Posts Tagged ‘Guest Contributor’
Oct
Don’t Fear The Reaper
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Jack wanders into the local for a pint at the end of his evening walk.
“Damn!”
He’d forgotten it was that time of the year.
There’s fat Marge dressed as a witch, and in walks Brad, the estate agent, now a skeleton.
Jack orders lemonade and watches the party grow louder. The pub band, three ghosts and a ghoul, rock them into a frenzy.
Unable to bear the drunken hysteria anymore, he walks out, sober, into the chill of the night.
He glances back through the pub window at the carnival of fools, none of whom will escape the Reaper.
From Guest Contributor Ian Fletcher
Oct
Sam
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Sam was a contradiction. He wore shirts partially tucked in with socks often mismatched. His hair combed in glossy strokes.
He tiptoed to his office cubicle ignoring everyone. They ignored him. Except for Anne who monitored his quota. It must’ve been adequate for he continued to pass me at the reception desk.
One day, I didn’t notice the scent of his signature aftershave. Nor saw his forlorn face staring at the patterned floor as he entered.
A radio news feature announced him as a “person of interest.” Missing. His apartment trashed.
Suddenly, everyone at the office became interested in Sam.
From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs
Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction.
Oct
Happy Halloween
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
I’m driving home from Lori’s Halloween party when the car engine dies. It’s after midnight, the road is desolate, and I’m tired. I reach into my purse for the cell phone, but it’s not there.
Leaning back in my seat, taking a deep breath, I close my eyes. A knock on the window startles me.
“Miss, are you okay?”
It’s a man dressed as Count Dracula, his fangs scarily realistic.
“My engine died.”
“Let me look at it for you.”
As soon as I exit my car, Count Dracula grabs my purse and drives off in his truck.
Happy Halloween.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Oct
Rose Petal
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
It took Jim more than a half hour to arrive at his wife Kate’s grave. The flowers he brought were withered from the heat and drops of sweat dripped down the nape of his neck.
“Hi, Sweetie. I’m sorry it took me so long to get here. Traffic was unbearable. I brought you your favorite, yellow roses, but they are ruined from the heat. I’m sorry, I can’t seem to get anything right these days.”
Jim placed the roses against the gravestone, knelt, and quietly prayed.
“I’ll be back tomorrow.”
When Jim left, a rose petal dropped to the ground.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Oct
Caramel Sauce
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
“Sweet,” Dad said, licking his lips.
“Different,” Mom added.
We were seated in the dining room for Thanksgiving dinner. My
sixteen-year-old brother wanted to showcase the skills he had mastered
in a culinary arts course.
“Wait!” he exclaimed.
The rest of us watched him taste the meal before him. An expression of
bewilderment spread across his face. He ran back to the kitchen and
returned.
“I emptied out the wrong pot,” he conceded. ‘The caramel sauce was
meant for apple cake.”
“So what is left for the cake now?” Dad asked while Mom and I
refrained from laughing.
“Turkey gravy.”
From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs
Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction.
Oct
It’s Not What It Seems
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Mike, feverish, tossed in bed. Head aching and muscles tense, he dreamed of the beach, the hot sun beating on his face, when a voice awakened him.
“Babe, how are you feeling,” asked his wife Liz.
“My body feels like a truck hit it.”
“You heard what the doctor said. You have the flu. Rest, Tylenol and fluids is what he prescribed.”
“Yeah, well, the flu stinks and I feel like it’s more than the flu.”
“Stop being so dramatic. I’ll make you some homemade chicken soup. That should help.”
Mike laid back, closed his eyes, and never dreamed again.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Oct
A Survivor’s Calling
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Mouth agape, eyes widened with fear, I looked on to what my world had been. Everything I lived for was swept up in a distant array of mud, debris and…corpses. Even through my grief, I knew the landslide had chosen me, to avenge everyone’s lives that came to an end in this short, devastating moment. This was my calling, which I would live through for the rest of my life, bearing their dreams.
Standing strong, even until this day, I recall this distant memory. With tears beginning to well in my eyes I see hope glimmering from the future.
From Guest Contributor Danielle Simpfendorfer
Sep
Natural Beauty
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Todd places a bouquet of red roses on his wife’s grave. The rain pelts down and the flowers wither. He sighs and kneels on the muddy ground, tears filling his eyes. Drenched from head to toe, he doesn’t care. It’s been two months since Maria died from cancer and his chest aches. He has no family, only his job to keep him company.
“I miss you, Maria. I wish it had been me instead.”
Weeping, Todd somberly rises to his feet and walks to his car.
After several minutes, the rain stops and the roses return to their natural beauty.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Sep
To Clara: Regarding Your Critique
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
You shared your writing with me. An extension of friendship, like a handshake. More like the reaching out of hands with the chance to be held – or swatted – open palmed. Sharing…emptying pockets to reveal hidden things among the embarrassment of collected lint, is a dangerous proposition. Your shadows merged with mine, achieving the density of darkness that brings on the dawn. How can I thank you? For selflessly taking my hands and guiding me to an unknown resting place within the pages of you. I spoke in an attempt to reciprocate. My words: sandpaper to your beach of memory.
From Guest Contributor Keith Hoerner
Sep
Waiting
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Johnny sat in the waiting room, with sweaty palms, anxiously awaiting the doctor’s results. His eyes searched the area and came across a plump brunette sneezing into her handkerchief. She stuffed it back into her purse and Johnny cringed. He hated germs.
Finally, the nurse called Johnny into Dr. Lovell’s office.
“Johnny, you are perfectly healthy. I called you in because I want you to see a therapist to control your obsessive behavior with germs. Here’s a reputable doctor.” He handed Johnny the paper. “Go home and stop worrying.”
Johnny, relieved, left, but not before sanitizing his hands with Purell.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher