Posts Tagged ‘Air’
Jan
True Meaning
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
As a boy, I remember my dad telling me Christmas is about family and spending time together. Secondary, exchanging gifts.
My own children are opening their presents and their beaming faces light up the room. The Christmas tree is sparkling with silver tinsel and an angel at the top of the tree, its wings white and glowing. Decorations and food consume the house this time of year, the baked ziti’s sauce filling the air with a delicious aroma. But these delightful things are not what my children celebrate.
The birth of Jesus Christ is the reason we celebrate the holiday.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Sep
Mammoth
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
An airplane soars into the mammoth building, leaving a gaping hole. Blackness, dust, and papers fill the air.
Angels fall and my heart beats quickly not knowing what to do. I pace the floor with the others, stunned, quiet, unable not to watch. The sirens pierce our ears, and we stare at one another.
The phones ring with panicking family members crying that a second plane has crashed into the other building. I drop the phone when the fire drill alarms. The sky darkens and we head to the staircase not knowing our fate.
The World Trade Center is no more.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Aug
Deep Dive
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
She lies nestled upon the seabed, in the depths almost beyond the sun; she calls to me, drawing me in ever closer since I first saw her.
Last time I dived, we almost touched fingertips, but I was forced to come up for air, empty-handed, so to speak.
Every time I’ve gotten near to her since—three times now—I’ve woken up flat on my back upon the pier, with Mitch giving me resuscitation and mouth-to-mouth.
Next time, I’ll reach her; I’ll dive when the lifeguards change their shift on the harbour wall—Mitch won’t stop me again.
She’s waiting for me there.
From Guest Contributor Andrew Anderson
Andrew (he/him) is a writer of fiction from Bathgate, Scotland. His work has previously been published by National Flash Fiction Day Press, Sampson Low Ltd., Selcouth Station Press, The Drabble, Black Hare Press, Eerie River Publishing, Paragraph Planet, Steering 23 Publications, and Blood Song Books.
Aug
The Cave
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Today is his wife’s birthday. Five years later, a ghastly memory lingers over him. He cringes recalling the cave tour he planned for his adventurous wife. Now, he desperately yearns for her.
A cold breeze sends shivers down his spine while he silently fights back tears. His grief-stricken heart is infuriated by Mother Nature’s cruelty.
He still hears echoes of his wife’s pleas to rescue their child from nature’s wrath. Ruthless in stealing her, now this cold cave is blessed with his wife’s beautiful soul.
A flurry of air passes through him as her immortal love warms the hollow cave.
From Guest Contributor Hetal Shah
Hetal Shah graduated with her Bachelor of Commerce from SIES. She lives in Mumbai with her husband, son, and daughter. She rekindled her hobby of writing over the past year. She is the winner of Mumbai Poetry League 2020, and her poem was published in an anthology by Poets of Mumbai called Guldastaa A Bouquet of Poems. She also writes flash fiction, and has been published twice on 101words.org. She loves to read, and especially enjoys reading and writing stories of romance and everyday life. Besides writing, she enjoys cooking new cuisines, traveling, and singing.
Aug
His Touch
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Staring out of the frosty window, Samaira inhaled the misty air. She was captivated by her onerous thoughts when, suddenly, an arm coiled around her petite waist. The touch of her stepfather suffocated her. She loathed the repulsive sensation of his hand brushing against her body. Still, she surrendered to the molestation silently so her dying mother could pass peacefully. Years after her mother’s demise, she’s no longer startled by such fondling. She feeds on the arousal ignited by the stroke of a man’s body against hers. These carnal touches, which earlier caused misery, are now her gateway to riches.
From Guest Contributor Hetal Shah
Hetal Shah graduated with her Bachelor of Commerce from SIES. She lives in Mumbai with her husband, son, and daughter. She rekindled her hobby of writing over the past year. She is the winner of Mumbai Poetry League 2020, and her poem was published in an anthology by Poets of Mumbai called Guldastaa A Bouquet of Poems. She also writes flash fiction, and has been published twice on 101words.org. She loves to read, and especially enjoys reading and writing stories of romance and everyday life. Besides writing, she enjoys cooking new cuisines, traveling, and singing.
