Posts Tagged ‘Brother’
Aug
The Celebration
by thegooddoctor in Uncategorized
Where was he?
Anxious guests chattered in anticipation of what would happen next. The priest glanced at the row of individuals immediately before him. Then, at his watch.
Time passed on. The front door opened. A man rushed in.
No one turned to greet him. No talking caught his ears.
Who would’ve believed his story of being caught up in traffic when he was golfing with friends and lost track of time?
He fumbled in his dress jacket pocket, finding the wedding ring lodged in its creases.
Despite his absence as ‘best man’, he hoped his brother’s wedding went well.
From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs
Krystyna is a writer of poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. She resides in Edmonton, Canada.
Jun
The Indestructible Presence
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
I am no stranger. I have existed as long as humans have been on this earth, perhaps even longer. I have had many names through the ages. It doesn’t matter what I have been called, the outcome is usually the same. Whether you are human or animal, I will make you sick. You may not die but you will suffer.
Margaret learned that I am real, even though I cannot be seen with the human eye. My brother, Ebola, made her ill in Nigeria. My sister, Hanta, did the same to a handyman in Colorado. I am the ubiquitous virus.
From Guest Contributor Janice Siderius
May
Abedabun
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Abedabun weaves baskets while her father makes arrowheads. The sun is warm against her face and she tires of the mundane ritual but does not complain when her father rubs a droplet of sweat from her cheek with affection.
Her mother is by the river collecting herbs, humming in tune with the birds, while her brother and sister collect insects for amusement.
Hiawatha, the finest young man in the tribe, approaches Abedabun and her father with a token of marriage, a deer slung over his broad shoulders.
She stops her work and looks to her father.
Hiawatha’s token is accepted.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Nov
The Bobby Pin Woman
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
In my brother’s dream, a woman was sleeping on his closet shelf. When she woke, she claimed she was going to kill our grandfather with bobby pins. She was surrounded by them, and called herself the Bobby Pin Woman. All the pins were short in those days, without the cushion things on the ends like now, that save your scalp. When we went to see our grandfather, he lay in a hospital bed that raised him up from the waist. At the Rosary, I asked my brother what “Hail Mary” meant. At five I only knew to bow my head.
From Guest Contributor Linda Lowe
Linda’s stories and poems have appeared in Outlook Springs, Misfit Magazine, Gone Lawn, A Story in 100 Words, What Rough Beast, Eunoia Review, and others.
Sep
It’s Not Me, It’s You
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
You hear the thin cries of a drowning man. You notice that seemingly innocent words like “today,” “yesterday,” and “tomorrow” have been censored. You pick quarrels with the baggers at grocery stores. You try but fail to ignore the prevalence of right-wing militias, foreign movies dubbed in English, shark sightings. You prefer baseball to football and a medically induced coma to either. You wonder what it’d be like to suffer a gunshot. You have a recurrent dream you’re lost in an old abandoned warehouse, usually with a friend you had growing up whose brother played Russian roulette once too often.
From Guest Contributor Howie Good
Howie is the author of THE DEATH ROW SHUFFLE, a poetry collection forthcoming from Finishing Line Press.
Jun
The Squeaky Gate
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Carol heard the front gate creak; someone had come into the garden. “Who could it be? Who is out at midnight?” The doorbell rang. She quickly put on her bathrobe and started for the door, then hesitated. Should she answer it? What if someone wanted to harm her?
Carol slowly cracked the door and saw her mother standing there.
“Mom! What are you doing here?”
“Promise me you will take care of your brother.”
Her mother turned and walked away.
The next morning Carol learned that her mother had died of a heart attack the night before at 11 pm.
From Guest Contributor Janice Siderius
Jan
21
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
My sister’s 21 years older. She’s 37. Often jokes I’m the milkman’s son.
Nancy calls me Saint Nick, says I’m too giving. Nicknames me dummkopf when I trip.
I love her energy, when she jokes about my clothing or love of Debussy. She’s an Elvis-loving newspaperwoman.
Yet, the banter lacks that natural rhythm, that give-and-take. We didn’t grow up playing or fighting together. But Nancy says age is arbitrary.
I wonder if she feels self-consciousness. Especially when she calls me little brother, accentuating the words.
I just banter. Call her sis. Joke that she’s my secret mother.
It’s almost believable.
From Guest Contributor Yash Seyedbagheri
Yash is a graduate of Colorado State University’s MFA program in fiction. His work is forthcoming or has been published in journals such as 50 Word Stories, Silent Auctions, City. River. Tree. and Ariel Chart.
Dec
The Gift
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Timothy wants a brother for Christmas.
His mother, divorced, comes up with an alternative solution and sits Timothy on her lap. “Honey, there’s another way we could give you a similar present. Each month we can sponsor a child.”
Timothy tilts his head. “What does that mean, Mommy?”
“Well, each month we’ll send money to help the boy get food, education, and whatever he needs. Some children in other countries can’t afford these things and need help.”
Timothy’s face lit up the room with his radiant smile. “I like that, Mommy.”
In Bangladesh, a little boy has a happy holiday.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Nov
Thankful
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
I smell the turkey as my father carves each slice delicately. My
mother’s homemade mashed potatoes steaming, the butter melting down onto
my dish, makes my mouth water.
We can’t touch our food until the turkey is on the dish and the
Thanksgiving prayer has been said.
My younger brother squirms in his seat waiting to shovel stuffing into
his mouth.
“Okay, the turkey is carved,” my father says and clasps his hands
together and begins the prayer.
It’s not the food I realize that makes me happy. It’s the faces
surrounding me at this table that I’m thankful for.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Feb
What’s Up Pussycat?
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
An elderly lady made an urgent call to the vet because her cat was off her food.
The vet carried out a full examination before pronouncing.
‘I have some wonderful news for you Miss Soames. Your lovely tortoiseshell is pregnant and will soon have a litter of kittens. Congratulations!’
‘That’s impossible. She never goes out. She always stays in the house.’
Just then, an old and battered ginger tom walked into the kitchen and began to munch on some food.
‘I bet that he’s the culprit,’ the vet said.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she said through red cheeks. ‘That’s Dewdrop’s brother.’
From Guest Contributor Rick Haynes