Posts Tagged ‘Kiss’


A Loving Wife

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Debra sat beside her husband’s hospital bed, the click of the monitor a regular tune in her head. Barry laid there, his breathing calm and steady. Seeing him hooked up to tubes and unconscious was an unbearable sight. Still, she read to him daily and hoped he heard, but his eyes never opened. It had been one year since his car accident. Trauma to the brain was what the doctor called it.

“I love you, Barry, but it’s time to let you go,” she gently kissed his lips.

As the doctor unplugged the monitor, Debra watched Barry’s chest stop moving.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher


Give Me Words, Paint Me Colours

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

“Tell me words that describe your universe,” she begs, “give me images for what I can’t see.”

“How? Your eyes only detect thirty-eight colours; I count them in thousands.”

She shakes her head and bends to kiss my hands. She knows I don’t have them, but she’s happy with the illusion. It’s another truth she searches for.

“Let me share your reality.”

Not a chance, I think, but I can’t force myself to say it. “I’ll try, human.”

For the sake of our impossible love, for that morning when your world remained silent, for the memory of a destroyed planet.

From Guest Contributor Russell Hemmell

Russell is an alien from Mintaka snuggled into a (consenting) human host. Recent fiction on Gone Lawn, Not One of Us, Typehouse Literary Journal, and elsewhere.



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



by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Harold is frightened into a jolt. “Who’s there?”

He recognizes the silhouette standing before him. “Lois?” he answers staring wide-eyed. “If you’re here, who’s in your grave?”

“Spirits are allowed to visit on Halloween, the first anniversary of their death. I’ve come to say I love you. Now I must go. We can only appear and say what we’ve desired.”

“Don’t go, Lois!”

She backs away into the trees.

Harold awakes, his head leaning on Lois’ gravestone. “I can’t believe I dreamt I’ve seen Lois.” He drives away out of the darkness, and Lois appears blowing him a goodbye kiss.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher



by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

I was eighteen when I met you. I did not like you. When I was nineteen – I kissed you. My feelings changed. When I was twenty – I slept in your arms. My heart changed. When I was twenty-one I slept with you. I did not love you. You broke my heart for the first time. It healed.

Twenty years later, you still call. My heart has been sewn, ripped apart, and patched back together. It has been systematically desensitized from your ploys and is now just existing somewhere between my stomach and lungs. Biological in space yet empty in soul.

From Guest Contributor Lindsey Stevens


What Should Have Been

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

She was my first kiss at seven, she had a crush on me. She moved away a year later and was forgotten until high school when she found me on social media. I was busy, having parties and ignored her texts. In university, she found me again, through a friend, but I had no time, as I needed to study. Years later, by fortune, we bumped on the street. We talked for a few minutes, but that was all. Once more we met, this time at a funeral. Here I realized my folly, as I said goodbye to my soulmate.

From Guest Contributor Jordan Altman


Woman In Silhouette

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

I still remember the night when you left me, air thick with mist, the full moon hanging low like a moth in a tomb of cobwebs. Your deceitful voice was floating like paint fumes, stretching through the void.

«Don’t worry, honey. I’ll be back in a bit,» you said, kissing my forehead with stone-cold lips, smoothing my braids with moist and stiff hands.

Time has swallowed hundreds of full moons ever since, its belly round and black, cradled my sleepwalking heart, watched your features fading away from my memory. Now there’s nothing left of you but a woman in silhouette…

From Guest Contributor Cristina Iuliana Burlacu


Your Lips

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

I can judge this only by looking at them, but I think you almost certainly have the most kissable lips I have ever seen. They look soft and your bottom one hangs out from below the top one slightly in a way that is so graceful and delicate that it fills me with an immense desire to kiss it—and bite it a little. They are always of the correct moisture too; they are never dry nor too wet. They seem to have that perfect amount which makes them look radiant and healthy. Desperately, I want to kiss your lips.

From Guest Contributor Mark Beddard


English Ivy

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Flamboyant scarlet blossoms arched twisting, winding heirloom English ivy. An

unexpected downpour ignored by the water-soaked guests. Whitewashed mason jars

splashed crimson pallets of rustic rural splendor. The music began, he stood nervously

waiting, looking down at his rented black shoes. She grasped her father’s arm. Fervent

desire charged fiery passion. Sugary words melted sultry shadows. Fireflies and fairy

dust lit moonless nights. Silence invited the darkness. Substance replaced by distance;

whiskey preferred to a kiss. Emotions frost bit in autumn’s showy splendor she’d climb

grasping, experiencing struggle with the fortitude of English ivy. She knew he watched

her sleep.

From Guest Contributor Christy Schuld


That Holiday We All Supposedly Love

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

I push in my code: 437. The sound mocking me as I snatch the clipboard off of its peg—the check list of the unforgiving. My job today: revision in the main isle. I garb my lime-green box-cutter. Time to unpack the new merchandise. I fill the cart with cardboard boxes and scoot to the holiday shelves. I slit open the tape and a waft of rich-bitterness hits my nose. I pull out the advertisement holder that holds crimson candy boxes with cartoon dogs saying, “I ruff you! Give me a kiss!” Lurking within, little cones of so called yummy.

From Guest Contributor McKenzie A. Frey