Posts Tagged ‘Face’
Feb
Rainbow Potato
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
I tell myself I don’t belong here, and I don’t. The place is home to depressives, insomniacs, winos, recidivists. Trains pass through without whistling or slowing down. Meanwhile, stacks of coffins keep arriving in the dark by truck. The first thing I do most mornings is examine my face in the mirror for signs of fresh trauma. There was one morning when I asked Google if rainbow and potato rhyme. The answer came back, “Not exactly.” A handsome young drifter, stepping off the overnight bus from Providence, smiles plausibly while wearing a necklace of human ears tucked inside his shirt.
From Guest Contributor Howie Good
Howie’s latest book is Frowny Face, a mix of his prose poems and handmade collages from Redhawk Publications.
Feb
Storm
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The snow and wind pelted my face. The inclemency hadn’t started until I was half-way to the subway station, and people slipped across the pavement rushing to get home. Vehicles honked at pedestrians cutting in and out of lanes, so I had to be careful. I tried not to think about the numbing in my fingers after forgetting my gloves at home.
After a half hour walk which should’ve taken ten minutes, I was in the station.
When the train arrived and I boarded, I knew it would be a matter of time before I’d be snug by the fireplace.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Dec
Corpus Delicti
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Every day there’s a funeral – actually, several. You peer into the open casket and immediately regret it. I have that kind of face. There has just always been something about me that provokes people to anger and upset. “Hitler should come back and gas you!” they would yell, as if the very idea of me threatened them. An unknown caller once even left a series of gunshots on my voicemail. Now I’m being lifted off the bier and swiftly carried down the aisle and out the door. A desolate rain is falling. I don’t remember a time when it wasn’t.
From Guest Contributor Howie Good
Howie’s newest book, Frowny Face, a synergistic mix of his prose poetry and handmade collages, is forthcoming from Redhawk Publications.
Nov
The Whimsical Sun
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
It always rained where I lived, and the sun never showed its face. January to December: an encore of relentless grey days.
Sometimes during the summer break, when the gray became unbearable, my mother allowed me a night’s stay at my best friend’s house next door.
There at her place, we would play late into the night and there was always an abundance of hot chocolate and stories to go around. Late mornings, while we were still in bed, her father used to roll up the clacking blinds, and tiny motes of dust danced in the sun, just like magic.
From Guest Contributor E. Rhyme
Nov
Pizza
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Bill picked mushroom slices off the boxed pizza, grimacing, stacking them.
Sadie watched. “What’s wrong, Honeybun?”
“Mushrooms. They don’t belong on pizza. My ex-wife knew that. They’re like human ears.” Bill shuddered.
“Sorry!” Sadie sniffled, blue eyes pooling on her freckled face.
“Don’t be a baby.”
She was 20. Their infant son lay in the bedroom, drooling on Bill’s pillow, fitful with eczema. His ex Patsy, thinner now, lived in her own divorce trailer, screwing her burly handyman. Grown kids, not speaking to Bill. Everyone, broken. Bill sighed at the pile of ears. “Growing you up, it takes time, Sadie.”
From Guest Contributor Nicole Brogdon
Nicole is a trauma therapist in Austin TX, interested in strugglers and stories everywhere. Her flash fiction appears in Flash Frontier, Bending Genres, 101Words, Bright Flash, Dribble Drabble Review, Centifictionist, and elsewhere.
Nov
For The Record
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
“She was attractive. Cute face.”
“Facts, please,” the officer cringed, pausing his pen.
“Black-rimmed glasses, plum lipstick and…”
“What was stolen?”
“My cellphone. One minute in my hand. The next, gone.”
A woman was called to the counter by the second officer on duty.
“Reporting a theft,” she announced. “Thief had salt and pepper hair.”
“What was taken?”
“My cellphone.”
The officers compared the complainants with the details given.
“You two realize making false claims is an offence,” one said.
“We can let you go this time,” the other scolded. “Go home and make up or see a marriage counsellor.”
From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs
Krystyna writes poetry, fiction and creative nonfiction regardless of the season or location she finds herself in.
Sep
Note To Self
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
I recognized the helmet on the unearthed body as the same customized gear hidden in my private lab. The ancient, scarred face underneath it, not so much. The damage was far too extensive. Even so, I knew.
Words scratched into the metal plate the body clutched remained legible: “Do not activate.” It didn’t specify what, but I knew that, too.
If I press that button in my lab a portal will open to the past. I had decided against the risk.
But now I must do it. I need to find out what could cause me to write that warning.
From Guest Contributor Sean MacKendrick
Sep
Home From War
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
I stepped off the bus, my body drenched in sweat. I couldn’t wait to remove my uniform.
I walked the path, the grass greener than I remembered and budding with flowers.
My head ached from the heat, and I needed a bath, but I didn’t think my wife would mind.
There Jane stood, her dress blowing in the breeze, her hair longer, shielding the sun from her face. She screamed my name and ran into my arms.
We enjoyed a passionate kiss that lasted several minutes when she took my hand and led me inside.
The bath would certainly wait.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Aug
The Statue
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The old master carved the tortured limbs and anguished face out of the stone.
Christ on the cross came from his very soul, he who had witnessed war, massacres and the plague that had taken his wife and dearest daughter, his whole life seeming one long crucifixion.
He cursed the God that had forsaken him and the bishop who had commissioned the artifact for the new cathedral. Tired and sick, he died a few days after the statue was completed.
For centuries after his death, visitors stood in awe before his creation that spoke of suffering and, to some, redemption.
From Guest Contributor Ian Fletcher
Aug
Good Boy, Charlie
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Even the dog knew it was a mistake. So much had happened at the lake house, and yet, nothing ever changed. Her father stood at the end of the dock, slouching.
Charlie whined and wagged, as if to say, “Really? Again?!”
“Didn’t think you’d come,” he said.
“I just want her ashes. Then I’ll leave.”
He stared, eyes piercing, his face sharp.
“Your mother wanted to be here.”
“My mother wanted to be safe.”
Jayne released Charlie from his leash. He burst forward, sending her father off the dock.
“Good boy,” Jayne praised Charlie, wiping the water from her face.
From Guest Contributor Kate McGovern