Posts Tagged ‘Krystyna Fedosejevs’

29
Nov

Chopping Along

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Knife steadied, I proceeded to chop sweet pepper. Choppy chords of a Chopin prelude dominated the airwaves as the sound of an overhead chopper faded. “Anything else to add to our Chopin list? Sorry, couldn’t help it,” husband laughed. Lucky he’s not on my chopping block, I thought. “Don’t forget. Mother’s here for dinner tonight,” I said. Onions appeared next on my chopping board. “What are you making, Mom?” I turned around to answer: “Vegetarian Chop Suey.” “No lamb chops? That’s okay,” my boy surmised. “Don’t think grandma’s choppers can take anything tough. Does she know how to use chopsticks?

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.

16
Oct

Mistaken Identity

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

“Patricia?”

“Yes, Sir?” replied the student being questioned.

“Wonderful!”

Mr. Griffin gazed at his student’s artwork.

“I improved the charcoal shading,” Patricia beamed. She looked up for
his reaction.

“I mean your dance of the sugar plum fairy was wonderful,” the teacher
clarified.

“It was Delores. Not me.”

“What were you?”

“One of the reindeer.”

Mr. Griffin gazed into the distance. “Delores!” he yelled and
commenced walking towards her.

Patricia’s eyes filled with tears. A few landed on her drawing.
Someone tapped her shoulder.

“Nice picture. You’re a gifted artist,” Paul the student sitting next
to her said.

Patricia smiled.

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.

24
Sep

Book Launch

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

“Congratulations,” I said. “I’ve been following your development.”

The honored author uttered an inquisitive “Oh.”

“I mean, as an author,” I clarified.

A young twenty-something giggled placing a copy of the new novel between us. She begged for a signature. I turned around to mingle with others.

“Wait, I would like to talk with you,” the author insisted. “You look familiar. Have we met before?”

“Nice line,” I responded.

“I admit, not original. But say…”

“We met an hour ago.” I smiled. “You’re the new next door tenant at Argyle Road. You handed me an invitation to this event. Remember?”

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.

11
Jun

Unconventional Ray

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

“I need to take another X-ray,” the doctor said.

“Why?” asked the patient.

“Not ‘Y’. ‘X’ as in X-rated.”

“What is X-rated?” The patient was awakening from post-surgery slumber.

A nurse entered the hospital room. The doctor left.

“So, how does it look?” the patient asked the nurse. Realizing his covers were off and she was peering down at him below the waist.

“I mean, my ankle.”

The nurse funneled her eyes through his. Her full lips smiled at the corners. Giggling followed.

“You’re on the mend, Ray,” she said. “Dr. Hoo just wants to take one more X-ray.”

“Who?”

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, flash fiction and short stories. She’s published in Canada, United States and Europe in journals, anthologies and online including Boston Literary Magazine and Friday Flash Fiction. She won several poetry contests, was shortlisted in a short story competition and is a member of two writers’ groups where she resides.

24
Apr

In The Dark

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

“Sit down!” someone yelled.

“I need to find out what happened,” I yelled back.

“We were told to wait,” a woman insisted.

The stage went dark. My mind revisited twirling silks, accelerating swings.

“Pity she fell. A beautiful performer,” the man next to me said.

“She wanted to be a aerial trapeze artist since turning twelve,” I replied.

“Difficult to replace,” he added. “She was so talented.”

“Why in the past?”

“Because,” he said while checking the Internet, “It appears she may have…”

“It’s my only child,” I sobbed, rising to walk away from my seat.

No one stopped me.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna is a writer of poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction.

3
Feb

Outside The Box

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Annie is missing. “Not in her room,” Mom said. “Can’t find her outdoor
shoes,” noted Dad. “Maybe she fell into a humongous puddle,” quipped
younger brother. Older brother was silent. Two guinea pigs madly
threaded wheels. Crows lined the backyard fence squawking at the
house. “Bet she’s at a friend’s,” said Dad. “Maybe a monster snatched
her,” younger brother grinned. “That’s enough young man,” asserted
Mom. “We need to think OUTSIDE the box,” Dad stated. “Maybe someone
put her INSIDE a box,” giggled younger brother. “Hush!” yelled Mom.
Older brother emerged: “Annie’s in my bedroom closet with an imaginary
friend.”


From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction.

21
Dec

Wife’s Helper

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

John flipped his wife’s shopping list and reached for the phone in his jacket. No charge.

He caught a nearby shopper.

“Excuse me, what are these,” he pointed to the list.

“Try the seafood counter,” was the reply.

Once there, John asked, “Do you have scal…?”

“Scallops?” the server interjected. “Half a pound? They’re pricey.”

John placed the package into his basket. “Where do I find this,” he showed the same man.

“Rubber scrapers in kitchen gadgets.”

“Thank you.”

When John arrived home, his wife unpacked the bags.

“I’m allergic to shellfish!” she shrilled. “Where are the scallions
and capers?”

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction.

12
Dec

Last Box

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

“Meat grinder?” I asked.

Arnold laughed. “Strange guess, sis’.”

“Not at all. Grandma kept her favorite possessions even when she
couldn’t use them anymore.”

Arnold shook the box. Contents moved.

“She grinded roasts for cabbage rolls and meatloaf,” I added.

The overhead light flickered as it swayed. I shivered.

“Let’s carry the box downstairs,” I said. “I hate attics.”

“Why, you’re scared?” Arnold snickered.

I followed my brother into the kitchen. Inside the box we found
parcels wrapped in Christmas print. Each labelled with tags spelling
out names of the family.

Grandma didn’t have a chance to give them out.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction.

24
Oct

Sam

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Sam was a contradiction. He wore shirts partially tucked in with socks often mismatched. His hair combed in glossy strokes.

He tiptoed to his office cubicle ignoring everyone. They ignored him. Except for Anne who monitored his quota. It must’ve been adequate for he continued to pass me at the reception desk.

One day, I didn’t notice the scent of his signature aftershave. Nor saw his forlorn face staring at the patterned floor as he entered.

A radio news feature announced him as a “person of interest.” Missing. His apartment trashed.

Suddenly, everyone at the office became interested in Sam.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction.

9
Oct

Caramel Sauce

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

“Sweet,” Dad said, licking his lips.

“Different,” Mom added.

We were seated in the dining room for Thanksgiving dinner. My
sixteen-year-old brother wanted to showcase the skills he had mastered
in a culinary arts course.

“Wait!” he exclaimed.

The rest of us watched him taste the meal before him. An expression of
bewilderment spread across his face. He ran back to the kitchen and
returned.

“I emptied out the wrong pot,” he conceded. ‘The caramel sauce was
meant for apple cake.”

“So what is left for the cake now?” Dad asked while Mom and I
refrained from laughing.

“Turkey gravy.”

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction.