Posts Tagged ‘Anger’
Apr
Weightlifting
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
When he first started pushing barbells, he did it to get his anger out, throwing the weights from his body, stressing his tendons as he exhaled sprays of spit with every red-faced repetition, every sweaty pump. He realized his joints wouldn’t last long hurling metal, so he calmed his approach, traded manic intervals – of fighting gravity with fury – for calculated precision, and he’d demonstrate, lying down on a chair with an invisible bar connecting his fists, showing us the proper form of a barbell press, his big forearms and biceps flexing and twisting slowly as his muscles contracted, then extended.
From Guest Contributor Parker Wilson
Parker is a writer and editor living in Highland Park. He is a recent MFA graduate and spends his free time running along the Detroit River. He’s published in Bristol Noir and is a founding editor at DUMBO Press.
Instagram:@parkerreviewsbooks
Dec
Corpus Delicti
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Every day there’s a funeral – actually, several. You peer into the open casket and immediately regret it. I have that kind of face. There has just always been something about me that provokes people to anger and upset. “Hitler should come back and gas you!” they would yell, as if the very idea of me threatened them. An unknown caller once even left a series of gunshots on my voicemail. Now I’m being lifted off the bier and swiftly carried down the aisle and out the door. A desolate rain is falling. I don’t remember a time when it wasn’t.
From Guest Contributor Howie Good
Howie’s newest book, Frowny Face, a synergistic mix of his prose poetry and handmade collages, is forthcoming from Redhawk Publications.
Apr
Rubble
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The ruler of the rubble sits at the end of a table that reaches around the world. Who will live to see his reign unravel? The babies, who grow up somewhere else? Will they return middle aged, full of stories from their broken parents, and older brothers and sisters who went to school in their own country, saluted their own flag, played in the sea that belonged to everyone? Surely they will come, full of sadness and anger, looking for remnants of family left behind. Grownups, who pick up handfuls of rubble and say, this used to be my home.
From Guest Contributor Linda Lowe
Sep
I See You
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
If we could only look deeply into the eyes of strangers, we’d see not a stranger at all, but a piece of ourselves.
As I stand in line, I see a man pull his shirt over a large belly. Beside him, a teenager glances anxiously at passing faces.
If people knew, they’d feel more compassion for one another. Indeed, they’d offer kindness even as they are shown anger.
The knowing inside me is too big. I’m surrounded by the noise and lights of the world, seemingly unchanged from before. My heart aches. I see you, but do you see me?
From Guest Contributor Caitlyn Palmer
May
Leaving Home
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
When he slammed the door, he did not say goodbye. He just left. He left the house, the street, the small town, all the narrow-mindedness he had endured for eighteen years. No one was going to tell him what to do or what to believe.
He boarded the train, and soon he was in boot camp. Then he was a full-fledged soldier. He had enough anger inside to slay the enemy. Before long he was on a troop ship, and then in the forests of France where he began to miss the town where he grew up.
It was 1942.
From Guest Contributor Anita G. Gorman
Jun
Anger Is An Arrow
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The sun was shining for once, and I was sitting out on the patio with a book, Clare Carlisle’s Philosopher of the Heart: The Restless Life of Soren Kierkegaard, open on my lap, while I stared off into the middle distance, trying to think of a specific skill my angry beautiful workaholic father had taught me growing up – how to change the oil in a car, for example, or restring a steel-string acoustic guitar, or make sourdough starter from scratch – and I couldn’t, I couldn’t think of one, unless, that is, you consider being a yellow bull’s eye a skill.
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.
Dec
Moon Shot
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
You can open your eyes now. The walls are covered in scribbled physics equations. Nothing wrong with that, but someone has to get on that rocket and get blown up, maybe. Take it from me, you don’t want to overlook product warnings (“Do not insert in rectum or vagina using fingers or mechanical device.”). Awareness is just so important. Everything happens too fast, as if hurled in irrational anger by the hand of God, though it’s really fluid dynamics. Even a momentary lapse in concentration can result in the sky cracking, dripping, burning, and the blue of night remaining unsolved.
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.
Feb
The Painful Meditations Of A Modern Day Buddha
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Kevin enjoyed the contemplation of his morning walks, the perfect ritual for tuning out from his devices. Sure, he’d steal the occasional glance at his phone, but only to ensure he wasn’t missing an important message.
By 9am, the sidewalks were normally empty, so when the preteen on his bicycle came wheeling towards him, Kevin was surprised. He expected the kid to move into the grass or skip off the curb, yet he continued straight towards him, until Kevin had no choice but to step aside.
The anger rising inside him at the inconvenience was certain to ruin his day.
Nov
Where Did All The Anger Go?
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
She raged against the shackles that fashion lashed around her body, that gender weighed upon her soul, and she spit and she clawed and she cursed the names of the boys who mocked her aspirations.
Until she fell in love with a man and he told her lies about what was possible and she managed to stop cursing all the boys and their contempt. The aspersions weren’t gone but just forgotten as she slowly bled to death.
She’d once promised to burn herself to ashes but that was long ago. Now she asked herself “Where did all the anger go?”
Apr
Final Act
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Scott stared at the blank screen and pondered how to begin his obituary. Prone to bouts of depression, solitude, and introspection, Scott Beeker lived a quiet life filled with anger, passion, and, most importantly, love. Yes, that sounded nice, he thought. During the final years of his life he traveled the country in search of romance and adventure. He found both one night last May in the basement of a restaurant in downtown Los Angeles. There was so much to tell, wasn’t there? So many stories that were more interesting than he’d first thought. If only there was more time.
From Guest Contributor Dan Slaten