Posts Tagged ‘Home’

17
Aug

Futile Gestures

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Leslie struck at the hand as it approached her face.

“Don’t touch me.”

“There’s a leaf in your hair.”

“I can take care of myself.”

Steven remembered when they cared for each other. He’d cook dinner on nights she got home late. She packed a lunch when he had fieldwork, a chocolate bar hidden at the bottom of the bag.

Those thoughtful gestures became less frequent as the fights occurred more often. She perceived every request as an assault on her freedom. She likely had her own side, but he’d stopped caring long ago.

Steven walked away without another word.

23
Jul

Preventing Regret

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

The road was empty at two in the morning and felt like a different world.

“We should…go to the strip club…” Jim said slurring his words.

“I don’t know,” I replied. “His wife would kill him. He’d probably screw up.”

“It’s coming up…Just…take us.”

“I’m not so certain.”

“Drop me off and I’ll…I’ll Uber home.”

He hit my arm and pointed. I fiddled through every pre-set radio station.

“Looks like we missed it,” I said.

Two days later we were golfing.

“Thanks for not leaving me there the other night.”

“I didn’t think you remembered that.”

From Guest Contributor Steve Colori

12
Jun

To The Sci-fi Gazette

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

The SciFi Gazette–shining beacon of non-cliché speculative fiction. Submission guidelines had listed discouraged themes; ‘dystopias’ were number one: bad news for a pessimist like myself.

The state of the world sank home for me when The Gazette’s most hackneyed theme changed to ‘utopias.’ Still, they never published my bleak predictions.

I’d intended to kick down the door, but it already hung on its hinges. Scattered papers decorated shattered furniture. I luckily bagged a tatty anthology edition for later reading.

The editor was, of course, not there. On her desk, I deposited my latest story. I had high hopes–my first utopia.

From Guest Contributor Tris Matthews

25
May

The Sandbox

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

The days pass, and with each exhale, from nothing, there is formation of something; something new. She kneads Gaia’s dough to create substance; substance from silt. Steadfast, the new titan’s loamy paws fury on, and her reliefs; bring her relief.

Unknown eyes gaze in unease, at the new one, at Poseidon and Hephaestus as one, a little one, a guileless deity of change. Born from the inertia of Chaos, born as something different; different than what was before. The Twelve gaze in unease. Deimos pours another round. In their kylixes, they see moving mountains. It’s time to protect their home.

From Guest Contributor Kyle Malloy

11
May

Calypso: Bright-Eyed Goddess

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Unknown amongst them,
she sits; awe and wonder.
Blazing eyes searching,
surrounded, glorious banquet,
wondering of the occasion.
‘Where is your father?’
Calypso forbidden his return!
Wanting the strong man herself,
locked away, a vaulted cave;
awaiting his love.

Prisoner of the Nymph’s love.
‘I actually heard he was home!’
The gods, it seemed, had sinister plans.
Not returned from battle,
vanished, Never to be seen again.

‘What is the meaning of this banquet?’
Men of Troy had heard of the banishment,
their behavior animalistic.
Seeking the love of the ‘widow,’
leaving the son belittled,
doomed to an inglorious future.

From Guest Contributor Melissa Land

19
Mar

Great Minds

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Despite my dread, graduation blasted through the calendar. The ceremony was lovely; I felt something strange in my heart. After I got home, I gravitated to my room and turned on my computer. I opened an old chat program, scrolled down to his name. Our last chat, both online and in real life, was more than five years ago. I saw him sitting in the front row an hour ago.

I read our conversations, laughed, forgot his vanishing act.

Suddenly, the grey icon went green.

Soccer93 is typing….

The message vanished.

Soccer93 is typing….

“Great minds think alike, I guess.”

From Guest Contributor J.R. Night

5
Mar

The Postcard

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

I sit in the beaming sunlight reading Tim’s postcard from France repeatedly.

“Callie, I met a beautiful French woman and we’re in love. I’m not coming home.”

My sweat drips onto the postcard leaving smudge marks. How could he do this to me? I’m so aghast, I throw the postcard on the grass and my dog Bentley whimpers as I kick the lawn chair across the yard, hitting the neighbor’s fence.

“Hey, watch it, Callie! You’ll break my fence,” Charlie yells.

Before I have a chance to answer, I look at the postcard and chortle. It’s full of bird excrement.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

8
Feb

Layers

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Her mind acts as warden, keeps her in her room most days.

She confesses to me that one week straight, she huddled in the dark base of her closet. She had built a nest within, its four tight walls comforting her like an eggshell: no demands made upon her, no chance to fail.

I ask what she will need if she comes home. She cannot answer, and so I build a table with layers of blankets both over and under it, where, like the Princess, she can feel despair creeping in even if it is the size of a pea.

From Guest Contributor Laura Lovic-Lindsay

5
Jan

Colony Collapse

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Hands full of bees, Alice screamed at the sky. Sitting in the grass, blades tickled her thighs. Bee by bee, Alice lined them up. “I’m sorry,” said the speaker at a funeral attended only by the dead.

Maybe she shouldn’t have quit work. Never built an apiary. Would’ve been better joining a gym. Cooking. Reading books that lived in corners of her home. Would’ve been better to speak what he said in the elevator, his voice curling green, twisting to lick her ears.

Alice lay down, tears falling into her hair. She didn’t want the bees to see her cry.

From Guest Contributor Michaela Papa

28
Dec

Prom Night

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

She hung the dress on a hook and shoved it all the way back in her closet, past her pink winter coat and communion dress. This was where outfits went to die.

She took a tissue and wiped her tear-stained makeup off in the mirror. The rolled up wad joined a dozen others in the vicinity of her trash bin.

She crawled into bed in full surrender. She looked at her cell phone on the table and thought of calling Janet, but she likely wasn’t home yet. The fact she hated that her friend was enjoying herself made everything worse.