Posts Tagged ‘Hair’
Jan
Ophelia Takes A Bath
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Ophelia under the water; kneecap mountains poking out dwarf the dipping hills of her breasts. The ragged, brown seaweed strands of her hair move gently as her hot kettle sighs ring around the steam-shrouded bathroom.
She finds brash or delicate things expose her madness—the rough lyrics of a Pogues’ song or the fragrance of a flower bomb. Silver chains on her thighs, bright relics of dejection, shackle her to the past but aren’t enough to save her. So she piles his words as pebbles on her heart and in this way she doesn’t float away—at least not today.
From Guest Contributor Adele Evershed
Jan
Rejuvenation Maestro
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
He’d become accustomed to his trifocals and dentures; took his half-dozen morning pills religiously; prayed for just one more upright day, another day to deal with his rapidly advancing age.
Even though he still had his youthful smile and the remnants of his ponytail, most of his hair had gone and what little remained had long since thinned and greyed, then whitened. He usually shunned the morning mirror.
His grandson’s youngest daughter (almost half-way through her troubled, rebellious teens) said, “Don’t worry, Pop-Pop; I can fix you up real good,” and before he knew it they had matching blue hair.
From Guest Contributor Ron. Lavalette
Ron’s many published works, including his debut chapbook, Fallen Away, can be found HERE.
Dec
The Bad News First
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Every morning there were dumpsters full of newborn babies. Every evening there was one brown shoe at the side of the road – with, some said, a foot still in it, tapping. I developed a theory that we were all just the debris of a distant explosion. By then I knew no one was coming to save me. Even the letter carrier would regularly ask for proof I was who I was before handing me my mail. As I took my driver’s license out of my wallet, little white spiders would fall from somewhere and melt like snowflakes in her hair.
From Guest Contributor Howie Good
Howie’s latest full-length poetry collection, Gun Metal Sky, is due in early 2021 from Thirty West Publishing.
Nov
Golden Memory
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Hannah clutches the picture close to her chest and closes her eyes, a smile on her lips as she envisions her young daughter dancing, her steps light, and the sunshine gleaming on her golden blond hair.
“Move, Jew,” the man shoves Hannah into the train. Everyone is cramped, and the foul stench is unavoidable.
Hannah couldn’t help but stare at the frail woman beside her.
“Is that your daughter?”
“Yes, we were separated.”
“You’ll be with her soon,” says the woman.
The train comes to a halt and the door slides open.
The air is filled with a snowy substance.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Oct
The New Normal
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Three minutes before the meeting, I don my favorite blouse. It won’t pass the waft test, but I’m out of clean clothes. My flannel pants are ripped; it’ll have to do. My hair is in a bun because styling takes too long.
Apple sauce pools on the high chair; fruity pebbles litter on the floor.
I rush to open the laptop and enter the meeting. Twelve baggy pairs of eyes stare back at me. I then remember that no one can smell my shirt or see my pants. But I wonder if anyone would mind if I went to pee.
From Guest Contributor Jennifer Lai
Oct
Unspoken Memory
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Memories surfaced as the woman on the balcony leaned against the balustrade, her young daughter beside her.
She had been joyfully preparing to tell him the wonderful news. She cooked a special dinner and waited for his return from work. She opened the bedroom window, breathed in the fresh spring air, and watched the passersby. A group of people gathered near a stopped buggy. Tears rolled down her cheek. There had been no mistake. It was his still body.
She gently hugged her daughter and watched the young girl’s red hair blow in the breeze. The same color as his.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Sep
Hubert And Sylvia
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
When Hubert met Sylvia in first grade, he didn’t like her. She called him names like Fatso and Freako and Huber-Boober. Hubert in turn called her Silly Sylvia or Chubby or just Stupid. But he couldn’t get away from her, since everyone was in alphabetical order, and Hubert Hindeldorf, belonged right behind Sylvia Hickson.
Sometimes Sylvia would put her head back so that her long hair was resting on his textbook. Sometimes she would drop her pencil and then poke him in the leg while she retrieved it.
By eighth grade they knew each other quite well. Eventually, they married.
From Guest Contributor Anita G. Gorman
Sep
Giant Ship
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
I listened to the sound of the waves smack against the giant ship, closed my eyes and pictured my wife’s face. Her radiant smile and long blond hair made my heart pulsate. Soon we’d be together once we docked in New York, and she’d be waiting for me with open arms and our son. I relished the thought.
I dropped the picture when the ship shuddered. I opened the door and panicked people filled the hallway.
“What happened?” I asked out loud.
“Titanic has hit an iceberg,” answered a fidgety man.
I went back into my cabin.
Titanic wouldn’t sink.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Aug
Irony
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
I’m very excited to announce the winner of our Hubris Flash Fiction Contest, from regular contributor Lisa Scuderi-Burkimsher. I hope that winning doesn’t go to her head!
Congratulations Lisa! And thank you to everyone who submitted to the contest. It was difficult picking just one.
Bill combed his hair, gave a thumbs up to his reflection in the mirror and then left.
He walked with a swagger and passing bystanders cussed him.
“It’s a pandemic, wear a mask, idiot,” yelled an irate man from across the street.
Bill flipped him the finger and continued.
When he arrived at his cousin’s barbecue, he was stopped at the back gate.
“You can’t come in here without a mask,” said his cousin, Mark.
“Come on, man, I never get sick.”
Mark slammed the gate in his face.
Bill stood for a moment before walking away and then sneezed.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Aug
Waitress And The Ventriloquist
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
She had sun-streaked hair. I told her we could have a quickie after the show but she just looked blankly at Murphy, the doll. That night I jerked off with Murphy and cussed him for missing my chance with her. He looked on with the wooden smile, his wooden fingers clenched tight by his side. Murphy said cute things that day. People laughed at the stale jokes about slavery. I saw her reach out for the tip. And then she walked past me, with sad the ruffle of notes in her bodice. A little girl came up and hugged Murphy.
From Guest Contributor Sreemanti Sengupta
Sreemanti writes fiction and poetry (Losing Friends – Alien Buddha Press 2.0) while occasionally dabbling in collage art. Some of her haikus have been translated to French and a poem read out at City Lights Bookstore, NY. She runs The Odd Magazine and Odd Books.