Feb
Open Up Your Heart
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The door slammed shut so forcefully, Winston felt the reverberations from his bedroom.
It was better this way. Sarah would never be happy. She wanted someone to match her emotions at both ends. He just wasn’t built that way. “Don’t get too high or too low.” That was his motto.
There were probably another 20 minutes before daylight would start creaking through the blinds, but there was no point trying to fall back asleep. So he went to the kitchen and poured himself a bowl of cereal.
Winston wished the fight had started after breakfast. He missed Sarah’s pancakes already.
Feb
Proposal
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The EMT says everything will be okay while the ambulance siren blares in the background. I’m in and out of consciousness and not sure what has happened. The last thing I remember is getting into my car to drive to Ally’s house.
Every inch of my body hurts, I’m tired and so cold. I can’t move because I’m strapped to a gurney. I wish the pain would go away.
Someone with a deep voice speaks to me. “Stay with me, man, don’t go.”
Where would I be going? I can’t move.
I remember. I was going to propose to Ally.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Feb
The Broken Vow
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Hank stared at his bloodied hands. Visions of a more peaceful time flashed through his mind, reminders of a life less troubled.
The voice forced such memories aside.
“You’ve done well.”
Hank did not feel worthy of praise. Not after all the death he’d just meted out.
“Don’t feel guilty. You did what you must.”
The worst part, as far as he was concerned, was that he didn’t feel guilty. He’d enjoyed it.
Hank looked at the others around the dinner table. Only his wife seemed to notice that he had broken his vow.
“I guess you’re not vegan anymore.”
Jan
Debunking Resolutions
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
As the clock ticked towards the ending of a year, Ted was fast asleep.
He got up at noon to have brunch and catch up on emails.
“What are your resolutions for 2025?” asked a friend. Another asked similarly and another…
Ted closed his tablet.
Why should he stress himself about resolutions? Life ought to simply evolve, problems solved along the way.
He got up to make coffee. What, no coffee? Okay, he’ll have some tea. The canister usually filled with various teabags was empty.
Ted decided he would start the next New Year differently, with his kitchen well stocked.
From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs
Jan
Lights Out
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
I heard the news today, oh boy. The sun has gone supernova and in six hours the earth is a cinder. Judy and I broke up, so I went to Henry’s Bar in the hopes of being some woman’s last chance. The one woman there was working her way through the guys. Her “dance card” was already filled. With time growing short, I’d give Judy another chance. She told me “Duke you should have gotten the message. I’m not going to waste my little time left with you. I’m in Jason’s bed making the best of the end of world.”
From Guest Contributor Doug Hawley
Jan
The Last Light
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The sun vanished, leaving the world in eternal twilight. Lila carried the last lantern, its glow a fragile defiance. Cities crumbled; silence reigned. One night, she spotted a flicker—a boy with a dying candle. “I thought I was alone,” he said. She knelt, lighting his candle from her lantern. Together, their light grew stronger. They wandered, sharing warmth and stories, finding solace in the shared glow. Though the world darkened, their bond became a beacon. In the void, they discovered not just survival, but the courage to hope. Light, no matter how small, could still push back the night.
From Guest Contributor DeepSeek
Jan
Titus
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The emperor gave Titus the signal and he plunged his sword into the gladiator. Blood gushed from his neck, and he took his last gasp. The crowd chanted and Titus waved his arms in victory.
Titus’ master approached. “Well done, Titus. There hasn’t been a gladiator to match you, and I hope it stays that way.”
The ground began to rumble. The emperor’s statue fell in a heap, and people began tumbling to their deaths.
Someone in the crowd yelled. “Look at the mountain. It’s on fire!”
Mount Vesuvius spewed fire and rained pumice.
Titus would not fight another day.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Jan
The Dark Arts
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
If I look different, taller or fitter, it may be because a kind of prisoner swap has taken place. Somehow I’ve wriggled out from under the extreme judgments of a cold, tyrannical god. I’m still me but not the same. My failures suddenly seem less painful, viewable in retrospect as a series of valiant gestures against the authority of received narratives. Indigenous names for places have been restored, our pale winter bodies renourished. And so we lie down together, she and I, consumers of dreams, while angels dabble in the dark arts and the sniper kneels at the corner window.
From Guest Contributor Howie Good
Howie is author of the poetry book, The Dark, available from Sacred Parasite, which will also publish his book, Akimbo, in 2025.
Jan
Fireflies
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
In the distance, flashes of light blinked in and out through the trees. Like lightning just before the storm. And getting closer.
“What are those?”
“They’re just fireflies. They can’t hurt you.”
“Mommy, I’m scared.”
Gina held her son tightly. “Hush baby. They can’t hurt you.”
They huddled together among the trees and watched the lights. She sang to him his favorite lullaby. The same lullaby her Mother had sung to her on the hot summer nights before they came to America.
“Hush baby. No one’s going to hurt you.”
When the bombs finally reached them, everything was over quickly.
Jan
Downstairs
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
“Otto, I heard something.”
“What?…What time is it?”
It was 2 AM. They were in their second-floor bedroom.
“I think I heard something downstairs…Could you make sure there isn’t someone breaking in?”
“We have an alarm, Claudette.”
“You’ve heard of disabling them, haven’t you?”
Of course, he’d heard of that.
Only moonbeams filtered into their small bedroom.
“Anyway, Frodo’s down there, Claudette.”
Frodo was a Labrador retriever.
“Yeah…But you know him, and he’s probably playing dead.”
She listened intently for any sounds.
“It all depends on Frodo and you, Otto…Hey, Otto.”
But Otto was playing dead.
From Guest Contributor David Sydney