Posts Tagged ‘Friends’
Jun
Dust To Dust
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
NATURE SUBMISSION:
The dust swirls through the late evening sun, catching the light just so. Growing up, people used to say the dust was your dead skin. A few of my more morbid friends even said it was the skin of dead people. Dust to dust after all.
I wonder if that’s true. The poet in me wants to believe it is, that we’re surrounded by our ancestors at all times, that their spirits live for eternity on the winds.
The claims adjuster in me turns back to my computer screen. Perhaps if I concentrated a bit more I’d be home already.
From Guest Contributor Angie Thrush
Jun
Consequences
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
My fate had been decided and I’m not sorry. The hunger in the pit of my stomach was more important than the consequences. When I barreled my fist into the man’s face and he fell to the ground motionless, I took the bread with my sore, bloody knuckles and ran. Within a day, the sheriff apprehended me.
I’m trapped in a cold, dank, cage, with crawling rats as my friends. I’ve heard other prisoners declaring innocence and then silence.
The sheriff led me outside to a chanting crowd, hands tied tightly behind me, to the noose that awaits my neck.
From Guest Contributor Lisa Scuderi-Burkimsher
Jun
The Man Who Loved Trees
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
NATURE SUBMISSION:
There once was a boy who loved trees. He frequently played in the woods near his village, until one day all the trees were gone.
He decided to plant a new tree every day. His friends laughed at him, insisting that one person couldn’t make a difference. But he was determined. Many years passed, and the number of trees he’d planted grew into the thousands. An entire forest existed thanks to his efforts.
Then the hurricane came. All his trees were wiped out in a single night.
The morning after the storm, the man woke up and planted a tree.
From Guest Contributor Cissy Lee
Apr
Threatened Birds Nesting
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
You’re eating lunch on a bench in the park, close to a roped-off area where a sign says threatened birds are nesting. It’s the first nice day in a week. You’re enjoying the spring-like weather when a man you’ve never seen before steps out from behind a tree. He points a .38 special at you, shouts, “I regard Henry Ford as an inspiration,” and fires. In just hours, friends have assembled a pop-up shrine at the spot, with flowers, teddy bears, messages of love and respect. Although not me. I’m reading true crime books in order to gather survival tips.
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.
Mar
This Message Cannot Be Delivered
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Old friends’ emails become inactive, enveloped by electronic monsters. My message cannot be delivered, electronic gatekeepers proclaim.
I can’t tell them of being alone. I can’t hear their off-color jokes about paraplegics and suicide, youth at its most delightfully stupid. Tell them of empty, sterile walls. I can’t confess I absorbed their stories of family, an electronic voyeur.
I keep trying. Messages come back.
I drive to distant homes. But staring through lit windows, I feel like a magazine, an obnoxious knickknack among order and precision. I imagine them discarding jokes, smiles replaced by starched replicas.
This message isn’t delivered.
From Guest Contributor Yash Seyedbagheri
Yash is a graduate of Colorado State University’s MFA program in fiction. His story, “Soon,” was nominated for a Pushcart. Yash’s work is forthcoming or has been published in WestWard Quarterly, Café Lit, 50 Word Stories, (mac)ro (mic), and Ariel Chart.
Feb
Numbers
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Josh always watched the lottery alone, his door locked to keep out his roommates. He’d been playing the same number for ten years, and after writing down Saturday’s numbers, he checked his ticket against them ten times. He had thought if the moment ever came he’d scream, maybe dance. Now he sat holding his winning ticket, terrified.
$825,000,000.
What on earth would he do with that? And what about when his family and friends came for him? Could he trust anyone any more?
He quickly endorsed the back of the ticket and quietly checked the Internet for tickets to Australia.
From Guest Contributor Ran Walker
Ran is the author of 18 books. He teaches creative writing at Hampton University in Virginia. He can be reached via his website, www.ranwalker.com.
Dec
Dungeons Without Dragons
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Old castles and dungeons. Wizards and dragons. Evil Orcs and bewitching princesses. And he above all, The Mighty Knight, the warrior chosen to save the world from eternal doom.
One flash of lucid light and here he is again, imprisoned in his own dungeon, in his dusty boy’s room, remembering days playing tabletop fantasy games with friends and reading Tolkien, back in the time when he was just a teenager. Now he feels so old, lonely, and helpless. Not even a witch by his side, no magic spells to pay alimony, no more ideals worth fighting for.
Nothing but memories.
From Guest Contributor Ivan Ristic
Nov
Thanks For Asking
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
You ask me what my faces mean, if I trust people, what I think of you. You ask what I think about everything. You are amazed by what I see. How I can feel what’s invisible. Through miles and miles of walks, the no-destination drives, the not-so-torturous library hours, you keep listening to me, even when I’m quiet. I’m amazed that you can hear me over the sounds of our beautiful, loud friends, who think attention is inevitable. I trace my hand on paper: a habit. You copy on the other side: an unbalanced coin. Two sides of separate things.
From Guest Contributor Grace Coughlin
Grace is from Buffalo, New York. She is currently a Senior at St. John Fisher College, majoring in Psychology with minors in English and Visual and Performing Arts. She has 100-word stories forthcoming in Eunoia Review and Otoliths Review.
Sep
Haunting
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Molly opened the door to her new antique shop and breathed in the freshly painted room. She sold everything from refurbished wood furniture, candles and lotions among other products. Family and friends begged her not to buy the building that was a torture chamber in the early 1800s. Rumor had it that past owners heard screams and footsteps, but she didn’t believe it.
One year later, Molly foreclosed. Customers were too frightened of the rumors.
On her last day, Molly locked the door for the final time. When she turned for one last look, a figure waved from the window.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Sep
Return To The Primitive
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
A hunk of meat sizzled on the broken fireguard atop a rusty oil drum which served as a brazier-cum-barbeque.
Badger’s friends gathered round for warmth. He didn’t know why they called him that and, being relatively new to a sub-society which had welcomed him with open arms, he hadn’t pushed the issue.
The subway tunnel reeked of smoke, sweat, and human waste, but it was home to the evictees.
Tonight they shared their good fortune with any who followed the aroma, irrespective of rivalries.
Badger’s landlord had barged in, demanding the spare keys.
Long pig had never been so descriptive.
From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid