Posts Tagged ‘Boy’
Dec
In Pursuit Of Tomorrow
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
A young boy shaped sand sculptures. His parents combed the beach with a metal detector. When clouds rolled in, mother rose, balancing on the only leg spared in a shark attack.
Over driftwood, shells and rocks they trampled to reach the trail that would lead them to a road.
Father turned for one last glance of the abandoned tanker anchored by the coast. He had heard of buried treasures from at least a dozen ships in those turbulent waters.
As he imagined newly acquired wealth for his family, the sea tossed out a bottle. Nestled inside was a folded note.
From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs
Krystyna writes poetry, fiction and creative nonfiction. She resides in Alberta, Canada.
Aug
The Great War
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The gunfire in the near distance didn’t faze me after ten months of war. I had a job to do and with few hours of sleep and lack of food, the lieutenant couldn’t believe my energy. The truth was, I hid my exhaustion because the men needed my surgical skills.
I operated on an eighteen-year-old boy who took two bullets to the leg. By the time he came to me, it was too late. I had to remove it, or he’d die.
The captain said ‘The Great War’ would end soon.
I wished I believed him as another casualty arrived.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Jun
Making Textiles
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Kneeling on the hard ground making textiles is an arduous task when the sun is beaming, but the heat is worse indoors. The brick wall of my home blocks the air flow and sweat trickles down my forehead.
My husband Mario is walking up the path after a long day of working in the fields.
“Maria, please come inside now. It is time to cook dinner.”
“I’ll be just a minute.”
I pack my belongings and go home.
Mario and our boy are laughing and singing a mellifluous tune while setting the dinner table.
My heart is full of love.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Feb
Recovery
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The healing came slow. A damaged psyche doesn’t show like a bruise. Her little boy needs her; she is everything to him and he is the world to her. But she needs to be whole for him.
More than a month of repair to start the recovery. Participation in daily activities was the first sign. A faint light at the end of the tunnel, but a light nonetheless. Her posture showed confidence. Then her gait picked up a bit. A twinkle returned to her eyes. Her journey would be long and arduous, but she was on her way to recovery.
From Guest Contributor NT 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, Dime Show Review, among others.
Feb
Undetected
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
“We’re detectives,” said the teenager in Greta’s doorway. “Like Nancy Drew. But guys.”
“And brothers!” the other boy added.
Greta studied them. “So…more like…the Hardy Boys?”
“Who?” the Hardly-there Boys asked together.
Greta smirked. “Never mind.”
“We’re tracking a thief,” explained the first boy. “He’s targeting Culpepper Lane!”
Greta gasped.
“Vases, television, artwork.” The second boy ticked off his fingers. “Even Mrs. Giovanni’s tiara! We’re questioning everyone. May we come inside?”
“Certainly,” Greta said. “I was just setting up my new TV.” She ushered them into her immaculate foyer, a sea of diamonds sparkling unnoticed atop her head.
From Guest Contributor John Adams
John (he/him/his) lives near Kansas City, where he produces comedy shows and writes about teenage detectives, robo-butlers, and cursed cowboys. Twitter: @JohnAmusesNoOne.
Nov
Autumn’s Menace
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
A plainclothes policeman, using a pair of handcuffs as brass knuckles, cut the face of a boy who was wandering the city in a hospital gown. The sirens got louder. Windows rattled and the pictures on the walls shook. Sometimes I think it’s not true that teaching a child to not step on a caterpillar will make you a better person. Sometimes I think the plainclothesman is going to walk through the door, so I just keep waiting. The city streets are deserted – no St. Patrick’s Day parade, no people. In these slow days of unease, everyone is a biohazard.
From Guest Contributor Howie Good
Howie’s latest poetry collections are The Death Row Shuffle (Finishing Line Press, 2020) and The Trouble with Being Born (Ethel Micro-Press, 2020).
Oct
Ontological Question Within A Dream
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
I know I am asleep. I am floating, cruising through an old neighborhood. I recognize every detail of the houses and the trees. Perhaps I am just exploring the deepest, untouched basement spaces of my memory, where everything is stored? I float by an antique shop. The elderly owner, opening it up, looks at me. Now I muse: am I experiencing astral projection within my dream? I float by a little boy in black: going to a funeral? He is snagged on my floating robes, which are also black. I wonder: is this how one becomes, all unknowing, a witch?
From Guest Contributor Cheryl Caesar
Cheryl lived in Paris, Tuscany and Sligo for 25 years; she earned her doctorate in comparative literature at the Sorbonne and taught literature and phonetics. She now teaches writing at Michigan State University. Last year she published over a hundred poems in the U.S., Germany, India, Bangladesh, Yemen and Zimbabwe, and won third prize in the Singapore Poetry Contest for her poem on global warming. Her chapbook Flatman: Poems of Protest in the Trump Era is now available from Amazon and Goodreads.
Aug
On Being A Man
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
HUBRIS CONTEST:
His backhand caused her body to pirouette grotesquely before landing face down on the coffee table.
Wincing, she rolled off the table, and sat up, mopping blood futilely from her mouth with the back of her right hand.
“Aren’t ya proud o’ me, workin’ all night?” he whined.
Unblinking, she nodded.
Then, the boy, who’d learned what a man was from his father, brought the cast iron pan onto the back of his father’s head with a sound like a loud wet kiss.
The man slid to the ground gracefully.
Beaming at her son, she said, “Now that’s a man!”
From Guest Contributor Jody Lehrer
Jun
The Homes Of Birds (Nature Contest Winner)
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
I’m very excited to present the winner of our Nature Flash Fiction Contest, from regular contributor Brook Bhagat. Someone might look at the strange format and say it’s more of a poem than a short story, but my favorite poems are the ones that tell a story as well. Plus I liked it so this is the one I’m choosing. Congratulations Brook! And thanks to everyone who participated. A lot of great stories.
I understand the funeral I have the address the dress the time
it begins with smiling cameras and ends with paper tablecloths, cold cuts and deviled eggs downstairs
even worse is the sunshine, all those empty minutes left
I would have lost it
if not
For the hike, still in our black together,
you and Ben, the boy,
me and my sister arm in arm
down the easy path at
Garden of the Gods,
lighter than before, noticing the homes
of birds in the rocks and remembering
we are just a moment, fragments
of a mystery that flies and sings.
From Guest Contributor Brook Bhagat
Brook’s poetry, fiction, non-fiction, and humor have appeared in Monkeybicycle, Empty Mirror Magazine, Harbinger Asylum, Little India, Rat’s Ass Review, Lotus-Eater Magazine, Anthem: A Tribute to Leonard Cohen, and other journals and anthologies. She and her husband Gaurav created Blue Planet Journal, which she edits and writes for. She holds an MFA from Lindenwood University, teaches creative writing at a community college, and is writing a novel. Her poetry collection, Only Flying, is due out Nov. 16, 2021 from Unsolicited Press. See more at brook-bhagat.com or reach her on Twitter at @BrookBhagat.
Stay tuned for an announcement soon about our next contest!
Jan
After A Painting By David Lynch
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
He said to me, “I am dying.” I said, “How is that my fault?” but sat down on the bed and held him and rocked him. Somewhere out there the lake was being strangled. I was frightened the fish would die, and that this would instigate the death row shuffle for everyone. The sound of endless wars in far-off places is still buzzing in my head. I stop, I look. The boy and the car are gone. It’s just crying and anger here, and farmers who make less than a dollar a day having an arm or leg blown off.
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.