Posts Tagged ‘Dead’

20
Feb

Off Her Rocker

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Annette sits in her favorite rocking chair, by a big window. A gloomy afternoon.

She cradles her dead baby in her pale arms. Hair as white as a ghost. Lips cracked and bleeding. Her body fragile and weak.

She sings a familiar tune. Rocking back and forth, as if trying to put the baby to sleep.

Her watch beeps. Medicine time. She throws the bottle out the window.

The Devil calls her name. She stops her singing. Her body freezes.

“He made me do it. He made me do it. He made me do it…” She repeats.

The devil exists.

From Guest Contributor Alexa Findlay

5
Jan

Colony Collapse

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Hands full of bees, Alice screamed at the sky. Sitting in the grass, blades tickled her thighs. Bee by bee, Alice lined them up. “I’m sorry,” said the speaker at a funeral attended only by the dead.

Maybe she shouldn’t have quit work. Never built an apiary. Would’ve been better joining a gym. Cooking. Reading books that lived in corners of her home. Would’ve been better to speak what he said in the elevator, his voice curling green, twisting to lick her ears.

Alice lay down, tears falling into her hair. She didn’t want the bees to see her cry.

From Guest Contributor Michaela Papa

18
Dec

Dead Mouse Walking

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

“What’s that plastic bag poking out of your pocket, Ollie?”

“Nothing to worry about, Jim. Only a dead mouse.”

“I thought there was a pong.”

“Found him in the airing cupboard. Toasting himself, the fecker.”

“Ollie, why are you carrying him around?”

“I’m going to give him a decent burial.”

“You know what I’d have done?”

“What?”

“I’d have served him to Sourpuss. As a delicacy.”

“Isn’t Sourpuss rotund enough?”

“Are you going to part with that mouse, or aren’t you?”

“It’ll cost you, Jim.”

“Pint?”

“G’wan. Done. Here, take him.”

“Barman, two Guinness.”

Plop.

“What the-? My pint!”

“Cheers!”

From Guest Contributor Geraldine McCarthy

30
Oct

Deadly Hour

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

John, riding down the dark empty road at three o’clock in the morning, takes a swig of beer.

“I can’t believe Amy is marrying that jerk! She said she loved me. That lying witch!”

Inebriated, he swerves in and out of lanes, his vision blurry. He presses on the accelerator just missing an approaching car. The driver honks his horn profusely at Johnny. Laughing, Johnny takes his eyes off the road and crashes head on into a tree.

Lying dead with his head on the steering wheel and his thumb pressing on Amy’s cell number, the phone begins to dial.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

28
Sep

The Mouse

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Robert and Rebecca arrived home to find a dead mouse on their kitchen floor.

It was an old building, so Rebecca was not surprised there would be rodents. Rather than being grossed out, she began reflecting on her own mortality, wondering if she were better or worse off than the mouse for having knowledge of her impending oblivion. It was a thought that often kept her up late into the night, as she listened to Robert’s light snoring and choked back tears.

Robert could only think about the mess that must have attracted the mouse, and began a thorough cleaning.

9
Mar

Lift The Perfume

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Lift the perfume, dust, put it back down.
Lift the box, dust, put it back down.
Lift the moisturizer, see her initials, freeze.
JS.
Just last week she was teasing me about cleaning our bedroom.
Well, my bedroom now.
Since the accident.
Not an accident, a stupid drunk drove into the side of the car.
The violent end replays in my mind.
My room is silent now. No more laughing. No more cuddling. No more urging me to clean up.
Just an alone silence. An empty room.
I put down the moisturizer.
Lift another perfume, dust, put it back down.

From Guest Contributor Rodney Goodall

21
Nov

Betrayed

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Leo squeezed Hayden’s neck. Slowly the life began to leave her body as her eyes widened and face reddened.

“You slept with him, you damn witch!” Leo squeezed harder banging Hayden’s head against the wall until she collapsed with a thump, her dead eyes staring blankly at him. Leo released his grip and took a deep breath wiping the sweat off his face with the back of his hand.

Leo wiped down every trace of his finger prints and DNA. He put the gloves in his pocket and left Hayden’s house intent on finding the man she left him for.

From Guest Contributor Lisa Scuderi-Burkimsher

20
Sep

Lunch With Maurice

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

I was doing time at another warehouse.
Another W2 in a factotum year.
Maurice, pudding formed with a handlebar mustache, sat across from me.
He liked security. “I keep a weapon in every room. I don’t even lock my door. I have got a shotgun on the wall, a handgun in each room unregistered. I got a bat in the bathroom and a sword under my bed with a knife between my pillows.”
“Expecting trouble?”
“My dad was in the navy. Antiwar activists target the relatives of veterans.”
Maurice was found dead in his apartment.
Stabbed in the eye.


From Guest Contributor Michael Zone

Michael is the author of Fellow Passengers: Pubic Transit Poetry, Meditations & Musings and Better than the Movies: 4 Screenplays. His work has been featured in Because Eileen, Dead Snakes, Horror Trash Sleaze, In Between Hangovers, Three Line Poetry, Triadae, and The Voices Project. He scrapes by in Grand Rapids, MI

6
Jul

The Hobo

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

“Take my wedding rings. I don’t use them anymore,” the hobo said to me.

Zelda and I were outside Tiffany’s, but it was closed. We had just decided to elope. We had arrived at the store too late.

“You can’t be serious,” I said. “How much money do you want for them?”

“None. With my wife dead, I have no use for money.”

“Don’t you wish to keep the rings anyway?”

“No, you two need them more than me. I still have her picture. Go on. Take them.” He forced the rings into my hand.

“Thank you very much, sir.”

From Guest Contributor Mark Beddard

20
Jun

TKO

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

In a year in which everything was falling apart, both personally and globally, Joe wasn’t prepared for the news of Scott’s death. The impact was more devastating than any of the hundreds of punches he’d absorbed during their fight trilogy.

“How?”

“Heart attack.”

Joe looked at the photos and trophies on the bookshelf across the room, mementos from the recent past, a time when he and Scott, though rivals, had been on top of the world.

Now Scott was dead, too young and too soon, reminding Joe of the one fight he, like everyone else, had no chance of winning.

From Guest Contributor Dan Slaten