Posts Tagged ‘Guest Contributor’
Jul
The Lottery Jackpot
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
“You know what I’d do if we ever win the Lottery Jackpot,” she says while she crumples this week’s ticket.
I’ve heard this before. She’ll start summing up wild and expensive dreams, each time leaving out some she no longer desires, but adding a few new extravaganzas.
“…south of France. An electric car, we’ve talked about this. It’s the latest fashion – we should definitely own one. Quit our jobs, obviously. And you won’t have to mow the lawn of that young widow twice a week any more.”
I sure as hell hope we never win that freaking Lottery Jackpot.
From Guest Contributor Hervé Suys
Hervé (°1968 – Ronse, Belgium) started writing short stories whilst recovering from a sports injury and hasn’t stopped since.
Jul
Dear New York
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Your 9 a.m. is my six. Once again, you didn’t leave a message. I was asleep, and not dreaming of my youth. Or Bobby Short at the Carlyle, Yul Brynner as the King. The Oak Room, their scotch so expensive I almost gave it up. Since I’m awake now, I’ve begun my day. Doing the wash. Starting breakfast. Wondering what it is you want. Why not cast me aside as just another woman who headed west when the buildings fell? Here, the mountains are tall, the sea, a pebble’s throw away. I know it’s you, New York. Calling me home.
From Guest Contributor Linda Lowe
Linda’s stories and poems have appeared in Outlook Springs, A Story in 100 Words, What Rough Beast, the New Verse News, Misfit Magazine, and others.
Jul
Metamorphosis
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Kids are dumb. Especially when they’re fourteen.
Vivian was this really fat girl in my Algebra class. Her friend passed me a note via my friend: Vivian likes you.
She waited for me in the cafeteria.
Her face was cute, but I didn’t want to be seen with her.
“I don’t like that fat girl,” I shouted so all would hear.
Since then I can’t bear to see her cry.
Yesterday, over breakfast, I asked my son to pass a birthday card to her.
She cried.
“You know, Dad, sometimes you’re a real dumb guy.”
I smiled. “I know, Son.”
From Guest Contributor E. Barnes
E. has works published at Entropy, Spillwords, The Purple Pen, The Haven, and several works are in the anthology, “NanoNightmares.”
Jul
Fond Memory
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
As I lifted my daughter in the air, her melodious laughter echoed. My wife waved and set the picnic table, her long blond hair blowing in the breeze. The birds chirped in unison and the squirrels scampered searching for food. The sun beamed without a cloud in the sky and I relished the day.
“Let’s go eat my little one,” I took her small hand in mine.
I sipped cold water and it cooled my insides. I kissed my wife on the lips and my daughter on the forehead, their smiles branded in my mind.
Tomorrow I leave for war.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Jul
Punishment Without Crime
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Oompah-pah music and traditional German drinking songs floated up from the street festival into the third-floor courtroom. I shifted uneasily from foot to foot as I stood before the scowling judge. One prosecution witness after another had described in specious detail my attitudes, conversations, habits, and interests. There was even testimony about the transparent Jewishness of my penis. Now it was finally my turn to speak. I had just begun when the judge interjected, “Spare us your life philosophy.” His face was grave. He studied me with cold, squinty eyes as if calculating exactly how much a person can bear.
From Guest Contributor Howie Good
Howie is the author of THE DEATH ROW SHUFFLE, a poetry collection forthcoming from Finishing Line Press.
Jul
Decision
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The witch stared into the candlelight. The darkness and tempest outside would strengthen her spell, To Make Him Love You More. He wasn’t home yet, now was her chance to cast it.
The thunderbolt’s light lit up the room, and a sparkle under the bed caught her eye. Squinting, she focused on it. A shattered mirror.
“Next time, it’ll be your head.”
Her eyes widened as his harsh words echoed in her ears, and her hand froze mid-air. Without thinking, she flipped to the following page of her open spell book, To Mend Your Broken Heart.
Decided, the witch chanted.
From Guest Contributor Soleah Kenna Sadge
Soleah is a fantasy writer. You can learn more about her and her writings by visiting https://linktr.ee/sksadge
Jul
Limited Engagement
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Curtain rises.
Exterior of a house, bushes, a weathered blue Chevy in the drive.
The door opens. Enter GRANDPA. Locking the door, he crosses to the car. Six-year-old JEFFREY sneaks out of the bushes and creeps up behind Grandpa.
“Boo!”
The new game. He’s incorrigible.
Grandpa jumps. “Jesus Motherfucking Christ!” Clamping a hand over his chest, he staggers, collapsing onto the side of the auto. Grandpa slips to the ground and is still.
Wide-eyed Jeffrey cries.
A spotlight from the stage shines out. The crying, a baby’s voice.
The curtain falls.
No curtain call.
The houselights come up.
Get out.
From Guest Contributor Erik C. Martin
Erik lives and writes in San Diego. He misses Comic-Con, his critique group, and SCBWI meetings. Follow him on Twitter at @ErikCMartin.
Jul
Raking Leaves
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Raking leaves
is an exercise in the good-enough.
You will never get them all.
You come to prize
the strong, steady stroke of the rake,
the appropriate armful that you lift
into the waiting wheelbarrow.
The maple leaves which from a distance
appear two-tone, red and silver,
reveal a soul-satisfying palette
from crimson to lavender.
A leaf falls in your hair and tickles your neck.
You cover the lily beds
with their winter blanket,
a gorgeous quilt
in five-pointed patchwork.
You’re no good at quilting, but it doesn’t matter.
Raking leaves is an object lesson
in Lamott’s “shitty first drafts.”
From Guest Contributor Cheryl Caesar
Cheryl lived in Paris, Tuscany and Sligo for 25 years; she earned her doctorate in comparative literature at the Sorbonne and taught literature and phonetics. She now teaches writing at Michigan State University. Last year she published over a hundred poems in the U.S., Germany, India, Bangladesh, Yemen and Zimbabwe, and won third prize in the Singapore Poetry Contest for her poem on global warming. Her chapbook Flatman: Poems of Protest in the Trump Era is now available from Amazon and Goodreads.
Jul
Super Man
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
“I vacuumed and mopped,” Andy said to his wife, Michelle.
“Really?” Michelle replied, looking up from scrubbing the upstairs toilet.
“Yes,” Andy beamed. “And you didn’t even have to ask.”
“Fantastic,” Michelle said before turning back to attack the porcelain with a scrub brush. “Your award ceremony will be on ESPN tonight at seven.”
“Cool!’ Andy said, and he took his cellphone to the downstairs bathroom to catch up on Facebook. Thirty minutes later when he flushed for the second time, he was starting to wonder if Michelle had been joking.
He decided to set the DVR just in case.
From Guest Contributor John Sheirer
John is an author and teacher who loves living in New England. His most recent book is Fever Cabin, a fictional journal of a man isolating out of fear of COVID-19 who confronts his life choices. Proceeds benefit virus relief organizations. Find John at JohnSheirer.com
Jul
Melodious Birds
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Erik sat silently in the small attic, fatigued, and his legs aching from being crunched together in the confined space. His father had told him to stay quietly hidden until the birds chirped.
Before the gunshot, his mother screamed. His father yelled a profanity, then he heard another gunshot and muffled his cries.
As Erik awakened, the birds sang. He slowly opened the creaking door and went downstairs.
In the kitchen, his parents bloodied bodies laid on the floor and a Nazi soldier stood against the wall.
“Ich habe gewartet.” I’ve been waiting.
A gun was aimed at Erik’s head.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher