Posts Tagged ‘God’
Jun
The Sneeze
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Otto couldn’t stifle it. Did he want to sneeze all over Felice? No. But he did. And here he’d planned for a pleasant evening at the small BYOB Italian restaurant.
“God bless you, Otto,” offered Felice as she grabbed her napkin.
“WHAT’RE YOU TALKING ABOUT!” It was a deep voice from above. Loud enough to shake the table.
Again, Otto sneezed. His nose was running now, but things weren’t running well with Felice. And he’d brought a bottle of Pinot Grigio.
“God bless you, Otto,” said Felice again, politely.
“NO WAY I’M BLESSING OTTO!” boomed the terrifying voice. “NOT OTTO!”
From Guest Contributor David Sydney
May
A Closed Time Curved Loop Time Traveler
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
As a closed time curved loop time traveler watched in horror at the death of mankind. He wondered. Was it always thus? A learning simulator bent on self-destruction? From one reality bounce to another, pray for peace. In the end, God wins all games. Why? In a Dyson Sphere or Solomon’s statement, there is nothing new under the sun. And that which the author of life has given, so he shall take. Multiple dimensions exist. And every twist and turn of the story of life is taken. What about the dreamers? Even their dreams come true somewhere within a simulator.
From Guest Contributor Clinton Siegle
Mar
Hospice
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Having survived hospice twice is something. No one wants to talk about hospice. Reason? People go there to die. And? I assure you I am dead. Laughter. How are you writing this? I have no idea. In yet? I watched people starved to death. I have seen 130 pound man starved down to looking like a leftover turkey at a Homer Simpson Thanksgiving. I have seen people wave one hour prior to their death. I have watched as people in authority have forgotten to feed people. Sounds wicked. And maybe it is. God has to judge the people. Deathly endings.
From Guest Contributor Clinton Siegle
Mar
Becoming Theoretical As A Point
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
All I had to do was suggest we are not alone. Victims and assailants kept dividing anyway, splitting like atoms, disappearing until there was nobody left on earth; so, when the tricksters from all over the galaxy turned off the stars, it was God who wondered where everybody went. The head behind the hands had never been afraid of the dark. If other fingers pulled the hands away from the face, the eyes, having rubbed off onto the palms, could only watch the skull nestle between them as they covered mouth and ears. I’ve seen enough anyway, he might say.
From Guest Contributor Cheryl Snell
Cheryl’s new series is called Intricate Things in their Fringed Peripheries.
Feb
Gram’s Highest Calling
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
I hadn’t seen Gram at her normal function of serving since those days when I often joined her for her lemon pie. Not because she made it best, but because she needed me to receive it. Her God-given role of serving was dismissed when Gramps passed the nicer way; ‘Goodbye,” he’d whispered, then departed.
Time to let her go, service to others fulfilled. Her release not comforted with him at her side. She’d served her mission the best she could.
Mother phoned this morning. I heard the message in the ring. “She’s gone. It’s all done, but not all said.”
From Guest Contributor The Poet SPIEL
Established communicator of the arts, 81-year-old internationally published queer author/artist, storyteller, The Poet Spiel, writes of social conflict, satire noir, and personal hurdles.
Jan
Stella
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Stella longs for the unseen soul who one day will meander into her home to touch (perhaps envy) each of her precisely placed gatherings.
Thank you, dear God, above, for the patience it
has taken to assemble and position these
precious things.
Yet she feels clumsy. Sees herself as a whale in a thimble’s sea of mire.
Then comes the moment when that perfect stranger appears as her savior, but Stella is not here to celebrate the gentle man with sapphires where his blue eyes should be, pale cream velvet fingertips to tally all her particulars, then bind her estate.
From Guest Contributor The Poet Spiel
Jan
The Savior
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Mary held baby Jesus in her arms, coddling him from danger as Joseph watched. He was tiny and quiet, sleeping peacefully. Joseph touched Mary’s shoulder gently and she smiled. The animals surrounded them and watched as the family sat contentedly in joyful wonderment staring at the small gift. Mary, exhausted, stayed awake afraid to leave her newborn son out of her sight, but Joseph took him from her arms, and she laid back and fell into a deep sleep.
Joseph gazed at his son in awe, the miracle God granted them.
The Savior, Christ, who would sacrifice himself for others.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Dec
Sofa Of Cycles
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The sagging couch cushions are a trophy–evidence attesting to her self-discipline to stay situated.
She’s a chameleon in her contradictory custom office. An extension cord slithers around wooden legs, dressed with a black and blocky laptop vitalizer. The coffee table has been repurposed into a feet-book-pen desk, crowded with sacred guides to creation and the honing of creative crafts. No clocks tick, as time gives no counsel. Silence rears its head to the ears of the beholder, mouth perpetually packed by scribbles and click-clacks.
She forges life and death. A prolific puppet master.
Stay at home God of worlds.
From Guest Contributor Madeline van Batum
Madeline lives in Colorado with her cat and hopes that one day she can go back to her home country of the Netherlands to finally meet the Flying Dutchman.
Oct
Fifty-Fifty: A Sullen Revival
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
scowling, baldwin grabbed the welcome-to-9 birthday card from the tv compartment. birthdays? useless! he thought. aren’t birthdays for children whom god gave little time and had to celebrate their short lives. just like my twinnie.
he crumpled the card. flung it. headed for the garden.
seeing him, his mother flinched. this wasn’t baldwin. but why wear baldwin’s clothes? even baldwin’s red hair?
—joey!
—i’m now baldwin. no longer joey. i come to say ‘no birthdays anymore!’
—whatcha doing, eh?
—we’re fine wi’ddis, mum.
his mother wiped tears. groaned. —baldwin’s dead, joey. stop this.
—he’s my twin. he wanna live, too!
From Guest Contributor Elisha Oluyemi
Jul
Duel At Dawn
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The cool, crisp morning air is cold, even in the fog I see my breath. “10 paces I’ll count; 10 paces then turn and shoot,” said my friend. I begin to walk. One. The wet, dewy grass is under my feet. Two. I wore my best clothes today, complete with the gray coat. Three. Black crows call in the distance, laughing at us fools. Seven. Dear god he is already at seven, I think. Eight. The black trigger of this 50-year-old pistol will have another kill. Nine. “Forgive me, Anne. Forgive me,” I pray. Ten. I turn, aim, and shoot.
From Guest Contributor Hayden Unfred