Posts Tagged ‘House’
Apr
Sometimes
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Sometimes at night I cling to her hand in the darkness and try to imagine what she’s dreaming.
Sometimes the illusion of connection is disrupted enough that I acknowledge–never out loud–the person I fell in love with is my own creation.
Sometimes I wake up early and clean the house before I go to work without ever insisting on credit.
Sometimes I’m so angry that the next words out of my mouth will mean the end.
Sometimes her smile reminds me of why I asked her to marry me.
But most of the time we just watch television.
Mar
Broke
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Bills. They stacked up like a child’s art project on the kitchen
table, each stamped red with the word “overdue.” The house was
crumbling down, the wallpaper peeling off every panel. The walls
trembled as the couple screamed at each other. Blame flew like
household objects; lamps, chairs, and plates.
They stormed off in a huff to the same bedroom, facing away from each
other, their faces too hot and hearts beating too hard to sleep.
So they stayed awake, until the sunlight streaked in through the
broken blinds and the couple was ready to start the routine over
again.
From Guest Contributor Artie Kuyper
Jan
Stakeout
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The house whose elderly owner didn’t believe in staging finally sold, for way below market value. The old man called Jane twice to back out, overcome by nostalgia. When it sold he moved in with his daughter. She lived nearby.
The excited buyers said it was perfect. A week after move-in they found him seated in a lawn chair, under the oak tree, sipping coffee.
The third time it happened the couple enlisted Jane. She talked him out of serial trespassing. The guy was ninety, a widower.
The buyers threatened to call the police if there was a fourth time.
From Guest Contributor Todd Mercer
Todd writes Fiction and Poetry in Grand Rapids, Michigan. His collection Ingenue was published in 2020 by Celery City Press. Recent work appears in Praxis, The Lake, Literary Yard, and Star 82 Review.
Oct
The Manor
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The enormous house consisted of large acres of land with an abundance of flower and vegetable gardens. Violet’s only companion was her cat Missy.
She walked down the basement steps, the kerosene lamp, her only light. The stairs creaked and the ghastly noise churned her stomach.
When Violet reached the top shelf and grabbed a bucket, something brushed her leg. Startled, she tripped, fell, and hit her head unconscious. Missy pawed her arm until she awakened.
“Missy, don’t do that again.” Violet rubbed her lump and walked upstairs with Missy trailing behind.
In the basement, the deceased prior owner chortled.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M.Scuderi-Burkimsher
Aug
The Dollhouse
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
is custom made to look like my house, our house. My new wife’s idea—for Sarah. Same front elevation. Duplicate floorplan. But my step daughter’s attempt to match furniture placement is off. I nudge the miniature hutch to its true location. She frowns, pushes my hand away, makes me move to the front yard, so to speak. I look at her through the windows. She appears as if a Goliath child. My sling: empty after repeated attempts to penetrate the four walls of her heart. I lean low, peer inside the front door. “Knock, knock,” I say. She never answers.
Keith Hoerner lives and pushes words around in Southern Illinois.
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.
Jun
The Century Plant
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
NATURE SUBMISSION:
People lined up around the block, masks on, cameras and children in hand. The news spread fast, as these things do in 2020, via Facebook and Instagram. Some thought it might be a hoax, but any excuse to leave the house was welcome.
The woman who planted the Agave was just ten years old when she and her dad had picked placed the little cactus in their front yard. She’d decided to hold onto the house after her parents moved to Florida hoping to see it flower someday. Now, despite the crowds and reporters, the long wait had been worth it.
From Guest Contributor Alice Ryder
Jun
Love You Till The End
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
NATURE SUBMISSION:
I’d never seen a more glorious sunset, even after a tornado. Half the sky was a golden yellow and the clouds above the sun were skeins of vermilion fire. Even the orange flames on the horizon dulled in comparison. Dust in the air; much of it probably radioactive.
We had come out of the root cellar, its door fortunately hidden by an overgrown raspberry patch, where we’d hidden from marauding mobs that had fled the cities, and hidden again when the pursuing troops began shelling. Our house and outbuildings were charred skeletons, the animals gone. We were still holding hands.
From Guest Contributor F. J. Bergmann
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
The Cellar
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Oksana pounded the door of Zoya’s wooden house. She screamed.
“Zoya, the Red Army has surrounded the village. Hide, Zoya!”
Zoya, holding her toddler Ekaterina in her arms, opened the door.
“Oh, God, help us. Oksana, where’s Father Nikolai?”
“They’ve started a fire in the church! Hide, Zoya.”
“God have mercy. Run Oksana. We’ll hide in the cellar.” Zoya pressed her daughter tightly to her breast. She ran to the cellar.
Zoya embraced her daughter. She heard a crashing sound. When she realized the smoke was coming from above, she said, “I love you Ekaterina. We’ll be together in Heaven.”
From Guest Contributor Deborah Shrimplin