Posts Tagged ‘Dad’
Jul
A Mother’s Love
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
First it was only yelling. Then she sported bruises. The police carted him away. He came back. He was sorry, couldn’t believe he was capable of that. She let him back in. He escalated. A fresh set of bruises appeared. The cycle continued.
She stayed to protect the child. His safety was all that mattered. A mother’s love.
A protection order was issued, papers were served, the divorce imminent. That was the legal way to handle the situation, but not Dad’s way. He wasn’t worried about legal. He didn’t give his daughter away to be slapped around. A father’s love.
From Guest Contributor NT Franklin
Jul
Metamorphosis
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Kids are dumb. Especially when they’re fourteen.
Vivian was this really fat girl in my Algebra class. Her friend passed me a note via my friend: Vivian likes you.
She waited for me in the cafeteria.
Her face was cute, but I didn’t want to be seen with her.
“I don’t like that fat girl,” I shouted so all would hear.
Since then I can’t bear to see her cry.
Yesterday, over breakfast, I asked my son to pass a birthday card to her.
She cried.
“You know, Dad, sometimes you’re a real dumb guy.”
I smiled. “I know, Son.”
From Guest Contributor E. Barnes
E. has works published at Entropy, Spillwords, The Purple Pen, The Haven, and several works are in the anthology, “NanoNightmares.”
Jun
The Century Plant
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
NATURE SUBMISSION:
People lined up around the block, masks on, cameras and children in hand. The news spread fast, as these things do in 2020, via Facebook and Instagram. Some thought it might be a hoax, but any excuse to leave the house was welcome.
The woman who planted the Agave was just ten years old when she and her dad had picked placed the little cactus in their front yard. She’d decided to hold onto the house after her parents moved to Florida hoping to see it flower someday. Now, despite the crowds and reporters, the long wait had been worth it.
From Guest Contributor Alice Ryder
Apr
Divorced
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
I’m the son of divorce to the neighborhood. Parents keep me from their children. They don’t know my pedigree, they claim. Nothing against me personally.
They know about Dad and his liaisons. They slander over smiles and Sinatra. Mother’s a “hysteric.” Can’t keep a husband. Son’s a bastard.
Mother wears starched smiles for neighbors, weeps at night.
I want to fight. I want Mother to smile. Let neighbors hate me for loving Elvis, not for Dad’s idiocy. I want to cruise the streets, to be called friend. Best friend.
I’d be considered hysterical to mention this.
I don a smile.
From Guest Contributor Yash Seyedbagheri
Yash is a graduate of Colorado State University’s MFA program in fiction. Yash’s work is forthcoming or has been published in WestWard Quarterly, Café Lit, 50 Word Stories, (mac)ro (mic), and Ariel Chart.
Mar
There’s Something The Matter With The Sea
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
We all got off the coach and headed for the beach. The couple who’d sat across from us stripped to reveal their swimsuits, like a superhero duo. I told Dad on the sand, but he seemed distracted, staring into the horizon.
‘I think there’s something the matter with the sea,’ he said.
Mum told him to cut it out. He nodded, patted me on the shoulder and turned back towards her.
The water was warm, like a bath. That was our second clue. ‘Don’t worry,’ the news anchor had said at breakfast. ‘Hurricane Katrina isn’t expected to cause much damage.’
From Guest Contributor Robert Keal
Feb
Freedom Of Expression
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Their art combined gibberish with colour. Exterior walls and street recycling receptacles became graphic spectacles.
“Let’s see you join us,” they demanded.
“It’s wrong to deface public property,” I replied.
When a recycling truck rolled in, frustration of the driver as to not being able to do his pickup job landed them at the school office. The self-appointed artists got suspended from class and were ordered to remove their creations.
“Did you take part in that graffiti?” Dad asked.
“No, I only watched,” I answered, careful to not disclose that they asked me for my artistic advice and I obliged.
From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs
Krystyna is a writer of poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. She
resides in Edmonton, Canada with her husband and stuffed animals and
many friends.
Feb
Bottles Of Love
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Nick is aroused by the clinking of bottles in the fridge. Mother’s having another drink.
That old clink, so familiar. It’s a constant sound since Dad took off, piercing Nick’s twelve-year old ears.
Cue Mother’s laughter, cackling. Cracked.
He can’t tell Mother what it means to see tenderness replaced by laughter. Rage. Bills go unpaid, furniture disappears. But night after night, bottles take over. Wine, vodka. Beer.
One night, Nick sneaks downstairs, removes each bottle with methodical coldness. Hurls each one at the floor.
He shatters again and again, surveys the ruins.
Tomorrow, more will appear. He’ll do it again.
From Guest Contributor Yash Seyedbagheri
Yash is a graduate of Colorado State University’s MFA program in fiction. His story, “Soon,” was nominated for a Pushcart. Yash’s stories are forthcoming or have been published in Café Lit, Mad Swirl, 50 Word Stories, and Ariel Chart, among others.
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.
Dec
Postcards Of Joy
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Mother loves postcards. I wish you could see this cathedral. I miss you. I have been constrained by tradition. I move from friend to friend. Wake in one bedroom, slumber in another. No personal markers, photos. Gifts conveying motherly intimacy. My favorite Yates novel, a radio, a train set. Living with Mother was rife with frenetic energy once Dad left. He called her a senseless dreamer. Life was defined by bottles, hissing wine. Cackling laughter, dissolved smiles. I want Mother at ease. Instead, I conjure her flitting about cathedrals, mistaking facades for joy. I tell her I’m happy. Try to believe.
From Guest Contributor Yash Seyedbagheri
Yash is a graduate of Colorado State University’s MFA program in fiction. His story “Soon,” was nominated for a Pushcart and he has also had work nominated for The Best Small Fictions. Yash’s work is forthcoming or has been published in journals such as 50-Word Stories, Silent Auctions, City. River. Tree. and Ariel Chart.
Nov
The Last Voyage
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Our 93-year-old dad, without his hearing aids or even his three-pronged cane, still managed somehow to give everyone the slip, sneaking off to Monte Carlo Night down in the cellar of the dream factory, where he coolly turned over his hole card and won the pot, after which he started back upstairs, but on the way, and despite struggling for breath, charmed a roller derby queen on a royal visit out of her skates, so instead of ever returning to his rooms at the assisted living boarded a ship they say was built in the same shipyard as the Titanic.
From Guest Contributor Howie Good
Howie is the author most recently of Stick Figure Opera from Cajun Mutt Press. He co-edits the journals Unbroken and UnLost.