February, 2022 Archives
Feb
Vegan Vigilantes
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The joint was cased. All that remained was the decision: this coffeehouse or the Dunkin’ Donuts on the bypass?
Roland sauntered inside and scanned the menu–coffee and sandwiches–on the back wall.
“Can I help you?”
“Anything vegan?”
Bewildered: “Uh, vegan? Er…”
An older barista, working a blender: “Nothing vegan.”
Roland stepped back, leaned against the wall, phone to ear: “Mook, it’s the shop on Main. Even worse than Dunkin’. Pick me up in two minutes.”
He replaced the phone with a gun and approached the counter.
“Since your menu isn’t cruelty-free, I’ll take your money. Open the register.”
From Guest Contributor Joe Surkiewicz
Joe writes from northern Vermont.
Feb
A Theory Of Justice
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The medical assistant asked in a flat, toneless bureaucratic voice how I would describe the pain. Stabbing? Aching? Sharp? Dull? She entered my answer on the form, but without showing any actual concern. A philosopher once said – or should have – that a society is only as just as its treatment of its most vulnerable members: the old, the sick, the poor, the institutionalized. Using a dropper, I strategically place .50 milliliters of Triple M tincture under my tongue. I wait fifteen, twenty minutes, and then gray-clad troops burst from the treeline with a rebel yell. The tongue is all muscle.
From Guest Contributor Howie Good
Howie is the author of Failed Haiku, a poetry collection that is the co-winner of the 2021 Grey Book Press Chapbook Contest and scheduled for publication in summer 2022.
Feb
When I Write
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
When I write, I look above my screen and think. When I write, I ponder the entertaining events a published book may possess. When I write, I revere the marvelous feeling of finishing a book. When I write, I envision what I’ll do with my upcoming chapters. When I write, I imagine the extravagant scenes I can conjure up in my mind. When I write, I realize all I’ve been doing is daydreaming about moments of a future not yet known. Watching the clock tick, I look down at my screen and notice I’ve still not even begun to write.
From Guest Contributor Leif Bradley
Leif is a student of Literature and Creative Writing at Pikes Peak Community College.
Feb
A Dream
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The house is empty, and my bags are packed. I don’t know where I’m going, but I reach for and open the front door anyway, ready for whatever awaits me on the other side. I realize I’ve left the radio on, though, so I turn around and go back to take care of that. While I’m doing this someone or something scurries through the front door. I look and see that it’s my brother’s dog, Oswald. “You can’t be here,” I say. “You’re dead.” Oswald wags his tail and tells me that he’s here to take me to the afterlife.
From Guest Contributor Dan Slaten
Feb
Ties That Bind
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Sam always used rubber bands to hold up her ponytail; I’m still finding them around the apartment, lost during sex, or when she shook out her hair after a long day at work, or in any of a dozen different ways. The trust between us proved less elastic, and snapped.
Everything came undone when she found that bobby pin in the bathroom. I told her that Jodie had just needed to wash bird crap out of her hair when she dropped by, but clearly I wasn’t believed. Now, in every sense, there’s no way left to hold things in place.
From Guest Contributor Alastair Millar
Alastair is an archaeologist by training, a translator by trade, and a nerd by nature. His work can be found at https://linktr.ee/alastairmillar and he lurks on Twitter @skriptorium.
Feb
Lariateer
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
When he finally finishes his regular morning exercise, he considers going back through his earliest journals and numbering the pages but—smart as he is—he knows he can’t count that high. He thinks about all the pens he’s ever used, tries to calculate how many oceans of ink he’s expended; imagines uncurling his cursive and deconstructing his print, laying out all of his pen strokes end-to-end and seeing just how many times the line would circle the globe, or if maybe it would form a lifeline out into space to lasso the moon or play jump rope with Mars.
From Guest Contributor Ron. Lavalette
Ron.’s debut chapbook, Fallen Away (Finishing Line Press), is now available at all standard outlets. Many of his published works can be found at EGGS OVER TOKYO.
Feb
Anyway JJ Cale Blows
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The old man and me were travellin’ light.
“I can’t live here,” he said. Guess I lose, because this girl of mine, is livin’ here too.
“We’ll be leaving in the morning.” But I wanted to stay around, so I asked to call the doctor.
“It’s hard to tell, but I really do think: you got something,” he said. He must have been the sensitive kind when he saw my crying eyes.
“So, can we stay around? Everything will be alright.”
I wish I had not said that, because at this moment we are ridin’ home, to the artificial paradise.
From Guest Contributor Hervé Suys
Hervé Suys (°1968 – Ronse, Belgium) started writing short stories whilst recovering from a sports injury and he hasn’t stopped since. Generally he writes them hatless and barefooted
Feb
Night Thoughts
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
I can’t bring myself to read the news anymore or even watch it on TV. There are just so many unidentified dead men with my face, just so many couples in their late thirties having trouble making a baby. Meanwhile, a small band of starving deer stagger out of the snowbound woods in search of help, but help has been repealed. Like the Oxford comma or the use of voiceover in film, the whole thing is controversial. And although it’s day, night thoughts are stuck in my head, and the only immediate alternative may be to cut my head off.
From Guest Contributor Howie Good
Howie Good is the author of Failed Haiku, a poetry collection that is the co-winner of the 2021 Grey Book Press Chapbook Contest and scheduled for publication in summer 2022.
Feb
Not Today
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Sam’s touched up face, slicked brown hair and embalmed body, reminded me that he really was gone.
I sat in the front row as family and friends approached, the same words spoken repeatedly.
“We’re so sorry for your loss, Janny.”
The room filled with flowers, from bleeding hearts to white lilies gave an aroma of a florist rather than a wake.
The priest began to speak, and the room quieted, except for my weeping.
Cancer took my husband too early. He’ll never see his daughter graduate college.
Now I must break the news of my Parkinson’s disease. But not today.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Feb
On The Sweet Path
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Ice cream? Al declined. It hurt his teeth.
“Good of him to do so,” acknowledged his school’s principal.
There were other reports of the afternoon sightings. About the SUV parked in front of their school. The dark sunglasses leaning out on a balding head. Words offering a sweet treat.
It happened two days in a row. Possibly three. No one paid close attention until bits of news dribbled out, spreading across the community.
Plans were drawn to nab the culprit.
He must’ve known for no longer was he seen.
Another school needed to heed to the call for ice cream.
From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs
Krystyna writes poetry, fiction and creative nonfiction regardless of the season. Although she prefers spring.