin Mike, time and again, he needed to stop fiddling with the radio when driving, because he could cause an accident or kill someone. I never thought that someone would be him.
The turkey sits in the refrigerator, no one wanting to celebrate thanks when a young man died.
Secretly, I’m thankful it isn’t my wife or one of my kids.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Dec
Old Criminal History
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The site of the homicide is vicious and bloody. No evidence is found except fingerprints left on the victim.
Later Detective Lance Jones tells his partner Carl that AFIS found a match to the bloody fingerprints left at the crime scene. The homicide is so violently over the top that Carl is sure the perpetrator has to be a young healthy muscular male.
Carl is surprised when Lance tells him the suspect is an older male.
“Did you say the suspect is sixty-four years old?” asks Carl.
“Well, he was in 1942 the last time he was arrested,” Lance replies.
From Guest Contributor Denny E. Marshall
Dec
Thrill
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
“Not healthy,” Jan whispered to her surviving brother, peering into the darkened parlour where her mother sat, eyes fixed on the flickering screen of Brian’s cracked Smartphone.
Tom lifted and dropped his shoulders helplessly and returned to the closed-coffin wake in the other room.
Jan herself had only been able to watch the footage once: the glee of Brian hanging from a spar changing to terror as his grip had slipped.
The phone had been lucky enough to fall back onto the bridge.
Jan stared as her mother hit replay again. She’d even stopped sobbing.
“Friggin’ selfie generation,” she muttered.
From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid