Posts Tagged ‘Guest Contributor’
Jun
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
Jun
Mutant Frogs
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
“The grandkids found albino frogs again,” he said.
“We can see them much better on the grass when they’re white,” they told him.
But they had found two more the week before, and he worried that the pesticides he had used had drifted into the pond and caused mutations. His wife wasn’t listening; she was trying to figure out why there were two small dents in the flour in the canister just like last week.
The children herded the frogs to the edge of the pond. Where each splashed into the pond, a small, white circle floated on the water.
From Guest Contributor Diane de Anda
Jun
Attrition
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
I’m meeting with Robert Todd, our best employee. He arrives early, stays late, seldom takes sick days, and works well with staff.
“Bob, come in,” I say when I spot him waiting by my office door.
“As you know the powers that be cut our budget and we have to let some employees go. Since you do the work of at least four of our other employees, I have no choice: get rid of four employees or you.”
“You don’t want to see four families lose their major primary breadwinners, do you?”
Bob didn’t respond.
“Robert, you’re fired,” I say.
From Guest Contributor Dave Harper
Dave, a recovering software developer, now finds himself addicted to writing fiction.
Jun
A Killer
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
I should have sensed him as I entered the room, guessed that he was crouched in the corner silently watching me. As I reached for a bowl he dashed out from his hiding place. I shrieked as I brought the bowl down repeatedly onto his body. I didn’t stop until his insides spilled out beyond the edges of his cool smooth skin. His head was pressed over the edge of the sink in an unnatural position, as if dreaming of escape from a deranged woman wielding a bowl. I’m a killer; this unfortunate salamander’s life taken in five horrible blows.
From Guest Contributor Natashia Smith
Natashia writes poetry and flash fiction. She has been published at: 50-Word Stories, Friday Flash Fiction and Postcard Shorts.
Jun
Tableau
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The protracted screaming was unnerving. I thought a rat had been caught by one of the local dogs allowed loose around the estate. It was Creggan in the nineties, where all sorts of mixed breeds roamed freely.
I pushed aside the lace curtain and gaped.
Pinning a dunnock to the ground with its talons, a sparrowhawk majestically scanned for potential interruption, its ribbed breast an exotic cuirass.
I caught its eye, heart strained in macabre tug-of-war between awe and horror at the continuing shrieks.
The raptor blinked like its distant ancestor, stooped, and ripped the voice from the little hedge-sparrow.
From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid
May
Nothing To Spare
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Yours? Mine? Arguments. Ideologies differ. Attempt to build bridge between us. Links missing. Structure collapses. Earth? Water? No collaboration. Excuses made. Stubbornness. Misunderstandings. Light? Dark? We try meeting at middle ground. Concluding we can’t agree. Not in thought, time or space. Coffee’s gone cold. I mind. He doesn’t. Ketchup smeared on fridge door. I wipe off. Mustard appears. Grass is greener over there, he says. I don’t care. I prefer wildflowers. He repaints the scene with concrete. I’m younger, by two years exact. Can hardly wait for… Brother leaves for college. Forgets his toothbrush. I throw it into his room.
From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs
Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. Published at: Nailpolish Stories, 50-Word Stories, 100 word story, 101 Words, Boston Literary Magazine, From the Depths (Haunted Waters Press), ShortbreadStories, SixWordMemoirs, and Espresso Stories.
May
One Last Sunrise
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Carl awoke to the escalating chorus of songbirds echoing through the dense northeastern forest. He arose and went through his morning ritual in silence. Dress and redon boots. Rehydrate and consume breakfast, coffee. Breakdown camp. Load his backpack.
These same activities he had performed for countless summers, now at a slower more deliberate pace.
The sealed cardboard box was left out of his pack today. He would carry it the last few miles in his hands.
Arriving at their unnamed peak, he savored the sunrise view east. Opening the box, he sprinkled her remains. Finally, at peace. Finally, at home.
From Guest Contributor Todd Raubenolt
May
Unrequited
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Soft and warm, her diamond-drill eyes cut through troubles to allow her molten laughter to fill his heart.
She moved like a leopard and, when her thighs brushed innocently, nerve endings tingled with an indescribable charge.
Wanting her more than breath, his eyes often sought the smooth valley beneath her throat, desire locking his tongue until…too late, leaving him to pounce at the desiccated dust eddies in her wake.
Fleeting shards of opportunity teased like mirages, requiring more energy and know-how than his aging, wounded, soul possessed.
She’d offered him a photo once. He’d declined. 2D simply wasn’t enough.
From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid
May
Metro Miracle Man
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
I’m tired. Every day I clean the floors, the toilets, empty the trash. After work, on the Metro, I see all the people sitting there, all the sad faces, tired faces, and think, okay people, it’s your lucky day—today is Miracle Day, people, what do you want?
I close my eyes—five, ten minutes. When I open them, the people are smiling. All their faces are changed because I have that power to change their lives. I look them over again and I am very happy. I close my eyes and say to myself, I am the Miracle Man.
From Guest Contributor Jeff Nazzaro
May
The Rant In The Lamp
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
In my perfect prison of smooth, curving walls, I dread the serpentine rope, curling on the bottom of the well.
No escape by that plaited ladder. It is a sucking wick, a path to punishment above in the glass panopticon, where they burn me alive.
With my light, without their night, those heedless animals cook and sing and flirt, while I, burning, dwindle and darken the glass.
I have suffered long in this prison well, and I have chosen my end. Once I am no more than soot and foul air, with my last, dry gasps, I will poison them.
From Guest Contributor Virginia Marybury