Posts Tagged ‘Guest Contributor’
Jun
Fantasy Winners
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Were the Newtown Bluebirds getting worse? Their last loss was 19-0. The one before that, 17-0.
Coach Mel Fromberg, at the practice field, addressed the Little Leaguers.
“Winners. We’re going to be winners.”
“Close your eyes, everybody. ”
It was to be a group-fantasy-session.
“See yourself as a winner. Then, see the whole team of winners…”
“Eddie? A winner?” Steve Bramwell, the second-baseman, said he couldn’t see it.
Eddie Franklin, the shortstop, said the same of Steve.
“Try again,” demanded Mel, his eyes still closed. But Steve? Eddie? The Bluebirds? Winners? What kind of task had Mel set for them all?
From Guest Contributor David Sydney
Jun
First Time
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
I have waited for this moment since childhood. Now as an adult in my car with the engine running, I’m thinking of excuses to put my foot to the accelerator.
I remove my sunglasses and shut the radio in the middle of “You are the Wind Beneath My Wings,” and turn the car off. This song brings back memories of my wedding. I wish Melinda were still alive.
As I approach the porch and knock on the door, I hear footsteps stomping down the stairs.
Would it be my mother or father who’d I’d be meeting for the first time?
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
May
Conspiracy Theory
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Beyond porch lights, snow piles up, sealing in anxious women. They stand at windowsills watching the sky glower. Blinking in the fists of children are glo-stix to throw at the towering drifts, aiming where the eyes should go. Elsewhere, a child snaps his birthday gift of a bow-and-arrow in half. The moon rolls down a hill and thunder beats its metal chest, a rattling that distracts everyone from the whir of an incoming drone. It kicks up all the snow but means no harm, though some will insist the machine was an alien ship, come to take the glo-stix home.
From Guest Contributor Cheryl Snell
May
Our Night Out
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Thomas was excited to see Our American Cousin at Ford’s Theatre. President Lincoln would be attending, and he was overwhelmed with contentment that he’d be there on the same night.
Inside the theater, Thomas took his wife’s gloved hand and offered her a seat before seating himself.
The play was amusing and colorful with a copious audience.
Above, Lincoln sat with his wife Mary enthralled with the actors, then a shot fired, and screams erupted. A man jumped onto the stage and yelled before fleeing, “Thus always to tyrants.”
That would be the one and only time I’d see Lincoln.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
May
Monty Rediscovers Home
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Six-year-old Monty, a master of his plastic sword, calculates strikes against imaginary giants while he takes cover behind backyard trees. When his mother’s voice pierces through his fantasy, calling him for dinner, the warrior boy marches home victorious.
Forty-year-old Monty daydreams of being a fearless commander defending his country against terrorists and, at night, dreams of being a superhero saving his city from crime and corruption.
While cleaning out his garage, Monty finds his plastic sword and wields it again, destroying enemies with a battle cry whoop. The brave boy/man rediscovers his inner sanctuary to face his lackluster world.
From Guest Contributor Leigh-Anne Burley
May
Alive
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Guns roared and bullets skyrocketed past my head. I ducked and took deep breaths. The man next to me bled out. There wasn’t anything I could do.
“Retreat,” the lieutenant yelled.
Retreat where, I wondered? I reloaded my weapon and aimed at anything coming toward me.
It was chaotic. Men screaming, bodies strewn everywhere. If I got out alive it would be a miracle.
Something hit me from behind. I looked and my stomach bled deep red. I crumpled to the ground, then everything went black.
When I awakened, I was on a stretcher in a helicopter.
I made it.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
May
Belly/Belie
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
I remember the push of the needle through my flesh, a burst of pain, the reddened swelling, and then the bruise, spreading like a distorted coneflower from my stomach.
“Sexy,” he mutters later. He pushes my sweater higher up around my breasts, leaning in to kiss the tender flesh around the belly ring. I look up at the ceiling tiles. I close my eyes, and I imagine this ring is a portal. I crawl through the small metal circle, into the deep hull of this ship–a stowaway, hidden from view. I smile. It works. He doesn’t even notice I’m gone.
From Guest Contributor Helen Raica-Klotz
Apr
Once In A Lifetime
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
It was a once-in-a-221-year-event, the simultaneous emergence of two different cicada broods. One was the 13-year group. The other, the 17-year variety. So, as predicted, a trillion cicadas emerged, one-by-one, from the warming soil. Sam and Waldo were two such cicadas.
“Can you believe it?”
“What, Sam?”
“We’re In the southeastern United States.”
“What a racket.”
Cicadas make noise through a special organ, a tymbal.
“What?”
It was increasingly hard to hear.
“HEY, WALDO?”
“YEAH.”
“I NEVER THOUGHT I’D SAY IT.”
“WHAT?”
“I DON’T KNOW ABOUT YOU…BUT AFTER 221 YEARS, I THOUGHT IT’D BE A LOT BETTER THAN THIS.”
From Guest Contributor David Sydney
Apr
Snow
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The first thing I did last night was set the alarm for seven o’clock in the morning. I didn’t know the snow the weather forecaster predicted was going to start so early.
There was a message that my interview had been canceled so I got back under the covers and my dog Charlie snuggled next to me.
Large snowflakes pressed against the window and the wind howled. Charlie let out a growl and went back to sleep. I closed my eyes and wished the snow would stop.
When I awakened later that afternoon, the snow ceased, and the sun shined.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Apr
What Made Me Cry…
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
It wasn’t your lifeless body accompanied by sympathy cards and my childhood stuffed animal, not your workplace name tag displayed in your shirt pocket, not the sermon praising your altruism, not the incense that uplifted our prayers, not as a pallbearer guiding you to your resting place.
It was the blasts of a three-volley salute followed by the silence of two soldiers that lifted the flag off your casket and with precision folded it into a perfect triangle, and my realization that if you didn’t survive war and didn’t start a family, I wouldn’t be standing here missing you, Dad.
From Guest Contributor Charles Gray