Posts Tagged ‘Door’


What Happened To Ben?

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

“So, uh, what happened to Ben?”

“Twitter. Once he discovered that, well, he just sort of fell into a black hole.”

“Do you talk to him on Twitter?”

“Oh yeah. All the time.”

“That’s funny. I can’t get him to return my calls. I even went to his house one day and he didn’t answer the door.”

“Just tweet him. He’ll respond.”

“That seems weird. Does he make sense? Talk in complete sentences?”

“He’s hilarious. Same old Ben.”

“Only he’s not really there. He’s just a digital ghost.”

“When you put it that way it just sounds sad.”

“I know.”

From Guest Contributor Dan Slaten


The Reading

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

The flashing sign blinds Marissa’s eyes. The door says enter, and she pushes it open with a sigh.

“Please sit,” says the woman in flamboyant blue and green gypsy clothes. “I assume you want a reading.”

“Yes, good and bad.”

The woman takes Marissa’s right hand and reads her palm. “I don’t see a future for you. There will be no success or love in your life. You will die tragically and without warning.”

Marissa jolts in her chair. “I’m not up to this. Here’s your money.”

Anxious and distracted, Marissa doesn’t see the car coming. She dies on impact.

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.


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



by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Every second changes everything. Even in a padded room with nothing but white walls, a locked door, and himself, he knew this as truth.

All that seemed mundane and inconsequential to others was of the most dire significance to him. How many times he blinked per minute. How many seconds it took the orderly to unlock the door for dinner. When he felt his bladder swell — it all worked towards the preservation of reality.

He sat in the corner, eyes wide. If his left foot moved, the Earth explodes. If the right, then all was well.

His left toe twitched.

From Guest Contributor Patrick Winters



by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

You leapt forward with clear resolve. Left me standing in the dark.

I mull over your departure. Review circumstances. My mind turns somersaults, not being able to comprehend.

It wasn’t me, you once said. Not even us. You tried to resolve battles within you. Past demons colliding with ideals you set for the future. Hope slipping into a void.

I offered you help. You refused.

Into the darkness I stare. Light beams from afar. Tempts me to look into a future I can make my own.

I’ll open the door. Be on my way. Knowing you won’t travel with me.

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.


The Passing Of A Friend

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Migrant storekeeper Piero Altobelli met word of his old friend’s recent passing with great consternation. Upon hearing, he leapt from his desk in the backroom of his little grocery and flew into a rage. He swatted the week’s receipts into the floor, ripped the telephone from the wall, and yanked the office door from its hinges. All the while bemoaning at the top of his lungs. So uncontrollable was he, not even his wife Maria, could calm him.

“Somebody better tell that summabitch next time he pass a by my store,” cried Piero. “He better pay me what he owes.”

From Guest Contributor Russ Sparks

Russ is currently an MFA student attending Lindenwood University.


Hospital Song

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

They need to run more tests but Dad pleads, “I want to go home.” This man who built houses can’t stand by himself to pee.

I sit two hours with him daily, passing my sisters or brother in the hall on either end of the visit. We touch hands, squeeze.

A curled little old man under layers of cabinet-warmed blankets, he’s shaking, all ice-blue eyes and Viking-white beard under sunken cheeks.

Television is election chaos. No help there. I realize what’s on my iPad, close his door, crank its volume: Dad and Bob Dylan, gravel-throated friends, a hospital bed duet.

From Guest Contributor Tjorven


Her Note

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

The front door slammed.

Before leaving, she posted a note on its frame. Unlike the daily reminders she scribbled, this one was blank.

Her husband grasped at the sofa for comfort, nestling his body in her lingering perfume. Their terrier snuggled beside him.

His mind revisited their argument. Was he wrong to throw back insults at her?

When the doorknob turned, he looked up.

“I didn’t write you a note,” she said with her voice breaking.

“I noticed.”

For a while they sat together in silence watching the sunset.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

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.


If You Climb, Fall

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

There was a wound-dresser in the forest, somewhere deep, maybe sleeping in the sticky tree hollow that still sometimes holds nesting dolls and eggs, tiny gifts, talismans, things we know matter, twin feet in this world and the other. So, when you came, under sun, scabs freshly bloomed, populating your back’s nude surface, to announce what the branches had left when you slid their surfaces from canopy to ground, I handed you a ticket for the woods and we left together, closing each door behind, certain that another Carthage burns softer the closer we come to any shore at all.

From Guest Contributor Kelli Allen

Kelli is a four-time Pushcart Prize nominee and has won awards for her poetry, prose, and scholarly work. She served as Managing Editor of Natural Bridge and holds an MFA from the University of Missouri St. Louis. She is the director of the River Styx Hungry Young Poets Series and founded the Graduate Writers Reading Series for UMSL. She is currently a Professor of Humanities and Creative Writing at Lindenwood University. Allen is the author of two chapbooks and one flash fiction collection. Her full-length poetry collection, Otherwise, Soft White Ash, arrived from John Gosslee Books in 2012 and was nominated for the Pulitzer Prize.