Posts Tagged ‘Guest Contributor’
Jul
Declaration Of War
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The noon sun was a blazing red ember in an ashen sky. It was all anyone could talk about. Even the dogs of the kingdom were going crazy, whining and running in circles and hypersalivating. Meanwhile, on the birthing table, the Red Queen, her knees up, her legs spread apart, her multiple chins trembling, pushed and pushed and then pushed again. Music – Wagner or perhaps Sousa, something rousing – came thundering out of her. She was like a little brass ensemble playing mightily. The royal physician remained strangely calm, as though thinking, “OK, why not?” Blood had never looked so red.
From Guest Contributor Howie Good
Howie is the author of more than a dozen poetry collections, including most recently Gunmetal Sky (Thirty West Publishing).
Jul
Manipulation
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
He was a mastermind, slowly taking over as he got deeper and deeper under my skinーconvincing me it was love the entire time. And I believed it, I believed him, because his hooks were in me so deep that I couldn’t see I was trapped. He knew what he was doing, it was all part of his plan. What he claimed was love was his way of making sure I wouldn’t leaveーeven if I wanted to. I was a toy to him; something he could keep, control, and manipulate into staying. As if I were something that could be kept.
From Guest Contributor Kelsey Swancott
Kelsey is a graduate of St. John Fisher College, majoring in English, with a concentration in writing while also being an editor in the campus literary magazine Angles.She is furthering her education by attending SUNY Brockport for her master’s in English, specializing in creative writing. Following graduation, she is interested in working in the editing and publishing field.
Jul
Sanctuary
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The showerhead above rains hot water hitting the skin hard with maximum strength, like it means it, sending a tingling current that pulls through every fiber. Having a powerful drowsing effect, these watery sounds mingled in heater noises fill the room like a warm blanket. A comforting scent of the body wash lifts the spirit up to a momentarily lightness of serenity. Back against the wall, I stare emptily at the floor as if I can see through it to the scornful world beneath. I think I still have some time to go…or do I?
“May I come in?”
From Guest Contributor David Chek Ling Ngo
David Chek Ling Ngo is a professor at a Scottish university in Malaysia.
Jul
Than Anything Else
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
I asked him about the authors that influenced him.
He shrugged the question away.
“I’m more embarrassed by the story than anything else. Let it die.”
“Than anything else,” I thought. And again “Let it die.” What was that anything else?
He was at the wood stove again, apparently indicating that was it, the interview was over.
“Walkside, strophanthin, and the adult bookstore,” I said, trying to be delicate. “I’m not saying you didn’t make things up, but…”
He spun quickly, poker in his hand. The dogs’ heads jerked up.
“What do you want from me?”
The interview was over.
From Guest Contributor Rick Henry
Jul
Platero And I: The Bridge
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Do you remember last year, Platero? We were heading off to Señora Jiménez to bring her some deadwood.
We were already halfway across the narrow stone bridge over the Rio Molino when Juan, the warden of the hacienda, came running towards us. He shouted he was in a hurry – he suspected his daughter was meeting her lover Ramon at that same moment. He must have frightened you, Platero, because there was no way to get you moving. You stood there for over two hours.
Juan sends his greetings: “Tell your donkey that thanks to his stubbornness I’m a grandfather now.”
From Guest Contributor Hervé Suys
Hervé Suys (°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.
Jul
Summer Afternoons
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The scorching July sun beat on our already crimson backs as we stood to our knees in the creek. The refreshing cool ripples were a short-lived relief from the burning sun above, as we positioned ourselves under the shade of trees and waitedーquietly. Our laughter stifled in the moments of silence before they came. Springing from the water right into our open and ready hands while squeals of excitement and restrained laughter filled the thick summer air. As we began our trek home, giggling with pride at our success, we barely noticed the burning pavement under our calloused, bare feet.
From Guest Contributor Kelsey Swancott
Kelsey is a graduate of St. John Fisher College, majoring in English, with a concentration in writing while also being an editor in the campus literary magazine Angles.She is furthering her education by attending SUNY Brockport for her master’s in English, specializing in creative writing. Following graduation, she is interested in working in the editing and publishing field.
Jul
House Rules
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
“No!” the vacation condos manager barked, his stink-eye getting stinkier by the second. “You cannot borrow a screwdriver to repair your drone. Drones are strictly forbidden on the property!”
“Geez, alright,” I said. Man, there’s a harshness on the edge of town. Last time I book with Wazoo Properties.
“And by the way,” he said. “No more ukulele playing on the lanai or by the pool. It’s strictly…”
“Forbidden?”
He nodded yes.
“One more thing,” he said, pointing at the NO SMOKING sign.
“So, what you’re saying…”
“Yes. No drones, no tools, no frets…and you don’t get no cigarettes!”
From Guest Contributor Lee Hammerschmidt
Lee is a Visual Artist/Writer/Troubadour who lives in Oregon. He is the author of the short story collection, A Hole Of My Own. Check out his hit parade on YouTube!
Jul
In Which I Confront Name Regret
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The sun was just a faint red ember in an ashen sky when I stepped onto the swaying boat. “A poet,” as Paul Celan observed before his second suicide attempt, “is a pirate.” I felt a kind of guilty freedom to be maneuvering the boat above the rush-hour streets. If only I had had a Jolly Roger! Behind the boat, I pulled a net that was soon full of strange new words for things. My pursuers cursed and cried and complained bitterly of fatigue and stress and vast distances. “Oh yeah?” I said. “Try going through life as a Howard.”
From Guest Contributor Howie Good
Howie is the author of more than a dozen poetry collections, including most recently Gunmetal Sky (Thirty West Publishing).
Jul
River Of Memories
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Fishel sent his wife and two boys away even though Adella insisted they stay until his fever broke. He wouldn’t hear of it. The “Wolves” could arrive at any moment, and he didn’t want to risk his family.
Fishel’s temperature raged, and he became delirious, his wife a constant vision. Too weak to travel, he went to bed, fell into a deep slumber, and dreamt of his family.
Stomping and yelling awakened him from his pleasant dream.
Four Nazi’s burst through the door, guns pointed at Fishel’s face.
“Get up Jew.”
He obeyed and left a river of memories behind.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Jul
Hands
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
My mother’s hands frail and worked. Her crepey paper fingers and running rivers of lines pass along the hilly blue mounds of veins. Many cultures stand proud of ages proof as it displays wisdom, strength—a life lived. Honored one should be of the achievement—living.
What do they know?
I watch as these hands perform tasks, ones they always have, no longer recognizing them. They are not my mothers anymore; they are mine. The words wisdom—a life lived whisper at my ear, and I try to catch them in the wind. These hands—I want to obliterate them.
From Guest Contributor Dianne C. Braley
Dianne is a nurse freelance writer and blogger from Hamilton, Massachusetts.