Posts Tagged ‘Death’



by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

In the weeks after her mother died, Pamela had no skin. Everything was surface—every twitching nerve, every gush of bile. When Creepy Carl told her to smile as he dropped off his rent check, her lips peeled back to the bone.

At home, she told Ben: I know about the girl you’ve been fucking for the last four months. Your intern. In our God damn bed.

Come on, baby, he said, it wasn’t like that.

But it was. She wouldn’t have her raw insides sheathed in lies. She slept in the guest room, on top of the blankets, oozing resentment.

From Guest Contributor Carrie Cook

Carrie received her MA in Creative Writing from Kansas State University and is currently living in Colorado. Her work has appeared in The Columbia Review, Midwestern Gothic, Menacing Hedge, and Bartleby Snopes.



by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Marvin is out cold after his drink is spiked.

He wakes up to a group of men around him laughing. The men hate shapeshifters. Each of Marvin’s limbs is tied with rope, the ropes attached to bulldozers.

The signal is given and the bulldozers pull away at the same time.

Marvin is stretched to eight meters, then twenty. At forty meters Marvin snaps into pieces and dies.

Clark the shapeshifter gets there too late. Clark transforms into a T. Rex and says, “Hear you’re looking for me.”

Clark will avenge the death of his best friend, Marvin the Elastic Man.

From Guest Contributor Denny E. Marshall


Happier Times

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Lindsey searched the attic for old family photos. Her dad had just passed away from Alzheimer’s and she wanted to make a collage for the funeral. Through dust and cobwebs she came across the box. She found the photo of her and her dad when she was five-years-old. The Ferris wheel was scary to her young eyes.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be with you to hold your hand.” She heard her dad’s voice.

She pressed the picture close to her chest. Then she placed the picture in the pile of memories she’d cherish from happier times before his disease took him.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher



by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

First little Amy was stricken, taking three days to die.

After collecting the body, the wardens painted the black cross on the door.

Then her husband and son Mark sickened. She could do nothing for their agonies.

A cart collected them to be buried in the pit.

Now the street is sealed off. No food arrives, and the water is almost gone.

She sneezes twice. She knows this is the end. But what is there to live for?

Thus the pauper Mary Wells died alone in London in 1665, with no priest to console her, no caring God above her.

From Guest Contributor Ian Fletcher

Born and raised in Cardiff, Wales, Ian has an MA in English from Oxford University. He has had poems and short stories published in The Ekphrastic Review, Tuck Magazine, 1947 A Literary Journal, Dead Snakes, Schlock! Webzine,, Anotherealm, Under the Bed, A Story In 100 Words, Poems and Poetry, Friday Flash Fiction, and in various anthologies.


Worries In The Sand

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

I write my worries in the sand. They stretch across the beach, one after another. I shake as I write them – the pain intense. Finally, I finish. I walk away from them and sit down on the dry sand above the tide line to wait. The waves rush in, lapping over the words, washing them away. The tension leaves my shoulders as the sand smooths out, but the pain is still there. Will death wash away aches like the tide waters? Will I become smooth like the sand as I wash out into the eternal sea of the next horizon?

From Guest Contributor Tyrean Martinson

Tyrean is a daydreamer, believer, and writer from the Pacific Northwest.


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.
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


Homage To Discworld King

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

The tall caped figure dismounted the midnight horse and negotiated cracked paving to knock on nondescript door.

Bright dancing eyes and grey beard yanked it open. “Well?”

Taken aback, Death cleared his throat. “HELLO.”

“Bugger ‘HELLO’, what kept you?”


Author pushed past the cowled figure.

“ER… DON’T YOU WANT TO DRESS?” Death waved a skeletal digit at the grimy T-shirt, shorts, and flip-flops.

Author pointed his beard aggressively. “That would be rather pointless now, wouldn’t it?”

Death sighed and followed the little man to the waiting steed. He was sure he’d forgotten something.


He raised the scythe.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid


Star Wars Fan

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

I bought my movie ticket a week ago, to see Rogue One. Now the day of, a heavy rain storm caused flooding and traffic. I had to make it there. I sat in the car stuck behind honking car horns thinking of last year’s Star Wars film and Princess Leia’s recent death. A tragedy. Okay, the traffic started moving. I had fifteen minutes to get there, park, and buy popcorn.

The parking lot was unusually empty. I found a spot close to the theater. After I ran through puddles, the sign on the door read closed due to inclement weather.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher


In Darkness…Light

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

I helped move your walker over the curb. You listened as I shared my emotional grief. We became friends.

One day I drove to meet you. Snow fell in sheets. The unknown lurked beneath. I swerved, stopped. Not far, the lake within walking distance.

Cabins sent curls of wood stove smoke into late autumn air. I would see yours with a candle at the window and you behind, waiting for me.

Years passed. With them storms I couldn’t control. Passing of friendships, from start to finish. Even ours. Candles lit. Extinguished.

I read your obituary. Memories touched with an afterglow.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. Her work has been published at: Nailpolish Stories, 50-Word Stories, 100 word story, 101 Words, Boston Literary Magazine, From the Depths (Haunted Waters Press), ShortbreadStories, SixWordMemoirs, and Espresso Stories.


Small Mercies

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Her father had come out a year before he died. Her parents had been divorced more than a decade by then and the news probably shouldn’t have comes as such a shock. At the eulogy, she lamented not handling his announcement with more compassion. She would never be able to understand what it had been like for him, growing up in small town Indiana.

She left the election viewing party early. She needed to cry alone. It was the first time she was glad Dad had died. He was spared having to see the wheels of progress start rolling backwards.