Posts Tagged ‘Death’
Aug
The Taxidermist
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
He stuffed his victims, then mounted them on his wall. That’s why they referred to him as the Taxidermist. His arrest, and subsequent conviction, was thought to be the end. No juror would’ve signed off on an insanity plea. He was locked away and, by the time his appeals were exhausted and he finally met his fate, the story had become more legend than reality.
But he was more than just a serial killer. He wasn’t just preserving their skins, but also their souls. Now, with his death, those souls have been released. May God have mercy on us all.
Aug
Grief, Lack, And The Last Transmission
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The cities were brought to a grinding halt by the death of the Great Leader. There was grief and tears, on personal media feeds, the walls, the screens, holograms, everywhere, even the real faces and eyes.
The psychologist-in-charge at the ground control station of the manned extra-solar expedition warned her supervisor not to intimate the traveling crew. She had warned, but the supervisor in his grief, blurted out the news to the Captain.
That was the last the world ever heard of the traveling space shuttle and of its crew. XT9 became a haze among the frequencies and disappeared forever.
From Guest Contributor Debarun Sarkar
Debarun sleeps, eats, reads, smokes, drinks, labors and occasionally writes stories and submits them. Recent works have appeared or are forthcoming in Visitant, Off the Coast, The Opiate, Aainanagar, Literary Orphans, Friday Flash Fiction and here at A Story in 100 Words, among others. He can be reached at debarunsarkar.wordpress.com
Jul
Never
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
She kept the Nevers in a shoebox. Most came from her mother, from childhood, but even now, she could sense her mother preparing more for Christmas. Her step-father gave her a few in the early years, but they faded to nothing as their relationship thickened to indifference.
The one from her father appeared the day after he died. Everyone thought she was too young to remember his return from the war, the nightmares, the gun shot, the funeral. Perhaps she had been, but she still kept the Never, like a scar.
She often wondered why he’d left her only one.
From Guest Contributor EM Eastick
Jun
Homecoming
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Years of content memories awaited familiar arms. Angel wings brushed bedposts softly, listening for command. Good-byes graciously accepted. Passing without fear, anticipating this new journey, unknown. Each shallow breath now numbered, every fragile heartbeat heard. Yesterdays spent letting go of earthly things and people deeply loved. Words need not be spoken, it was understood. No sorrow or regret. She would miss them, but only for awhile. Withered hands smiled, soothing random tears. No pain present, peace her blanket. Voices heard yet distant, creased lips pressed in prayer. Fading eyes searched light, bent fingers directed misplaced hair. Would he recognize her?
From Guest Contributor Christy Schuld
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
May
The Land
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Matthew leaned against the chain-link fence and looked out at the land which had once been his family’s land. Now a housing development was being built on it where the bountiful trees had once stood.
He had listened to his grandmother talk about that piece of land as if it was a fantasy that she could never quite believe was real. He sold it immediately after his father’s death.
Overcome with guilt and shame he stood there next to the fence for a while trying to remember what the land looked like years before but he just couldn’t picture it.
From Guest Contributor Zane Castillo
Apr
The Appointment
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
“But everything looks so tired and worn here.”
“You were the one who wanted to come to Paris to die.”
“Doesn’t everybody?”
I took her hand and pointed. “There it is. That’s the café.”
We pushed through the crowd at the door and found a table for two.
“Everyone here looks so old,” she said.
“Except for that beautiful girl at the bar.”
“Madame et monsieur. Vous desirez?”
“Do you speak English?”
“Yes.”
“Who is the beautiful girl at the bar?”
“That is Death.”
“But I thought Death was…”
“Monsieur, the older one gets the more beautiful Death becomes.”
From Guest Contributor Reynold Junker
Jan
Death’s Splendid Gifts
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Death and beauty were bound by love.
Its strength bore them two children in turn.
A prophet, intuitive and quick.
A defender, strong and kind.
Content together, all offered their talents so the world could partake of their bliss.
Beauty blessed creation, allowing all to enjoy its earthly splendor.
The prophet gave insight to decipher and atone for man’s errors.
The defender offered courage and strength to the masses.
Death bestowed his touch to all, releasing them from life’s toil.
Under their hand, humanity found constants, forever extant as long as man lived.
All inevitable, all wondrous and all binding.
From Guest Contributor Michelle Vongkaysone
Oct
What It Felt Like To Die
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
I plummet to the earth–the emerald field I stood upon moments before.
The one who injured me was merely a streak of shadows which approached, just as quickly as he vanished.
Below my navel is a tiny puncture. What was once unblemished flesh is now a faucet, bathing soil with my body’s vital broth.
I realize my aorta is severed.
Clouds bob and flicker, bearing the faces of my family. I panic, fervidly trying to grasp them–their expressions are indifferent, unresponsive.
Instantly, tranquility engulfs me. Darkness eclipses my vision. I surrender, relishing the divine slumber that beckons me.
From Guest Contributor L. Michelle Corp
Sep
Eulogy for Lead
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
My grandfather liked to paint lead miniatures, redcoat British riflemen and coal-colored Zulu warriors with brilliant spears. He would wax poetic about square formations and Michael Caine, talk about each individual figure as though they led deeply introverted lives. On hot summer mornings I’d wake with my child’s eyes and see: all those soldiers shifted from their positions, playing out an historical drama that only my grandfather knew. Grandfather survived the brutality of the Pacific Theater. Now he lays forever asleep, something inanimate, molded by ancestral pressures unknown, moved with care, another lead actor in some endless recursive performance.
From Guest Contributor John K. Webb