Posts Tagged ‘High School’
Jul
Blood
by thegooddoctor in Uncategorized
“Yes, I drink human blood, but only for ritual purposes.”
“The creepy man in the haunted house said that?” Timmy asked.
“That’s what he said, really,” Jonathan replied. “Robert said so. And he’s in high school, so you know it must be true.”
“Well, I’m not trick-or-treating there Friday. You can go alone if you want.”
“Timmy, don’t you see how cool it would be? You should come with us.”
“Sounds scary, not cool.”
As Timmy ran off, Robert spoke to Jonathan. “Talk him into coming, where else are we going to get blood for the creepy guy to drink?”
From Guest Contributor N.T. Franklin
NT Franklin has been published in Page and Spine, Fiction on the Web, 101 Words, Friday Flash Fiction, CafeLit, Madswirl, Postcard Shorts, 404 Words, Scarlet Leaf Review, Freedom Fiction, Burrst, Entropy, Alsina Publishing, Fifty-word stories, Dime Show Review, among others.
Feb
The Giver
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
It started with gummies. Her mother placed a bag inside her lunch box every day. She gave them all away, hoping the other kids would like her.
In high school, she had a crush on a cute boy. She gave him the best seat, and then she couldn’t see.
Away at university, she baked lemon cakes. She gave all the slices to students who studied in the lounge late at night.
One day after work, she paused at a window and stared. People on the sidewalk bustled behind her.
She stepped into the bakery, bought lemon cake, and ate it.
From Guest Contributor Faye Rapoport DesPres
Faye is the author of the memoir-in-essays Message From a Blue Jay and the Stray Cat Stories children’s book series. She lives and writes in Cambridge, Massachusetts.
Jun
Neighbors
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Everett was swinging back and forth on his porch enjoying a glass of iced tea, sweet tea, watching the annual 4th of July parade make its way past the little house he’d lived in all his life.
Everything he understood about history he’d learned watching that parade go up that road.
Here came local girls twirling pretend wooden rifles in front of the marching band from over at the white high school.
Back when Everett was young, girls, black and white, twirled batons. But the world today was meaner. Neighbors didn’t even try anymore. Or so it seemed to Everett.
From Guest Contributor Brian Beatty
Brian is the author of four poetry collections: Borrowed Trouble; Dust and Stars: Miniatures; Brazil, Indiana: A Folk Poem; and Coyotes I Couldn’t See. Beatty lives in Saint Paul, Minnesota.
May
Homer
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Marjorie and her husband Herbert thought that names were important. When their first child was born, they named him Homer in hopes that some day he would be a major-league baseball player. Herbert used to laugh at the concept even while he predicted that Homer would be inspired by his suggestive name.
When Homer was three, Herbert bought him a baseball bat. Then it was Little League and high-school baseball and finally the college baseball team. Marjorie and Herbert were ecstatic; their dream was coming true.
In the end Homer majored in Classics and wrote an epic poem in Greek.
From Guest Contributor Anita G. Gorman
Mar
Myth Match
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The day is cold even by New England standards. Girls dump menstrual blood on icy sidewalks in some kind of protest. Myth is dead. Our high school biology textbook compared the body to a furnace. Mr. C, our very nice teacher, was killed that spring with his wife and baby daughter in a car wreck. There’s no point in speaking ironically to people who can’t understand irony. You’ll just end up having to publicly apologize. Freud said dreams are the day’s residue. It has to linger for a while, as if to warn we’re a danger to self and others.
From Guest Contributor Howie Good
Howie is the author most recently of Stick Figure Opera: 99 100-word Prose Poems from Cajun Mutt Press. He co-edits the online journals Unbroken and UnLost.
May
Perspectives
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
In the past, they described Michael as an “introvert” and “sensitive.” They said he was “different, but he’s harmless.” “He’s a good kid, just a little shy.”
Today, they said he’s a “loner” and is “withdrawn.” “I knew something was wrong with that kid. “He had no friends at school and never seemed to want any friends. He sat and ate alone in the cafeteria.” “Sometimes other kids teased and made fun of Michael.”
The headline read: Michael Stocktan, age 19, entered Morris High School with his dad’s handgun and shot 19 students and a teacher. Three are critically wounded.
From Guest Contributor David W. Cofer
Apr
His Girl
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
He returned to their place, behind a shrub. Where they as teenagers
watched practitioners exit a church. Where he kissed away her tears
after her father walked out, showering affection on a stranger.
She, the girl he played tag with in childhood. The one he dated
through high school. The one he wrote to after he moved out of the
city, and her letters stopped abruptly.
He watched between raindrops clinging to leafless branches. She exited
the church on the arm of another man. Wedding procession followed.
Rainstorm may have passed, but the storm in his mind had only intensified.
From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs
Krystyna is a writer of poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. She
resides in Edmonton, Canada with her husband and stuffed animals and
many friends.
Dec
Cicadas
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Gary’s gasping two-hand tap against the wall earned second place in the breaststroke. Pete had less time to breathe.
First in the butterfly – their final high school triumph shared.
Later, they met in the shower. Whispers were overpowered by streaming water.
Gary’s kiss goodbye burned as a beloved’s should.
“You’re sure? My heart…so damn broken.” A lump choked his every word.
“Me, too.” Gary held him. “But we’ll be one thousand miles apart.”
Later, Pete laid in the tall grass behind the aquatic center. Silver-voiced male cicadas polished their mating song in desperation, chanting for a miracle.
From Guest Contributor Embe Charpentier
Oct
Priorities
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Lillith’s earliest memory is of her nail poking at her father’s love handle. As if her finger was able to inject happiness, and heal the month-to-month worries that emerged as dollar signs in his eyes, just around his pupils.
In high school, Lillith filled out a career questionnaire while watching her mother dust her two-thousand-square-foot ball and chain. What did she want to be? She simply wrote: free.
On her thirtieth birthday, Lillith’s parents pulled up to her one-hundred-and-forty-four-square-foot tiny home. As Lillith washed the sand off her feet, her mother whispered to her father, “When’s she gonna grow up?”
From Guest Contributor Susan Shiney
Susan is a writer, painter, and teacher originally from Southern California. She is now living in Lille, France.
Jan
Our Orchard
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
We chased each other between rows of plum trees. Leafy boughs drooped with blossoms casting shadows in our tracks.
We kissed when we caught up. I sank into your embrace wishing you would never let go.
But you did. A high school classmate was more clever than I. Grabbed your vulnerability. Clawed at your masculinity. You found her sexy.
I’ve returned. Standing across the street from a playground where our orchard used to be. The fruit trees were gone except for one.
Boys played rough ball games. One on a bench looked like you.
Love no longer filled that space.
From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs
Krystyna writes poetry, fiction and creative nonfiction. Her recent work has been published at: Nailpolish Stories, 50-Word Stories, 100 word story, Boston Literary Magazine, From the Depths (Haunted Waters Press), ShortbreadStories and espresso stories.