Posts Tagged ‘Friends’
Jul
Cat Lady
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
In a rapidly gentrifying London suburban apartment by the park, where the people are cold and the weather is colder, I overhear a nascent rumor in the making, about myself from the overfamiliar voices, and for a long second, I wish my life was as interesting as my thriving geriatric grapevine conjures it to be and believes in possibilities over probabilities. I move on, wondering why those so close to death remain so inquisitive about the lives of others who are busy living, and I tell my friends that if I ever become that bitter old cat lady, stop me.
From Guest Contributor Dr. Vaishnavi Pusapati
Oct
My Forest Camp
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
At my forest camp, he collapses on to the mattress in my tent, and is asleep in moments. I pack my travel bag, leave him a note saying he can have the tent and everything in it, light some incense and put it at my tiny shrine to Lord Ganesh, say a prayer for him and the other strugglers around here, feed peanuts to the local monkeys, my friends for the last few months, and walk back along the path into the village and across the bridge over the River Ganges towards Rishikesh, to get a bus back to Delhi.
From Guest Contributor Stephen House
Oct
Rationale
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Summer has been washed and hung to dry across the equinox. Quibble gathers the last of his alien friends for a farewell. To feast, they eat the neighbor’s two loudest dogs. Those dogs kept Quibble away at night barking at wishes and dreams. Quibble does not partake of the meat, but he imagines the joy the aliens conclude. At the end of the farewell celebration, the aliens open a portal between the shed and fence line and fall one by one through. Quibble only mentions the aliens when his neighbor tries to blame him for the disappearance of the dogs.
From Guest Contributor Ken Poyner
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.
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
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
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
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
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.
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.