Posts Tagged ‘Hands’
Sep
The Waiting Room
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
My clammy hands make the number I pulled soggy. I roll the paper’s corner between my fingers until it looks like the twisted end of those poppers you throw at the ground. The chairs are ice cold and don’t warm up to me. Who am I waiting for to call my name? The slip is blurry. There’s no number after all. My skin is on fire. The paper disintegrates. Now I’ll never know when I’ll be called. The gift of creation is eating me alive. I really wanted to get that checked out. But I don’t think anyone is coming.
From Guest Contributor Madeline van Batum
Madeline lives in Colorado with her cat and hopes that one day she can go back to her home country of the Netherlands to finally meet the Flying Dutchman.
May
Doctor Burke
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Doctor Burke’s hands are steadfast as he performs the intricate surgery. The patient has lost blood and the bullet is lodged in his abdomen.
Nurse Benson hands him the scalpel and he gently removes the bullet, but the patient begins to code. Burke uses the defibrillator and after several attempts the man flatlines. The time of death is 3:52pm.
Nurse Benson approaches. “You did everything you could.”
On the way home, all he thinks about is the loss.
When he walks in the door, his wife is waiting with red wine and dinner.
She asks how his first surgery went.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Feb
Gratitude
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
“So nice,” Sarah thought, reciprocating a friendly wave.
She would’ve helped if her arthritic hands weren’t an issue. Instead, she watched the next door neighbor bend countless times to weed a bountiful garden.
When showy bouquets were presented at her front door, Sarah returned the favor with her baking. When her husband died, the neighbor had arranged funeral flowers free of charge.
Drought settled the following year. Flowering plants suffered. Rosebuds dried, not getting a chance to bloom. Much of the garden had dwindled.
Unlike the blossoming friendship between the two women, who found themselves together at a seniors’ lodging.
From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs
Krystyna writes poetry, fiction and creative nonfiction regardless of the season, although she prefers spring.
Nov
When Cupid Calls
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
They laugh their boisterous laughs, holding hands with Pride seated in the gaps between their knuckles. Butterflies overflow their love-struck hearts and they try their best not to erupt in a bashful fit of giggles. He looks at her like she is all the world’s treasures in one. And she looks at him like he’s everything her heart has ever yearned for.
Then they leave the room, white with Shame, hands still clumsily interlocked. But with preening eyes, tugging hearts and Cupid calling them away to the gaze of their secret lovers.
Oh, how first love always ends in regret.
From Guest Contributor Mahathi Sathish
Aug
The Watchmaker
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
He had become a master in the arrangement of all her beautiful pieces.
A lifetime of experiencing his shattered dreams had made this so.
With patience, he would file down or build up their broken parts until two pieces fit together as one.
His hands of meticulous love removed the heart from his chest and gently placed it within hers.
She raised her head slowly and smiled.
His head sagged downward as he did the same.
With that, she rose, exiting the tiny room.
Opening the door as the sun burnt her eyes, but the pain only lasted a moment.
From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster
May
Open Casket Funeral
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Walking inside the church, a woman hands out pamphlets with a picture of the deceased. There’s a room full of people standing and talking. In the corner of the room stands an open casket and your aunt to the left. Tears fall down her cheeks. People walk up in a line and hold her hands, giving condolences. Within the casket, a corpse lays with its pale skin, shut eyelids, and carved lips. Not four months ago your uncle gave you a remote control helicopter so you wouldn’t be the only one in the room without a gift on Christmas day.
From Guest Contributor Leif Bradley
Leif is a student of Literature and Creative Writing at Pikes Peak Community College.
May
The Dig
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
A woman’s voice beneath the ash and rubble signals me. I tell her to keep talking and follow the sound, digging, my hands and arms aching.
“We’re almost there,” I say, gasping, dripping sweat and thirsty.
One of my workmen approaches. “Ben, she won’t survive long if we don’t get her out soon.”
“Keep digging,” I say.
An image appears and to my stunned eyes, I see a protruding stomach. She has lost consciousness and is covered in earth. I get her onto a stretcher and into the ambulance.
I take the shovel and begin digging for the next victim.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Apr
Open Casket Funeral
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Walking inside the church, a woman hands out pamphlets with a picture of the deceased. There’s a room full of people standing and talking. In the corner of the room stands an open casket and your aunt to the left. Tears fall down her cheeks. People walk up in a line and hold her hands, giving condolences. Within the casket, a corpse lays with its pale skin, shut eyelids, and carved lips. Not four months ago your uncle gave you a remote control helicopter to avoid you being the only one in the room without a gift on Christmas day.
From Guest Contributor Leif Bradley
Leif is a student of Literature and Creative Writing at Pikes Peak Community College.
Dec
Soldier’s Return
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
It’s been years since I could feel my wife’s hands on my body, and I can’t wait to lay next to her in bed caressing her soft skin.
I didn’t know what to give my kids for Christmas, so I made a collage of all the letters and pictures my son and daughter sent me. I made the same gift for my wife, but with a personal touch, for her eyes only. Their pictures and letters helped keep me strong through the long war.
The bus has come to a stop.
The three of them are here, smiling, anxiously waiting.
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.