Mar
Along The River
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Tawny wings tail the Arkansas and their shadows brush Russian olive. A hoo! drifts along begging recognition. Drowning the scuttle of waves, a quavering reply invites determination. Feathers ripple towards cottonwoods, nudging the fading sunlight across leaves and between branches. He allows a hoot to stray ahead asking for her to answer with a wandering whistle. The night approaches with a dimming silence that hushes happenings of the day and offers silhouettes. Moonlight shifts over a hollow as a frayed figure sails with unfurled wings. They settle below the canopy and dust bark with steadied feathers, ceasing flight for tonight.
From Guest Contributor Kristi Kerico
Kristi is a psychology major at Pikes Peak Community College. She is studying to become a horticultural therapist. She currently works at a bookstore and volunteers at a zoo and nature center. She began writing after enrolling in a creative writing course at PPCC. She enjoys poetry the most, considering it’s brief yet complex beauty. She also loves writing with a focus on nature.
Mar
My Time
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The smell of food wafted through the apartment. I groaned as I moved off the sofa. My old bones ached as I made my way to the small dining table. My wife smiled at something from behind me.
“It’s back isn’t it?” I asked her quietly.
She nodded and reached out her hand. I’d never seen what she had. Even so, she described it as a little girl, wearing a yellow sundress, and her eyes were always glossed over.
“It will be my time soon, Jacob. That’s what she had said.”
I just shook my head. I didn’t believe her.
From Guest Contributor Amber Brandau
Mar
Sweet Lullaby
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Brianne gently swung the bassinet humming a lullaby. It had been in her family for years and it was her turn to place a baby in it.
She decorated the nursery with teddy bears and yellow duckling wallpaper. She spent the majority of her time in the baby’s room holding the many tiny onesies her family gave her and reading the children’s books for the baby’s library.
“Honey, I’m home,” said her husband Greg as he entered the room with a bouquet of freshly scented red roses.
Brianne began to weep.
It was time to tell him about the miscarriage.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Mar
D.S.T.
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Our test of CesiumApp (Sync Your Devices to The Nanosecond!) launched at 2am, the end of Daylight Savings Time.
But somehow when the clocks fell back, so did we, snapped to wherever we’d been one hour before. We showed up again in the conference room, greedy with foreknowledge. Kyler sold airline stocks short, profiting from a plane explosion. I bet Australian rugby winners.
We waited anxiously for next 2am when an explosion blew the doors open. A hideous half-human encrusted with growths like lichen gasped “butterflies” in a familiar croak, leveling a rusted revolver.
I’d always been handy with guns.
From Guest Contributor Clay Waters
Mar
Myth Match
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The day is cold even by New England standards. Girls dump menstrual blood on icy sidewalks in some kind of protest. Myth is dead. Our high school biology textbook compared the body to a furnace. Mr. C, our very nice teacher, was killed that spring with his wife and baby daughter in a car wreck. There’s no point in speaking ironically to people who can’t understand irony. You’ll just end up having to publicly apologize. Freud said dreams are the day’s residue. It has to linger for a while, as if to warn we’re a danger to self and others.
From Guest Contributor Howie Good
Howie is the author most recently of Stick Figure Opera: 99 100-word Prose Poems from Cajun Mutt Press. He co-edits the online journals Unbroken and UnLost.
Mar
Abiding
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
I stir the White Russian, the clink of ice so soft, tender. I should be grading papers and concentrating on how to explain Rasputin and Nicholas II to my students. I just want to abide in White Russians and ice, a creamy sea.
I take a sip, savor cream-filled sensation. Hold onto it. Too many rules, kiss department chair’s ass. Don’t swear. Be responsible like Professor Gebert. Voices rise, like some discordant chorus.
I take another sip.
How rich I feel, world subordinated to ice-filled buzz.
I take another small sip, trying to keep creamy seas from melting.
I’m losing.
From Guest Contributor Yash Seyedbagheri
Yash is a graduate of Colorado State University’s MFA program in fiction. His story, “Soon,” was nominated for a Pushcart. Yash’s stories are forthcoming or have been published in Café Lit, Mad Swirl, 50 Word Stories, and Ariel Chart, among others.
Mar
There’s Something The Matter With The Sea
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
We all got off the coach and headed for the beach. The couple who’d sat across from us stripped to reveal their swimsuits, like a superhero duo. I told Dad on the sand, but he seemed distracted, staring into the horizon.
‘I think there’s something the matter with the sea,’ he said.
Mum told him to cut it out. He nodded, patted me on the shoulder and turned back towards her.
The water was warm, like a bath. That was our second clue. ‘Don’t worry,’ the news anchor had said at breakfast. ‘Hurricane Katrina isn’t expected to cause much damage.’
From Guest Contributor Robert Keal
Feb
Wonder
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The Erie Canal in Spring is serene, she thought. Once again, first heat of May made the pink sugar bowl blossoms on magnolia trees shimmer with light. Townies were out walking, taking their time getting to the Lift Bridge on Main Street. Each wore a blue, or red, or yellow balloon fastened to their jackets. The balloons drifted & tugged in the wind, like her niggling thoughts about her neighbors. How they reminded her of sliced white bread. She doubted that they knew they lacked depth; yet, like setting clocks ahead, they came to watch water fill the canal’s bed.
From Guest Contributor M.J. Iuppa
M.J.’s fourth poetry collection is This Thirst (Kelsay Books, 2017). For the past 31 years, she has lived on a small farm near the shores of Lake Ontario. Check out her blog: mjiuppa.blogspot.com for her musings on writing, sustainability & life’s stew.
Feb
Happy Valentine’s Day
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
It had been six months since Emma’s dog Max passed away. She still felt his head on her lap, breathing softly as she pet his head. She missed their walks together and his playful barks when she’d throw him the ball. He’d catch it every time, the ball hanging from his mouth.
The picture on the end table had been a favorite. Max in her arms, licking her fingers, tail wagging, a smile on Emma’s face cuddling her friend.
The doorbell rang, distracting Emma.
“Surprise,” her boyfriend said and placed the puppy in her arms.
Emma’s valentine wish came true.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Feb
Frozen Morning
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The bright light of the dawn greets him with a cheerful glow, sneaking lies between the buildings.
His breath forms thick clouds that mocks him with its resemblance to cigarette smoke. His fingers ache in his tattered gloves. His legs creak as he raises himself from his bed to face the whitewashed town, bleached clean of its sins.
Looking back towards his bed, the cardboard’s damp. Ragged sleeping bags and repurposed plastic have brought him into the frozen day.
Children laugh in the distance. The rumble of snowploughs begin, pushing the salt-weakened snow into heaps of black slush.
From Guest Contributor T.W. Garland