Posts Tagged ‘Funeral’


Happier Times

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Lindsey searched the attic for old family photos. Her dad had just passed away from Alzheimer’s and she wanted to make a collage for the funeral. Through dust and cobwebs she came across the box. She found the photo of her and her dad when she was five-years-old. The Ferris wheel was scary to her young eyes.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be with you to hold your hand.” She heard her dad’s voice.

She pressed the picture close to her chest. Then she placed the picture in the pile of memories she’d cherish from happier times before his disease took him.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher


My First Lie

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

My stepfather had Parkinson’s disease. Before he died, he was one percent of the person he had been. It’s cruel to say that at fifty percent he was a kinder person.

I found him once, on his back, like an upturned ladybird in the garden. I was now a stranger. I helped him up and in a moment of rare clarity, he asked, “When will this end?” He was all ears, his face ready enlightenment.

I lied to him once. It was my first ever real lie. “Soon,” I said.

Four years on, at his funeral my lie became true.

From Guest Contributor Alice Kibbe


What Should Have Been

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

She was my first kiss at seven, she had a crush on me. She moved away a year later and was forgotten until high school when she found me on social media. I was busy, having parties and ignored her texts. In university, she found me again, through a friend, but I had no time, as I needed to study. Years later, by fortune, we bumped on the street. We talked for a few minutes, but that was all. Once more we met, this time at a funeral. Here I realized my folly, as I said goodbye to my soulmate.

From Guest Contributor Jordan Altman



by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

She kept the Nevers in a shoebox. Most came from her mother, from childhood, but even now, she could sense her mother preparing more for Christmas. Her step-father gave her a few in the early years, but they faded to nothing as their relationship thickened to indifference.

The one from her father appeared the day after he died. Everyone thought she was too young to remember his return from the war, the nightmares, the gun shot, the funeral. Perhaps she had been, but she still kept the Never, like a scar.

She often wondered why he’d left her only one.

From Guest Contributor EM Eastick


Failure To Thaw

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

The funeral didn’t make her cry.

She had been given a frosty life, locked out of warmth. Once she found the sun, she never looked back. And yet, here she was.

The chalky dough of a face, ice white and just as cold, with a slash of red lips and the hum of memories in the air bounced off of her like the wrong side of a magnet. She gave the packet of tissues to her sister before brushing past.

Leaning close, she touched the stripe of rouge. Some rubbed off on her finger.

Curious, she thought, the measures taken.

From Guest Contributor Emily Fox

Emily has an MA in English and Creative Writing from SNHU. She currently lives in North Carolina. You can find her at, or follow her on Twitter @emfoxwrites.


Her Little Plum

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

The plum blossoms dance in the spring breeze like pink snowflakes across the yard.

A boy again, mother lifts me into the limbs to pick ripened fruit. “Be careful, my precious squirrel.”

“Ready, dear?” my wife asks.

“Yes,” my voice chafes. I inspect my dark suit, adjusting my tie in the window’s reflection. Wipe my face and rub wet fingers together.

“Your speech is in my purse.”

Words. An inadequate parting gift.

My mouth waters as mother sets down a steaming plum pie.

After her funeral, floodlights illuminate wreckage of the fallen tree. A brittle heart splinters. Sobs erupt anew.

From Guest Contributor Eric Schweitz



by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

The second time that John came out of prison, he decided that enough was enough. It took a while but John’s parole officer found him a factory job at the docks hauling animal carcasses from trucks to meat lockers.

John worked fifty-hour weeks at the factory for twenty years before he died of the lung cancer that had gradually crept into his body. John’s obese daughter was his lone blood relative at what could only be described as a modest funeral. She left tired yellow flowers on John’s grave before going back to a factory job of her own.

From Guest Contributor, Horrorshow



by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Daphne had always maintained a strict policy of never doing anything that she was ordered to do. When her mother told her she must always look both ways before crossing the street, she would immediately run headlong into traffic.

As you can imagine, not only did Daphne’s attitude make her a difficult employee, but it also put her life in constant danger. So it really should come as no surprise that she died horribly when a paramedic told her to swallow the antidote to the poison she had just defiantly swallowed and she refused.

Very few people attended Daphne’s funeral.


Dead Of Night

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

“Never open the attic door.”

It was the number one family rule, one hammered into Simon from the time he could walk.

The caution seemed excessive. If the heavy padlock were not enough to keep Simon out of the attic, the whispered voices he heard in the dead of night on his way to the bathroom certainly were.

When his sister was killed, brotherly love succeeded where simple curiosity failed. Not two weeks after the funeral, he heard her calling to him from the attic.

Simon quickly learned why “Never open the attic door” was the number one family rule.