Posts Tagged ‘House’
Feb
A Dream
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The house is empty, and my bags are packed. I don’t know where I’m going, but I reach for and open the front door anyway, ready for whatever awaits me on the other side. I realize I’ve left the radio on, though, so I turn around and go back to take care of that. While I’m doing this someone or something scurries through the front door. I look and see that it’s my brother’s dog, Oswald. “You can’t be here,” I say. “You’re dead.” Oswald wags his tail and tells me that he’s here to take me to the afterlife.
From Guest Contributor Dan Slaten
Jan
True Meaning
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
As a boy, I remember my dad telling me Christmas is about family and spending time together. Secondary, exchanging gifts.
My own children are opening their presents and their beaming faces light up the room. The Christmas tree is sparkling with silver tinsel and an angel at the top of the tree, its wings white and glowing. Decorations and food consume the house this time of year, the baked ziti’s sauce filling the air with a delicious aroma. But these delightful things are not what my children celebrate.
The birth of Jesus Christ is the reason we celebrate the holiday.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Nov
The Lit Bedroom
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
As nightfall descended, a feathery latecomer gathered crumbs from Vi’s patio. Lights in a nearby house turned off, except for one.
It shone from a second story. An elderly woman was seen looking out the window.
When Vi met the house owner at their communal mailbox, she remarked on the upstairs light being left on at night and asked how long the guest would be visiting.
The neighbor looked perplexed. She said it was her mother’s room, until her death a year ago.
Vi wondered if her imagination played tricks. Since their conversation, that bedroom light no longer lit up.
From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs
Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction, primarily residing in Edmonton, Canada.
Nov
Why Can’t I Be Robert Smith?
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
It’s 10:15 Saturday night, the last day of summer. What a strange day.
I’m cold, I almost feel numb. We’re in your house in Fascination Street and I’m homesick.
All I want is to write a letter to Elise in six different ways, but now it’s Wendy time.
“Trust me,” you said. “Don’t doubt. Have faith. Let’s go to bed in the upstairs room. It will be just like heaven.”
“Its’ not you,” I replied. “This is just a short term effect.”
“So what?”
“Maybe another day.”
It took her seventeen seconds for dressing up.
The perfect girl is gone.
From Guest Contributor Hervé Suys
Hervé SUYS (°1968 – Ronse, Belgium) started writing short stories whilst recovering from a sports injury and hasn’t stopped yet. He usually writes them hatless and barefooted.
Oct
Voice Of Despair
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
CONTEST SUBMISSION:
Kevin didn’t hear at first. Mabel did. Sensing the scratchy sound originated outside, they opened the front door. Before them stood a feline pulsating a ferocious “meow.” Seeing the humans, he stopped.
“He’s staring at us,” Kevin noticed.
The cat turned to go back to the sidewalk.
“Let’s follow,” Mabel figured.
They ended in a backyard. The cat went through a pet flap in the house. When he reappeared, he stood on a table by a bedroom window.
Kevin propped himself up on a patio chair and peered inside. Sprawled on the floor was the lifeless body of their neighbor.
From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs
Krystyna is a writer of poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. She resides in Edmonton, Canada.
Aug
Narcissi
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Resplendent in her white dress, she headed down the steps from the veranda. He tightened his parka to stave off the wind and followed.
Behind the house they built, they strode toward the pond, their barren feet leaving a trail along the mucky ground. Her smile was terse, he clenched his jaw. He searched for something new to say, she shook her head. They knit their hands, now ringless, and peered at their reflection.
Later, when the children rushed out to search for them, all they found by the water’s edge was a white lily rising beside a thistle bush.
From Guest Contributor Nicholas Katsanis
Nico is a writer of magical realism and absurdist fiction. His work has appeared in 50-word stories and Literally Stories. Look out for his debut novel Bocce at the End of the World in 2022 and follow him on Twitter @nicholaskatsan1
Jul
Brick Castle
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The brick walls of the house resembled a suburban castle, with all the promises of a happy life inside. Meticulously decorated, with ornaments on every wooden door, and treats always on the counter. To the naked eye it was nothing short of a dreamーbut no one knew the truth about that house and all who lived there. How it destroyed everything within, chewing up and spitting out any possible happiness, leaving everything and everyone broken. That house was barely a home, let alone a castle, where a piece of me, like so many others, was left behind…and died.
From Guest Contributor Kelsey Swancott
Kelsey is a graduate of St. John Fisher College, majoring in English, with a concentration in writing while also being an editor in the campus literary magazine Angles.She is furthering her education by attending SUNY Brockport for her master’s in English, specializing in creative writing. Following graduation, she is interested in working in the editing and publishing field.
May
Leaving Home
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
When he slammed the door, he did not say goodbye. He just left. He left the house, the street, the small town, all the narrow-mindedness he had endured for eighteen years. No one was going to tell him what to do or what to believe.
He boarded the train, and soon he was in boot camp. Then he was a full-fledged soldier. He had enough anger inside to slay the enemy. Before long he was on a troop ship, and then in the forests of France where he began to miss the town where he grew up.
It was 1942.
From Guest Contributor Anita G. Gorman
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