‘100 Words’ Category Archives


Death’s Head

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Retreating from Leningrad respect for the Soviets had grown amongst SS Totenkopf, elevated from Untermensch – ‘suhumans’ – to Bolsheviks.

After the bombardment from the eerily howling Katyushas – ‘Stalin’s organs’ – half of Franz’s platoon had been blown to bits, their blood staining the snow.


Then line after line of T-34 tanks covered in infantrymen appeared over the frozen steppe.

The odds were impossible, yet none would surrender, warriors moulded by the code of blood, iron and unconquerable will.

Franz, 19, watching the approaching hordes, glanced at the Totenkopf – ‘Death’s Head’ – insignia on his lapel.

Yes, this was what he existed for.

From Guest Contributor Ian Fletcher



by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

“Are you going to die soon?”

“Yes, I guess.”

“Will you take me with you?”

“Can’t do that”.

“Why not?”

“I just can’t.”

He was in search of true love. His search wasn’t easy. He searched everywhere but never realised how close his love was to him. He had been looking for love at all the wrong places. His quest for love only got longer. He stayed up all night and dreamt all day. The sun went down. The night deepened and darkness hid everything. He thought what could be more mysterious than night when you have secrets to bury.

From Guest Contributor Sergio Nicolas


Young Love

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Elsie opens the window and the warm breeze enters the room. She sits next to William holding his hand, remembering.

“It’s a beautiful spring day. It reminds me of our first picnic in the park. After eating and talking for hours, you finally leaned my head back, kissed me and wrapped your hands gently around my waist. Your lips were soft and tasted of salt from the chips.” Elsie brushes William’s hair behind his ear. “I can’t believe that has only been a year ago.”

Elsie’s eyes begin to water, and she wonders why dementia has taken her young love.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher


Maxine and Me

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Linda bought it for me at the museum gala. “So many wonderful things for a donation.” she said, “You should have come, my dear! Meet new people.”

She’s part mother, part matchmaker. I need both.

But do I need this? A burnt, ugly, pockmarked lump of rock. The note with it read “Deaccessioned. Meteorite acquired by Dr. Harris, Labrador 1905. Once much larger, visitors took pieces for many years.”

My friend must think I’m like this thing. Dark, scarred. Fragmentary since Bruce left.

I call it Maxine. Sits brooding under a lamp on my desk. We keep each other company.

From Guest Contributor Karen Walker


Data Dada

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

I walked for eight months, following a man who was carrying books on a donkey. I thought of it as my way of creating memories and putting them in my diary, except I don’t have a diary. So, yes, it’s ironic. Now as I go around the city, I see cigarette butts and chewing gum on the pavement, and people clipping their fingernails in the subway. I mean, who would do that, leave their DNA all over the place for others to collect and store? It’s like the secret to keeping a secret is the only secret still being kept.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie is the author most recently of What It Is and How to Use It from Grey Book Press. He co-edits the journals Unbroken and UnLost.


One Hundred

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

We have class together ninety-nine times. Four times a week she sits at the front, eyes bright, hand shooting heavenward. She is always in a group, no space beside her. She never sees me.

Ninety-nine times I try to catch her. Once I run so fast down the stairs I trip, scattering books and pride. She has already gone. She does not see me fall.

Class one hundred. She is late. The front is full. Flustered, she moves to the back, beside me. Seizing chance, I smile, and choke out a word I can’t remember. She smiles. She sees me.

From Guest Contributor Bronwen O’Donnell



by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

She was always staring at him, even in the eighth grade when I sat behind him, green with envy.

“He doesn’t even know you’re alive?” I snipped at her in the tenth grade when I caught her staring at him in the cafeteria.

He did not recognize either of us when we attended his lecture at Harvard. I couldn’t have cared less what the new advances in pediatric neurosurgery were, but I went at her insistence.

I stand on the walk and give them distance, as she places red roses on his grave.

Tonight, I finally have her to myself.

From Guest Contributor E. Barnes


The Sea

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

The gentle ripple of the waves soothes me, as I listen to the seagulls flying above searching for prey. A mother is helping her young son build a sandcastle while keeping an eye out for her daughter. “Don’t go too far out,” she bellows.

The ocean splashes against my legs and seaweed gets caught in-between my toes. I chortle and kick my feet, releasing it back into the water. I love the sea, its openness and the people who come to get away from everyday life.

The ocean is a world of its own, and the world is the ocean.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher


DDS Confession

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Here is a secret–it’s not about the pain. Rather, it’s about prolonging the discomfort.

I like to let the saliva build. Oh, you need suction? Sorry, it hadn’t occurred to me.

Pinching gums with the film is also a winner (hope you don’t have gingivitis!), as is leaving impression compound in too long (can you feel it hardening?).

But the all-time best: we exchange pleasantries, and once my hands are in your mouth I start the questions. The mask covers my smile. But look closely, ever so closely…

…and you might just catch when my eyes roll back.

From Guest Contributor Jeff H.

Jeff is a high school English teacher. He blogs at https://batchandnarrative.com/ with his wife, a dietitian, about writing, food, and everything else.


Personal History

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Adulthood in Texas means being old enough to get the electric chair if you kill someone. In 17th century England offenders sent to the pillory were pelted by the crowd with dung, dead cats and dogs, rotten vegetables, and, in extreme cases, stones and even saucepans. Some, though, flung flowers in Defoe’s face. It’s the difference between weather and climate. The least you can do is pretend to care. In Jewish tradition a righteous man is buried with 144 prayer books atop his coffin. When my Uncle Lou was buried, they put the books in cardboard boxes labeled Kitchen Utensils.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie is the author most recently of What It Is and How to Use It from Grey Book Press. He co-edits the journals Unbroken and UnLost.