Match Light

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

The flame exploded into being as the match head dragged across the sandpaper. It might have seemed magical, but really it was just that the glass-on-glass friction generated enough heat to kindle the match’s phosphorus.

The match provided the only light in the entire house, perhaps the entire city. Between the impenetrable clouds and the power outage, darkness had descended as quickly as the sun.

The illumination lasted long enough for Theresa to count the remaining matches. Seventeen. Each one guaranteed to ignite but she knew such guarantees were hollow.

Seventeen matches to survive until the end of the world.


To Clara: Regarding Your Critique

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

You shared your writing with me. An extension of friendship, like a handshake. More like the reaching out of hands with the chance to be held – or swatted – open palmed. Sharing…emptying pockets to reveal hidden things among the embarrassment of collected lint, is a dangerous proposition. Your shadows merged with mine, achieving the density of darkness that brings on the dawn. How can I thank you? For selflessly taking my hands and guiding me to an unknown resting place within the pages of you. I spoke in an attempt to reciprocate. My words: sandpaper to your beach of memory.

From Guest Contributor Keith Hoerner



by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Johnny sat in the waiting room, with sweaty palms, anxiously awaiting the doctor’s results. His eyes searched the area and came across a plump brunette sneezing into her handkerchief. She stuffed it back into her purse and Johnny cringed. He hated germs.

Finally, the nurse called Johnny into Dr. Lovell’s office.

“Johnny, you are perfectly healthy. I called you in because I want you to see a therapist to control your obsessive behavior with germs. Here’s a reputable doctor.” He handed Johnny the paper. “Go home and stop worrying.”

Johnny, relieved, left, but not before sanitizing his hands with Purell.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher


Alma’s Journey

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

I’d always known about my husband’s cheating, but when he was home, he was good company. Now he’d left.

Was I losing my mind, too?

“Leave Miami,” my daughter had said. She’d just given birth to my only grandchild. “You can start over with us in Orlando.”

What was she was thinking? She knows I’ve never been more than thirty miles from home.

I looked down. The purse I thought I’d lost was between my shoes.

Picking up my purse, I couldn’t wait for the train doors to open fully—my daughter cradling my granddaughter on the brightly lit platform.

From Guest Contributor Geoffrey Philp

Geoffrey is the author of the YA novel, Garvey’s Ghost. He teaches English and Creative Writing at the Inter-American Campus of Miami Dade College.



by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Father threw his coat on the chair and announced, “I’m tired of trying to see the good in people.”

“Tough day, Father?”

“You have no idea. All day long, problems, problems, problems. I can’t fix chronic poor choices in partners or unfulfilled dreams of success because of laziness.”

“Did anything good happen today?”

“Well, the steps were repainted. It was a decent job, considering it was done by a recovering alcoholic.”

“See, that’s a start.”

“But there was a parade of people coming to confess all sorts of stupid things to me.

“Well, maybe being a pastor isn’t for you.”

From Guest Contributor NT Franklin


My Sidekick

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

She was the best stress buster I had. My best friend. My confessor, she bore all my messes. Talking to her was necessity not habit. She was my anchor in my bad marriage days. Ironically, my daughter shares a birthday with her.

She is the picture perfect woman to me. She got married to the best guy in the world. I’m so happy for her. I had never thought distance and time would keep us apart in these technologically advanced days. She is in EST and I am IST. What a mess these 9.5 hours have created in my life.

From Guest Contributor Dr. Scribbler


Never Forget

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

It was a warm sunny day on September 11, 2001. Lori remembered the towers imploding, the sadness and knot in her chest from the horror. She never forgot the sight of human bodies dropping to the ground as she watched from the window with watery eyes and shaking hands. She paced the floor as her other colleagues stayed silently glued to the window. The only words were those on the phone for panicked loved ones.

Sixteen years later, on a warm sunny day, the names of the victims are televised and read by grieving family members.

Lori will never forget.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher



by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

He shouldn’t have to insist on special treatment. It’s no longer special at that point. Besides, he wanted to maintain the same humble demeanor as before. Success and fame shouldn’t change who he is, right?

But here he was, waiting with everyone else. Not one person had acknowledged his big breakthrough.

“More eggs, Brian?”

“Yes, please.”

He appreciated the gesture, but you’d think a guest appearance on CSI would bump him to the head of the table, not stuck in between his siblings while breakfast was served. Besides, the eggs were cold. Some Christmas this was turning out to be.


The Unexpected Drive Home

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

The rain pelted against the windshield and traffic was at a standstill. Impatient drivers honked their horns to no avail and I tuned them out with my radio. Finally, the traffic began to move, but the rain didn’t let up. Every car was crawling. My stomach gurgled from hunger and my throat was parched. It had been two hours.

As I reached the drawbridge crossing there was an ambulance. Two cars collided head-on and a body laid on the ground covered with a black tarpaulin.

I shut off the radio and drove the rest of the ride home in silence.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher


Lure Of The Surf

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Chatter heightened in a resort restaurant.

“She’s a striking beauty,” someone blurted. “Out surfing every day,”
another added. “Can’t miss.”

Ken placed lunch servings before the patrons, imagining running into
someone like that.

When work ended, he headed for the beach. Between relationships,
feeling low, he sought peace by the sea. Surfers dotted distant
sparkling waters. Their faces couldn’t be distinguished.

Next day, Ken served the same group of diners who had talked so
passionately about the mystery woman.

“She’s walking ashore holding a surfboard,” someone shouted.

Everyone, including Ken, turned to look out the window.

It was his sister.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction.