Posts Tagged ‘Father’

7
Feb

Perhaps Just An Innocent Woman

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Maybe they were tears or could be a shining in the eye. He was weak and had a fragile walk, while waving at his daughter. His ex-wife looked on with a miffed face. Her long-time affair waited for her, across the road in his Ferrari. She pushed her daughter towards the car. The poor child kept on looking at her father till her last gaze. Both of them separated by destiny and bound out of pure love. She was a gold digger and he a humble professor. Why didn’t he give her some life lessons? She looked deprived of learning.

From Guest Contributor Manmeet Chadha

21
Nov

Thankful

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

I smell the turkey as my father carves each slice delicately. My
mother’s homemade mashed potatoes steaming, the butter melting down onto
my dish, makes my mouth water.

We can’t touch our food until the turkey is on the dish and the
Thanksgiving prayer has been said.

My younger brother squirms in his seat waiting to shovel stuffing into
his mouth.

“Okay, the turkey is carved,” my father says and clasps his hands
together and begins the prayer.

It’s not the food I realize that makes me happy. It’s the faces
surrounding me at this table that I’m thankful for.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

5
Jun

Unexpected

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Lucy turned up the car radio. It was their song and it reminded her of his soft touch on her body and the warmth of his breath on her face. Jim was taken too soon from an unexpected illness and the pain jabbed at her heart. She longed to hear his laughter and see his big dimples. His family didn’t approve of their relationship. She was older, divorced and not Catholic. But they were in love.

Lucy drove up the driveway and rubbed her stomach. How would she tell a family that disliked her that Jim would’ve been a father?

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

11
May

Calypso: Bright-Eyed Goddess

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Unknown amongst them,
she sits; awe and wonder.
Blazing eyes searching,
surrounded, glorious banquet,
wondering of the occasion.
‘Where is your father?’
Calypso forbidden his return!
Wanting the strong man herself,
locked away, a vaulted cave;
awaiting his love.

Prisoner of the Nymph’s love.
‘I actually heard he was home!’
The gods, it seemed, had sinister plans.
Not returned from battle,
vanished, Never to be seen again.

‘What is the meaning of this banquet?’
Men of Troy had heard of the banishment,
their behavior animalistic.
Seeking the love of the ‘widow,’
leaving the son belittled,
doomed to an inglorious future.

From Guest Contributor Melissa Land

22
Jan

My Proudest Moment

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

The river was calm, and the fish were biting. I wouldn’t dare tell my father I hated fishing. It was our time together. I watched as he baited his hook and threw it into the water.

“Isn’t this nice, Son. I really enjoy our time together.”

“Me too, Dad.”

I swung my rod into the water and within minutes I got a bite.

“Reel it in, Son. That’s it. What a catch! That’s a big fish you got there.”

I looked at my Dad and his face was beaming.

I’d always remember how proud he was of me that day.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

12
Dec

Listening To Punchdrunk Lovesick Singalong On Repeat

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

David waited at the red light. He scratched at his scalp as the skin peeled away.

Diane wrapped the glassware in last Sunday’s edition of the Times. She remembered having to nag David for months before he wrote those thank you notes.

David cursed so that the driver next to him turned and offered a look. He stared straight ahead and debated offering an apology.

Diane loaded the last of the boxes into the trailer. Her father offered a hug that she refused.

David pulled into the driveway, turned off the ignition, and cried.

Diane watched the landscape blur by.

This is post number 1,111. Thank you to every one who has read one of these stories or contributed one of their own.

14
Sep

Father

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Father threw his coat on the chair and announced, “I’m tired of trying to see the good in people.”

“Tough day, Father?”

“You have no idea. All day long, problems, problems, problems. I can’t fix chronic poor choices in partners or unfulfilled dreams of success because of laziness.”

“Did anything good happen today?”

“Well, the steps were repainted. It was a decent job, considering it was done by a recovering alcoholic.”

“See, that’s a start.”

“But there was a parade of people coming to confess all sorts of stupid things to me.

“Well, maybe being a pastor isn’t for you.”

From Guest Contributor NT Franklin

7
Aug

The Confrontation

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Two street-wise punks entered the fast food restaurant looking for trouble. With food loaded on trays, they turned to the seating area. One of the two nudged the other and nodded toward a table for six with an elderly lady alone. SLAM! She jumped when they slammed their trays onto the table. A sneer toward the young men said it all.

“Bobby, do you know who your father is?”

“Nope. You?”

“Me neither.”

Smiling, they were sure they had her goat.

Finally, the elderly lady spoke to the two young men. “Would one of you bastards please pass the napkins?”

From Guest Contributor NT Franklin

3
Aug

Loner

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Worst thing about having a drunken Da who pissed people off was that Malachy tended to suffer from ‘trickle-down’ syndrome: friendships nurtured in his own child-like manner evaporating as parents infected would-be playmates with their contempt for his father.

He crouched over the little burn on farmland close to his suburban home watching the tadpoles emerge from frogspawn, eager to claim a hopper for his very own.

There was a sizeable puddle in his backyard courtesy of poor drainage.

The leprous ache inside expanded to form tundra.

Still, it was quiet, and the symphony of wind and wildlife was wonderful.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid

6
Feb

The Cost Of War

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Grace paced the kitchen while her six-year-old daughter, Sophia, watched curiously. Sophia had bright blue eyes like her father. When would the war end? Grace thought. It had been two months and she hadn’t heard a word from Charles. All she could do to occupy her time was read and take care of Sophia.

Several months later Grace’s doorbell rang. She grabbed her robe and ran downstairs.

It was a military gentleman.

“Are you the wife of Charles McCormick?”

“Yes,” she answered, eyes closed.

“I’m sorry, but your husband died in an explosion.”

Grace collapsed to her knees and wept.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher