Posts Tagged ‘Bed’
May
Unlucky Fate
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
After six months of recovery in the hospital from my car accident, I’m finally going home.
I walk outside into the fresh air, taking deep breaths, inhaling and exhaling. I can’t stand the musty air in hospitals. My cell rings distracting me from my happy moment and I answer it.
“Hey, Charlie, I heard you’re discharged today.”
“Yeah, I’m on my way home as we speak.”
As I’m crossing the street, I walk straight into an oncoming car. People gather around me as I’m on the ground unable to move.
I guess I won’t be enjoying my own bed tonight.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Apr
The West Wing
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
We’d barely set down our suitcases when Vic said he wanted to leave. “Let’s wait for a Howard Johnson. This place is a dump. Look, cockroaches!”
And there they were, pausing to look at us as they strolled across the bed. “Yes,” I said, “but they’re dressed to the nines.”
They were stunning, her in a lacy ball gown with puffed sleeves and a train, fashioned from the iridescent wings of flies, and him in his coat and tails and tiny top hat.
“Let’s stay,” I said. “Maybe we can learn something.”
“Don’t be stupid,” he said. “Roaches are roaches.”
From Guest Contributor Brook Bhagat
Brook’s nonfiction, poetry, and fiction have appeared or are forthcoming in dozens of publications, including Little India, Outpost, Nowhere Poetry, The Syzygy Poetry Journal, and Rat’s Ass Review, and she is the co-owner and chief editor of BluePlanetJournal.com. She holds a B.A. from Vassar College and an MFA from Lindenwood University and teaches creative writing at a community college. She has completed a full-length hybrid manuscript and is writing a novel.
Apr
Unfamiliar
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
It had been three years since Lea admitted her mother into the nursing home for Alzheimer patients. Sometimes she knew Lea and sometimes she was just a stranger visiting.
“Mom, wouldn’t you like to get some fresh air outside. Let me take you for a walk.” Lea pushed the wheelchair to the door.
“Where is my daughter? I don’t know you!” She struggled to break free from her wheelchair.
“I’m your daughter. It’s me, Lea.”
The nurse came in and helped Lea’s mother back into bed.
“I raised a nice girl.” Lea’s mother said.
It wasn’t Lea she spoke of.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Mar
Hindsight
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Debbie got high last night.
Her conscience weighed on her, but not enough to refuse her friends. There was no explicit peer pressure. Rather, not joining in would have meant that she’d forever be considered apart from them..
Once the high came on, her reservations disappeared. It was the best decision she’d ever made.
Twelve hours later, lying in bed as the guilt tries to set in along with the nausea, she’s no longer so sure. Hindsight suggests getting high was a mistake.
Debbie remembers kissing Eric Bradshaw and decides that no one listens to hindsight. No one cool anyway.
Dec
Ah, Love
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
“I need a man that can put a ring on my finger.”
“I’ll get you one as soon as possible, baby!”
“I deserve someone better.”
“I can be better. I swear I can!”
“I need someone that will always be there for me.”
“And I can do that! I’ll be here, there, anywhere! Just name it!”
“I want a guy that will actually listen to me.”
“I’m listening, sweetie. My ears are all yours.”
“Somebody that loves me.”
“I do!”
“I need a man that is guaranteed to please me in bed.”
” . . . I don’t think this is going to work.”
From Guest Contributor Patrick Winters
Nov
Only Flying
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
It was not until it hit the blade of the worst rock, riddled with femurs and water skulls, that the river split open and found the leverage to jump out of its bed. It left comfortable moss, minnows’ gossip, and the sound of its own body rubbing past stones, on or around. It surrendered, leapt without choosing, a reflection in air of the path it had known before—the meadow, the factory, the wooden swing. The cottonwoods, black and white. It had become the ocean it had always wanted to meet, silent now, still on the same path. Only flying.
From Guest Contributor Brook Bhagat
Brook holds a BA from Vassar College and an MFA in Writing from Lindenwood University. She teaches college writing and is the co-owner and chief editor of BluePlanetJournal.com. Her nonfiction, poetry, and flash fiction have appeared in Creations Magazine, Little India, Outpost, Nowhere Poetry, and The Syzygy Poetry Journal.
Oct
The Gravity Of Shame
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Daphne has a secret.
She’s scared to speak of it. She doubts anyone will understand, even her closest friends. She only ever wanted to fit in, and so she’s hidden her affliction for more than a year now. She’s bought heavy boots, wears bulky jewelry, and ties herself to her bed at night, to avoid drifting away.
She’s searched on Google to no avail. She thinks about seeing a doctor, but what if they want to do experiments on her?
In the end, she decides it’s easier to float into the eternity of space than to admit she’s gravity immune.
Oct
Locked
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Depression lives with me. Locks my mind in a formidable place. It allows limited interactions with the outside world. Pushes aside the people who love me.
When I feel ready to emerge, it tempts me to abandon the thought. I’d peer out of windows opened to the world and sniff the air. Then, recoil. Preferring the comfort of what I know to something new.
Today, its hold is difficult to resist. A backpack filled with textbooks stays put in my bedroom. The bed becomes my refuge. The pillow, a sponge for tears.
The lock on my school locker remains locked.
From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs
Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. Her work has been published at: Nailpolish Stories, 50-Word Stories, 100 word story, 101 Words, Boston Literary Magazine, From the Depths (Haunted Waters Press), ShortbreadStories, SixWordMemoirs, and Espresso Stories.
Sep
Lunch With Maurice
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
I was doing time at another warehouse.
Another W2 in a factotum year.
Maurice, pudding formed with a handlebar mustache, sat across from me.
He liked security. “I keep a weapon in every room. I don’t even lock my door. I have got a shotgun on the wall, a handgun in each room unregistered. I got a bat in the bathroom and a sword under my bed with a knife between my pillows.”
“Expecting trouble?”
“My dad was in the navy. Antiwar activists target the relatives of veterans.”
Maurice was found dead in his apartment.
Stabbed in the eye.
From Guest Contributor Michael Zone
Michael is the author of Fellow Passengers: Pubic Transit Poetry, Meditations & Musings and Better than the Movies: 4 Screenplays. His work has been featured in Because Eileen, Dead Snakes, Horror Trash Sleaze, In Between Hangovers, Three Line Poetry, Triadae, and The Voices Project. He scrapes by in Grand Rapids, MI
Jun
Try Again
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
He buys a supermarket flower bouquet and, pecking her cheek, gives it to his wife in the kitchen. She throws it in the trash can after he goes to work the next morning. Again. He buys white roses from the subway exit vendor, and gives them, with a hug, to his wife in the living room. Into the trash can after he goes to work. Again. He gives a pink potted orchid, expectantly, to his wife in the dining room. The orchid sits on a bedroom table the next morning when the wife lies in bed with the trash collector.
From Guest Contributor Gerald Kamens