Posts Tagged ‘Father’
Aug
On Being A Man
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
HUBRIS CONTEST:
His backhand caused her body to pirouette grotesquely before landing face down on the coffee table.
Wincing, she rolled off the table, and sat up, mopping blood futilely from her mouth with the back of her right hand.
“Aren’t ya proud o’ me, workin’ all night?” he whined.
Unblinking, she nodded.
Then, the boy, who’d learned what a man was from his father, brought the cast iron pan onto the back of his father’s head with a sound like a loud wet kiss.
The man slid to the ground gracefully.
Beaming at her son, she said, “Now that’s a man!”
From Guest Contributor Jody Lehrer
Aug
Helicopter Parenting
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
HUBRIS CONTEST:
Malcolm was the victim of helicopter parenting. Literally. He didn’t drive to school, he flew. His mother and father, both victims of neglect and recrimination growing up, had overachieved as adults so that they could protect their own child from such abuses. This meant sheltering Malcolm from all criticisms, never allowing him to fail or even fall short in anything he did.
When he inherited the family business, he was both horribly unqualified to run a company and incapable of conceiving of the possibility of failure. Thanks however to his tremendous hubris, the company continued to thrive under his direction.
From Guest Contributor Mindy Storr
Jul
A Mother’s Love
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
First it was only yelling. Then she sported bruises. The police carted him away. He came back. He was sorry, couldn’t believe he was capable of that. She let him back in. He escalated. A fresh set of bruises appeared. The cycle continued.
She stayed to protect the child. His safety was all that mattered. A mother’s love.
A protection order was issued, papers were served, the divorce imminent. That was the legal way to handle the situation, but not Dad’s way. He wasn’t worried about legal. He didn’t give his daughter away to be slapped around. A father’s love.
From Guest Contributor NT Franklin
Jul
Melodious Birds
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Erik sat silently in the small attic, fatigued, and his legs aching from being crunched together in the confined space. His father had told him to stay quietly hidden until the birds chirped.
Before the gunshot, his mother screamed. His father yelled a profanity, then he heard another gunshot and muffled his cries.
As Erik awakened, the birds sang. He slowly opened the creaking door and went downstairs.
In the kitchen, his parents bloodied bodies laid on the floor and a Nazi soldier stood against the wall.
“Ich habe gewartet.” I’ve been waiting.
A gun was aimed at Erik’s head.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Jun
Flying Dancers
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
She dances with the leaves on this late autumn night. They rise, fall, crackle, swoop back into the air, without reflection about their falls. No signs of injury. No self-pity.
She envies the leaves. They can fly from words.
Too artistic, dark, can’t you be happy? Go to this party. Go to that party with your father. Stand straight, watch your gait. Smile. Writing’s a waste of time.
The words float in her mind like sickly alphabet cereal. But another curtain of leaves showers her. She twirls, the leaves dancing with her, sky and street opening wider than ever before.
From Guest Contributor Yash Seyedbagheri
Yash is a graduate of Colorado State University’s MFA program in fiction. His work is forthcoming or has been published in WestWard Quarterly, Café Lit, and Ariel Chart, among others.
Jun
Abandoned Doctrines
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
It had been deserted for far too long. All it took was a little black and white and the first brave soul came venturing in. That was the spark required. Many from far and wide, of different colours, proportions and voices came flying in. The place now housed so many flying entities. Remember when it once only contained the shackled soul of a socially dictated purpose her father had nurtured with care and her mother with ignorance. They say knowledge spreads like wildfire, the unabating hunger that can infect one and all, forcing people to abandon homes, doctrines and conventions.
From Guest Contributor Ronit Mukherji
Jun
Anger Is An Arrow
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The sun was shining for once, and I was sitting out on the patio with a book, Clare Carlisle’s Philosopher of the Heart: The Restless Life of Soren Kierkegaard, open on my lap, while I stared off into the middle distance, trying to think of a specific skill my angry beautiful workaholic father had taught me growing up – how to change the oil in a car, for example, or restring a steel-string acoustic guitar, or make sourdough starter from scratch – and I couldn’t, I couldn’t think of one, unless, that is, you consider being a yellow bull’s eye a skill.
From Guest Contributor Howie Good
Howie is the author most recently of Stick Figure Opera: 99 100-word Prose Poems from Cajun Mutt Press. He co-edits the online journals Unbroken and UnLost.
May
The Cellar
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Oksana pounded the door of Zoya’s wooden house. She screamed.
“Zoya, the Red Army has surrounded the village. Hide, Zoya!”
Zoya, holding her toddler Ekaterina in her arms, opened the door.
“Oh, God, help us. Oksana, where’s Father Nikolai?”
“They’ve started a fire in the church! Hide, Zoya.”
“God have mercy. Run Oksana. We’ll hide in the cellar.” Zoya pressed her daughter tightly to her breast. She ran to the cellar.
Zoya embraced her daughter. She heard a crashing sound. When she realized the smoke was coming from above, she said, “I love you Ekaterina. We’ll be together in Heaven.”
From Guest Contributor Deborah Shrimplin
Apr
God Bless America
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
HISTORICAL FICTION ENTRY:
He was met by his family at the Orlando airport after 12 long months of active duty.
Captain Steven Hooks was a free man. Now that the Army didn’t need him anymore, he could get back to being a husband and a father and re-open his dental practice.
Gloria, his wife, suggested a movie for his first night home. They gave the kids baths, dressed them in cozy pajamas, and loaded them into the station wagon.
Upon arriving at the booth he handed the cashier the money but she wouldn’t take it.
“Sorry, but this drive-in is for whites only.”
From Guest Contributor E. Barnes
E. has works published at Entropy, Spillwords, The Purple Pen, The Haven, and several works are in the anthology, “NanoNightmares.”
Feb
Musician
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Annika Dagmar, skilled with a violin, had dreamed of playing on stage with other musicians entrancing the audience. That would’ve been possible had there been no war.
Priceless paintings and other expensive belongings were sold to have food on the table, except Annika’s violin and case. Her father didn’t have the heart to sell them.
The war had ruined Annika’s family and many other Jewish Germans throughout the country.
“It’s not safe to live here. We must leave everything and go tomorrow before things get much worse,” said Mr. Dagmar.
The violin would never be touched by Annika’s fingers again.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher