Posts Tagged ‘Guest Contributor’
Apr
Strange Creatures
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
There is only one road from here to there, cutting through the hills of rolling greens with the occasional grove of trees breaking up the monotony. Soon, this too will be gone, in its place, parking lots and strip malls, housing offices that employ free thinkers selling ethically sourced products from other once beautiful patches of green.
As my electric car reaches the zenith of these rolling hills, I spot the strange creatures spinning hundreds of feet in the air.
We reminisce.
“Remember how beautiful that stretch of land was?”
“Where?”
“You know, that boring stretch between there and here.”
From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster
Apr
The Grieving
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The angel of death once thrust his face perilously close to mine. I can still smell his lurid breath when the wind blows across the green scummy water. Although it seems longer ago, it was only last year that he climbed into bed and cuddled with you. The survivors cope as best they can. One walks all around the car and carefully looks under it before getting in. And so I ask him, Whatever happened to the right to be lazy? An 18-month-old slipping under the water when her mother left her unattended in the tub for just a sec.
From Guest Contributor Howie Good
Howie’s newest poetry collection, Heart-Shape Hole, which also includes examples of his handmade collages, is forthcoming from Laughing Ronin Press.
Apr
Round One
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
It was the end of the first round between Rockcrusher Rocco, the favorite, and Lefty Louie. Rocco wasn’t called ‘Rockcrusher’ for nothing. And not just for publicity’s sake. He could really hit.
Louie’s manager, Al, and cutman, Mel, were in the corner with Louie…
“Do you think you can go another round, Louie?”
“Huh?”
“A round? Another round?”
“Is that you, Sally?”
“No. It’s me, Al.”
“What?”
“Remember what I told you? When he jabs twice with the left, he throws his right cross.”
“Sally, I can’t believe you’re here.”
“It’s me and Mel, Louie.”
“I still can’t believe it…”
From Guest Contributor David Sydney
Apr
His Majesty
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The king sits on his throne with a large and excruciating chest wound. The room is filled with blood and lifeless bodies, his men.
The beautifully decorated hall is covered in blood and the delicately prepared meat and fruit sit untouched never to be eaten.
The king hasn’t much time. He can’t feel his legs and his body is cold. He reaches for his ring and struggles with his weak fingers to remove it. As he releases it, he slumps over and the ring drops to the ground, the noise echoing in the quiet.
His Majesty will soon be replaced.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
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
Once Upon A Time
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Once upon a time a new pen got a first assignment: write a story with the title ‘Once upon a time.’ The owner of the pen who is also the writer of this story was curious about the result of this first cooperation.
The ink dried rather quickly which was a nice perk of course.
He bought the pen at an office supply store where he always had to enter every time he passed it.
It’s worth saying: the author loves holding the pen
So remember: the pieces you will be reading from now on are written with this pen.
From Guest Contributor Hervé Suys
Hervé (°1968 – Ronse, Belgium) started writing short stories whilst recovering from a sports injury and he hasn’t stopped since. Generally he writes them hatless and barefooted.
Mar
Pitch
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
He had been following her for over an hour. She had seen him before and was concerned. Bulging belly, dirty holey sweatshirt, grungy jeans at half mast. Just his luck, she walked into an alley. When he followed her, she reached into her bag. When he became conscious, he turned his head and picked up a baseball by his head. It read, “Stalking a star pitcher is a really bad idea. Don’t do it again.” The next thing he noticed was that his pants were around his ankles and his drawers were down to his knees. The police showed up then.
From Guest Contributor Doug Hawley
Mar
Medical-alert
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
In the advertisement, an elderly woman thanks the company. After a fall, she immediately used the medical-alert device to signal for help. She is now alive. But…
“I can’t stand that thing.”
“How do you mean, Harriet?”
We are now dealing with Harriet and Gertrude. Real people, not women in advertisements.
“George is still alive, Gert.”
Harriet had been married to George for 57 years when he fell and successfully used the device.
“Damn, Harriet. That reminds me of Frank.”
Gertrude, too, had been married for 57 years, in her case to Frank, who had one of the devices also.
From Guest Contributor David Sydney
Mar
Battlefield
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The bombs come at us in droves, the sound deafening. I run across the field dodging bullets and falling bodies, the few men alive still in agonizing pain. Our trench is ahead, and I just need to get there.
Another round of gunfire and screams echoing across the battlefield. My heart pounds heavily and I find it difficult to breathe.
A bullet knocks my helmet off and I’m unprotected.
Someone yells cease fire, grabs my arm, and throws me to the ground. The gunfire has stopped but we’re crawling.
A few feet and we make it safely across.
For now.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Mar
Speaking From Beyond
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The spirit spoke.
“Water is wetting my house.” Trevor woke up from his dream puzzled. He wondered what his dead aunt was trying to tell him from beyond the grave. He waited for the sun to rise and then rushed down to her burial spot to investigate.
Examining the sepulcher, he saw a gaping hole in the roof of the structure and as he looked down he could see the coffin below. He took out some cement and sand he had in his car trunk and sealed off the spot.
“Ok,” he said, “That was what the dream was about.”
From Guest Contributor Dennis Williams
Dennis is an emerging poet/writer from Sandy Hill, St. Catherine, Jamaica. His writings have been published in agape Review, the American Diversity Report (ADR), Alchemy spoon issue #7, the Health line Zine #1, the independent literary magazine Adelaide #54, EgoPHobia # 74, and the livina press issue # 3, Blue Pepper Magazine.