Aug
October Blues
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The stickiness of the summer air had finally disappeared, leaving behind a brisk chill in its wake. Bronze leaves danced in the wind after departing from their trees, reviving nostalgia that remained hidden deep within your bones. The same way you felt it deep inside your bones when he kissed you that Fall years agoーcupping your face with his warm hands while leaving the sweet taste of honey and cinnamon behind. Shuddering, whether from the bitter wind or suppressed memories of times that no longer existed, you crunch the leaves beneath your heavy boots harderーand you keep on walking.
From Guest Contributor Kelsey Swancott
Kelsey is a graduate of St. John Fisher College, majoring in English, with a concentration in writing while also being an editor in the campus literary magazine Angles.She is furthering her education by attending SUNY Brockport for her master’s in English, specializing in creative writing. Following graduation, she is interested in working in the editing and publishing field.
Jul
Summer Afternoons
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The scorching July sun beat on our already crimson backs as we stood to our knees in the creek. The refreshing cool ripples were a short-lived relief from the burning sun above, as we positioned ourselves under the shade of trees and waitedーquietly. Our laughter stifled in the moments of silence before they came. Springing from the water right into our open and ready hands while squeals of excitement and restrained laughter filled the thick summer air. As we began our trek home, giggling with pride at our success, we barely noticed the burning pavement under our calloused, bare feet.
From Guest Contributor Kelsey Swancott
Kelsey is a graduate of St. John Fisher College, majoring in English, with a concentration in writing while also being an editor in the campus literary magazine Angles.She is furthering her education by attending SUNY Brockport for her master’s in English, specializing in creative writing. Following graduation, she is interested in working in the editing and publishing field.
Apr
Whiskey On His Breath
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Grampy came into my bedroom with whiskey on his breath. He had a bible in his hand, so it would be awhile before he left and I could go to sleep.
That night it was all about how Joe Frasier was never the boxing champion Ali was, and never would be. Sure, anyone would pick Smokin’ Joe in a street fight, but not in the “sweet science.” Joe had no body discipline, he beat the air. Corinthians said so.
Grampy passed on thirteen years ago. Each night I close my eyes and hope he’ll come reeling into my bedroom again.
From Guest Contributor N.T. Franklin
NT Franklin has been published in Page and Spine, Fiction on the Web, 101 Words, Friday Flash Fiction, CafeLit, Madswirl, Postcard Shorts, 404 Words, Scarlet Leaf Review, Freedom Fiction, Burrst, Entropy, Alsina Publishing, Fifty-word stories, and Dime Show Review, among others.
Mar
Dancing Hands
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
She talked with her hands. It was comical.
The more animated she became, the more her hands flapped and fluttered through the air.
We teased her, had her sit on her hands, which practically made her mute.
She’d laugh then and poke our ribs, call us stinkers, and her hands danced as she did.
I didn’t make it back in time. I would have if I didn’t stop.
The bill wasn’t even due.
I was stalling, but stalling what?
My return to her bedside? Her last breath, or both?
When I got there, her hands were at her sides, spent.
From Guest Contributor Linda Chandanais
Jan
A Broken Glass
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Flour, salt and baking powder. Margaret whips up a cake recipe as familiar as her own name. The whirring of the stand mixer comforts her.
Her mind drifts to Karl. They were late to an appointment. Brakes squeal. An impact. Karl’s head shatters the windshield.
As she pours the batter, a glass rises off the counter, picked up by an unseen hand. It hovers suspended in the air, the ceiling light fixture reflected inside.
Or is it Karl’s face?
Margaret does not move or breathe. The glass falls.
Broken shards cover the tile floor.
The glass, like Karl, is gone.
From Guest Contributor Heather Santo