Posts Tagged ‘Day’
Mar
Sea Angel
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Silvia, sound asleep, pleasantly dreamed of the beach, her solace.
She relished the sound of the ocean splashing against the dock, and the warm breeze against her face, when a beautiful image ascended from the water. A lovely sea angel flapped its white wings, and a halo gleamed above her head. The glowing angel approached Silvia and told her she would be her protector, then placed her translucent hand on Silvia’s forehead.
Silvia awakened calmed and ready to start her day. She showered, dressed, and left for work.
When she returned that evening, a glimmering halo lay on her pillow.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Jul
Fond Memory
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
As I lifted my daughter in the air, her melodious laughter echoed. My wife waved and set the picnic table, her long blond hair blowing in the breeze. The birds chirped in unison and the squirrels scampered searching for food. The sun beamed without a cloud in the sky and I relished the day.
“Let’s go eat my little one,” I took her small hand in mine.
I sipped cold water and it cooled my insides. I kissed my wife on the lips and my daughter on the forehead, their smiles branded in my mind.
Tomorrow I leave for war.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Mar
Barking At Shadows
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
One minute I’m falling exhausted into bed. The next I’m getting beaten by goombahs wielding metal bats. “I’m going to die,” I think. “I’m going to lose everything.” My body trembles like it’s not under my jurisdiction anymore. I don’t want to make this sound worse than it is, but there isn’t a lot else happening, just assorted crises, each at a different point of unfolding. It’s an intricate universe. When day returns with a button or two missing, I’m spooning hot cereal into a small white dog that has been exhibiting signs of incipient dementia. Heartache is everyone’s neighbor.
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.
Mar
Myth Match
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The day is cold even by New England standards. Girls dump menstrual blood on icy sidewalks in some kind of protest. Myth is dead. Our high school biology textbook compared the body to a furnace. Mr. C, our very nice teacher, was killed that spring with his wife and baby daughter in a car wreck. There’s no point in speaking ironically to people who can’t understand irony. You’ll just end up having to publicly apologize. Freud said dreams are the day’s residue. It has to linger for a while, as if to warn we’re a danger to self and others.
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.
Dec
That Day
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
He dreamt of one. Then another and another…until the sky was
crowded with them. Umbrellas. Pristine white. Open. Descending from up
high. Why?
They were irrelevant in his daily life. Not so for his wife who needed
different umbrellas to complement her wardrobe.
Upon awakening he realized what triggered the scene he envisioned. Why
he told his boss he wouldn’t be at work that day.
“Does this go with my sweater?” his wife asked, opening an umbrella by
his bedside.
The man quietly slid back under the covers.
No way was he going to move on Friday the 13th.
From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs
Krystyna, a former librarian, gathers tidbits from around the
world in her travels, strings them into delectable morsels of poetry
and prose, and stores them in her gopher hole in the Canadian
Prairies. She is open to sharing, upon request.
Aug
Midnight
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Nancy Botkin loves midnight. She stands on the porch, wind whispering. She watches moon drifting. Luminous, motherly, never leaving. A new day awakens. Possibilities rise.
She imagines a father who doesn’t burn her stories. Crinkling creation. Flames consuming.
A father who doesn’t demand her to clean. Buy booze.
She conjures leaving. Like Mama, selfish, enviable. Going wherever whims call.
Nancy can’t imagine the shape of winning. What a miracle truly feels like.
Dad always emerges, demands she get inside. She slinks in, weary, unable to find words. Leave me alone.
She hides pieces of dreams, waits for the next night.
From Guest Contributor Mir-Yashar Seyedbagheri
Mir-Yashar is a graduate of Colorado State’s MFA program in fiction. The recipient of two Honorable Mentions from Glimmer Train, he has also had work nominated for The Best Small Fictions. His work has been published or is forthcoming in journals such as 50 Word Story, Molecule Lit Mag, The Write City Magazine, and Agony Opera. He lives in Garden Valley, Idaho.
Aug
Young Love
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Elsie opens the window and the warm breeze enters the room. She sits next to William holding his hand, remembering.
“It’s a beautiful spring day. It reminds me of our first picnic in the park. After eating and talking for hours, you finally leaned my head back, kissed me and wrapped your hands gently around my waist. Your lips were soft and tasted of salt from the chips.” Elsie brushes William’s hair behind his ear. “I can’t believe that has only been a year ago.”
Elsie’s eyes begin to water, and she wonders why dementia has taken her young love.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
May
A Normal Day
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Bree walked up the subway steps into the abundant sunshine. It was a beautiful fall day, and the streets were filled with pedestrians hurrying to work. Cars honked and buses came to a halt at their designated stops. It was a normal day in the city of Manhattan.
Bree stopped for a bagel and tea at the cart in front of her building. The owner greeted her good morning and handed her the lightly buttered bagel and tea, sweetened with Equal and skim milk. After paying, she turned.
The rumble under her feet would be a moment she’d never forget.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Feb
The Painful Meditations Of A Modern Day Buddha
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Kevin enjoyed the contemplation of his morning walks, the perfect ritual for tuning out from his devices. Sure, he’d steal the occasional glance at his phone, but only to ensure he wasn’t missing an important message.
By 9am, the sidewalks were normally empty, so when the preteen on his bicycle came wheeling towards him, Kevin was surprised. He expected the kid to move into the grass or skip off the curb, yet he continued straight towards him, until Kevin had no choice but to step aside.
The anger rising inside him at the inconvenience was certain to ruin his day.
Jan
She’s Done Crying
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
She wasn’t crying today. First day in years. All dolled up with makeup and wearing her fanciest dress, she was going somewhere. And she looked good, so good, that even her children smiled a little. Friends had been expecting this, and some stopped to see her. Daniel wasn’t there. He never was. His love for her was long gone. After being gone for fifteen years, even the kids didn’t care about him anymore.
It was time. A loud thump signaled the end. The latches sealed and locked the casket closed. The finality of it was unmistakable. She was done crying.
From Guest Contributor NT Franklin