Posts Tagged ‘Curses’

5
Mar

Karma Police

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

They said that AI law enforcement tools would mean the end of false accusations and innocent incarcerations. There was an initial trial period for the technology to iron out all the kinks, but it did seem the system was much fairer than before. The AI wasn’t racist or sexist or liable to bribes and corruption.

Unfortunately, soon after full implementation the scope of crimes being charged grew exponetially. No longer were they focused solely on the worst offenses. Misdemeanors, microaggressions, impoliteness, dress code violations, and even excessive curses were now punishable by jail time.

We called them the karma police.

27
Apr

The Bully Business Professor

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

The asshat in an ascot quoted Foucault. He made faculty senate holy hell. I think he was in English, maybe History; I knew he wasn’t in athletics!

Anyway, motherfucker just loved the drone of his self-important voice. How about the dulcet tone of a head slap?

I snapped and pummeled him. An Engineering professor high-fived me before public safety came.

At my hearing, I learned he was old money, Ivy League—his mom and dad were philanthropists. He smirked when I got suspended.

Afterwards, I gave him a super wedgy and nasty pink belly.

That’s my story.

Paper or Plastic?

From Guest Contributor JD Clapp

22
Nov

Crazy

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

That’s what he thought. Small balloon floated over his head with &#%!@?; yet, he smiled at her with his lizard eyes—his lips razor-thin, unable to utter the string of words that would sear the flesh off of her. He remembered a bible verse as a matter of reckoning the lies he listened to while sitting at that table. He thought about the sounds that kept him up half the night. Not new sounds in the farmhouse— no new sounds, except theirs, living in the thin cracks of ticking floorboards and plaster dust. He listened without making a sound.

From Guest Contributor M.J. Iuppa

M.J.’s fifth full-length poetry collection The Weight of Air is forthcoming from Kelsay Books, May, 2022. For the past 33 years, she has lived on a small farm near the shores of Lake Ontario. Check out her blog: mjiuppa.blogspot.com for her musings on writing, sustainability & life’s stew.

31
Aug

Irony

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

I’m very excited to announce the winner of our Hubris Flash Fiction Contest, from regular contributor Lisa Scuderi-Burkimsher. I hope that winning doesn’t go to her head!

Congratulations Lisa! And thank you to everyone who submitted to the contest. It was difficult picking just one.

Bill combed his hair, gave a thumbs up to his reflection in the mirror and then left.

He walked with a swagger and passing bystanders cussed him.

“It’s a pandemic, wear a mask, idiot,” yelled an irate man from across the street.

Bill flipped him the finger and continued.

When he arrived at his cousin’s barbecue, he was stopped at the back gate.

“You can’t come in here without a mask,” said his cousin, Mark.

“Come on, man, I never get sick.”

Mark slammed the gate in his face.

Bill stood for a moment before walking away and then sneezed.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

15
Jul

Limited Engagement

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Curtain rises.

Exterior of a house, bushes, a weathered blue Chevy in the drive.

The door opens. Enter GRANDPA. Locking the door, he crosses to the car. Six-year-old JEFFREY sneaks out of the bushes and creeps up behind Grandpa.

“Boo!”

The new game. He’s incorrigible.

Grandpa jumps. “Jesus Motherfucking Christ!” Clamping a hand over his chest, he staggers, collapsing onto the side of the auto. Grandpa slips to the ground and is still.

Wide-eyed Jeffrey cries.

A spotlight from the stage shines out. The crying, a baby’s voice.

The curtain falls.

No curtain call.

The houselights come up.

Get out.

From Guest Contributor Erik C. Martin

Erik lives and writes in San Diego. He misses Comic-Con, his critique group, and SCBWI meetings. Follow him on Twitter at @ErikCMartin.

6
Jul

Plastic Jesus In An Upright Tub

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Me and Dale chuck rocks at it. Before school, while we wait for the bus on Highway 62 and after school or on Sundays. It’s not all we do. We sit and talk about which girl at school we’d most like to bang. I’m more of an ass man. Dale really likes big boobs and has lots of ideas about what to do with them. Dale has a .22 rifle he shoots stuff with. I tried to get him to shoot Plastic Jesus but he said the bullet might ricochet and kill us. That would be a miracle, I said.

From Guest Contributor John Riley

John is the founder and publisher of Morgan Reynolds, an educational publishing company. He has written over forty books of nonfiction for secondary level students. His fiction and poetry have been published in Smokelong Quarterly, Connotation Press, St. Anne’s Review, The Dead Mule, and other many other journals both online and in print.

26
Dec

Love Triumphal

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Mother hides me in the closet.

You won’t go back to that school. I’ll deal with that asshole father.

She smells of lavender perfume and sweat. Not like Dad with his Old Spice, calculated aroma, who mocks Mother. Arranges my future with Headmaster Edgar. Harvard, law.

Men bang at the doors. Buzzwords waft into my musky space: “Custody arrangement,” “Legal orders.”

Fuck off. Mother’s words hold firmness, edge.

Footsteps draw near, unpleasant pounding.

My mother tells them I’m her son. I’m someone who needs love.

I absorb that word, so foreign, while she spars, words rising.

Love. What beautiful form.

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.

4
Dec

Song For Ancient Children

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

You’re moving away rather than moving toward something. I can’t be sure if you’ll ever come back. The sky is dotted with clouds that resemble ominous black eggs. You want to scream for help, but you’re out of breath. You’ve no idea at all what you should do next. “Fuck the clown!” you confusedly think. “Where’s my clock?” Just as someone is saying it’ll be OK, you feel a bone break. You see buildings toppling over, trees melting back into the ground. You hear angels approaching at full speed in chariots. There aren’t even parking spaces big enough for them.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie is the author most recently of Stick Figure Opera: 99 100-word Prose Poems from Cajun Mutt Press.

25
Nov

Evolution #9

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Yesterday was scheduled to be a holiday. Then shoals of fish came creeping over the hill, having grown rudimentary arms and legs. “What the fuck?!” you said as you watched them begin to blend in with the surroundings. Despite the invasion, no one was coming to save us. Some people panicked and, in their impatience to escape, broke out windows or jumped from moving trains. Others were climbing up to their roofs. I think this might be the way of the future, and just in case it is, maybe you should be standing over there helping hold the ladder steady.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie co-edits the journals Unbroken and UnLost.

17
Jul

The Knock

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

There’s a knocking on the spaceship door when there shouldn’t have been. For Chris-sake, I’m umpteen millions of miles from anywhere and here’s this knocking. It’s deliberate, and it’s the all too common knock of: knock, tiddly-knock-knock, knock knock. Is this a space hallucination? I’ve heard of them, but hell’s bells, I’ve only been up here for 50 days, surely it couldn’t happen as soon as this. Oh, mother, it’s peering in the port-hole now and looks just like me. I do feel a bit lonely now, maybe we could get along. I’ve just got to get this hatch open…

From Guest Contributor Len Mooring