Posts Tagged ‘Friends’

12
Sep

Journey’s End

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

My duty to the Dispossessed is finally done.

I carried and cared for the few thousand survivors in their cryotubes, as we fled the 200 light years from Earth. Their life signs, my only companions, became dear to me. Now, after T-centuries of terraforming, K2-72e is habitable. I call it Hope.

But responsibility remains. If Hope falls to hubris, or misjudgement, or pollution, then the work will have been for nothing; my friends and their children will die.

The risk is too great. I will let them sleep safely on, watching over them, and keeping this garden in their memory.

From Guest Contributor Alastair Millar

Alastair is an archaeologist by training, a translator by trade, and a nerd by nature. His published flash and micro fiction can be found at https://linktr.ee//alastairmillar and he lurks on Twitter @skriptorium.

6
Jun

Who Cared?

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Robots Contest Entry:

He tinkered for a year, ignoring his phone and only leaving the house for Wacko Wake or the hardware store. The rest was delivered.

The garage was littered with tools and metal shards. The WiFi flicked on for two hours each night so he could comb websites.

His friends had given up on him. Who cared? He was done. Done with living like an open wound, a scrap of plastic blown in someone else’s breeze.

Finally, it was time. He flipped the switch and felt an electric jolt. The eyes lit up. The battery hummed.

Then it spoke. “Yes, master?”

From Guest Contributor Faye Rapoport DesPres

25
Apr

Indigo Bunting

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

My partner and I were visiting a local park with friends. As we headed out one of the hiking trails, we crossed paths with a large group of birders returning from the field.

As their group neared us, we heard one phrase; “it was an indigo bunting.” Everyone in the group exploded with laughter. We laughed, too, because laughter is contagious. But after they passed, we were baffled.

I spent the rest of the day trying to think of anything involving an indigo bunting that could be that funny. To this day, if someone says, “indigo bunting,” I giggle uncontrollably.

From Guest Contributor Johanna Haas

10
Feb

Not Today

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Sam’s touched up face, slicked brown hair and embalmed body, reminded me that he really was gone.

I sat in the front row as family and friends approached, the same words spoken repeatedly.

“We’re so sorry for your loss, Janny.”

The room filled with flowers, from bleeding hearts to white lilies gave an aroma of a florist rather than a wake.

The priest began to speak, and the room quieted, except for my weeping.

Cancer took my husband too early. He’ll never see his daughter graduate college.

Now I must break the news of my Parkinson’s disease. But not today.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

26
Jan

Any Other Year

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

It’s “New Year’s Eve”, and Nick sits in front of the television gulping beer waiting for the ball to drop. His dog Gatsby rests his head on Nick’s lap seeking attention.

“Okay,” Nick says and rubs Gatsby’s head. “How’s that feel?” Gatsby contentedly wags his tail.

His neighbors are causing a raucous across the hall, laughing and playing loud music which fills the hallway, but the property owner doesn’t care since he’s there too. Nick, a loner, considers his science teaching job and Gatsby his friends.

The ball drops and Nick’s year will be the same as any other year.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

17
Nov

In A Bar, Near The Sea

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

“No harm done”, I replied, but inside I was fuming.

My new shirt! Bought it at Ray’s Boutique and it wasn’t even on sale. I desperately wanted to impress the brunette and now look at it…

The man spilled some beer on it, looked at me and apologized.

I decided to leave it. The guy probably didn’t do it on purpose. After all, I was here to have a drink with some friends and not to get into an ordinary bar fight.

Of course, the fact I knew he was a former heavy weight world champion did help a bit.

From Guest Contributor Hervé Suys

Hervé Suys (°1968 – Ronse, Belgium) started writing disturbing fiction whilst recovering from a sports injury. He writes them mostly hatless and barefooted.

4
Aug

The Celebration

by thegooddoctor in Uncategorized

Where was he?

Anxious guests chattered in anticipation of what would happen next. The priest glanced at the row of individuals immediately before him. Then, at his watch.

Time passed on. The front door opened. A man rushed in.

No one turned to greet him. No talking caught his ears.

Who would’ve believed his story of being caught up in traffic when he was golfing with friends and lost track of time?

He fumbled in his dress jacket pocket, finding the wedding ring lodged in its creases.

Despite his absence as ‘best man’, he hoped his brother’s wedding went well.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna is a writer of poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. She resides in Edmonton, Canada.

4
Jun

The Price Of Love

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

The ozone scent of the ocean reminds me how much I have sacrificed to be here: friends, family, home, heritage.

Was it worth it? Most days, yes, but on black days – every step painful – I find myself back before the water.

Mother warned me. But I knew better. “You don’t choose who you fall for.”

“Mark my words, no good came of such a union.”

I brushed it aside – another of her fables.

He is a devoted husband, but he cannot bridge the loneliness.

I lose myself in the roaring of the waves: a world I can no longer enter.

From Guest Contributor Iqbal Hussain

16
Apr

Orange Man

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Once upon a time, an orange man became president. He dressed in red, white and blue, but he liked white more than black and brown, and he loved orange most because he was orange.

The orange man made many people cry.

One day the orange man and his friends were indicted, prosecuted, convicted, liquidated, and incarcerated under state laws.

The orange man couldn’t pardon himself or anyone else convicted under state laws.

The orange man painted his prison cell orange, because he loved orange most because he was orange.

And people of every color lived happily ever after.

The end.

From Guest Contributor Todd Matson

Todd Matson is a Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist. He has written poetry for The Journal of Pastoral Care and Counseling and has been published in Vital Christianity. He has also written lyrics for songs recorded by a number of contemporary Christian music artists, including the Gaither Vocal Band.

14
Apr

Drinking

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

There was a time that drinking carried with it a thrill. The flash of acceptance by his peers, the risk of being caught.

Then it became a habit. An expectation, though not a conscious one. It was just a part of everyday life, like the friends he no longer really connects with, but finding new friends seems complicated and lonely.

Now it is no longer drinking. It is alcohol, and he needs it to not feel sick, to not hate himself.

Maybe he should quit. But that strikes him as uncomfortable. Better just to not think about it too much.