Posts Tagged ‘Love’

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

7
May

Chivalry

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

“How many years do you think we’ve known each other?” Zoey asked.

“I dunno, at least since pre-school. We’re both thirty now,” I replied. We walked the cobbled roads of Newburyport. The clouds looked like lines of poetry.

“You go first this time,” Zoey said.

“I like holding the door for you though.”

“Damn it, Tyreke. Why do you always hold the door, and hold the umbrella, and make me coffee? Women can do things you know.”

“I know that.”

“Do you feel you have to protect me, or be a man, or–––“

“I do them because I love you.”

From Guest Contributor Steve Colori

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

15
Jan

The Reason He Loves

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

“How do you have so much love for me?” my wife asked. We were laying on the couch.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“You understand people so well,” she said.

“It just took time,” I replied. “I wasn’t always this way.”

She put her hand on my chest. “How were you?”

“I slept with half the town. I didn’t care at all about anyone.” A shameful silence followed. “One morning I felt empty and meaningless.”

“Then what?”

“I started searching for my soul. When I found it, I was in pain.”

“And?”

“I found the only cure was love.”

From Guest Contributor Steve Colori

4
Jan

Displacement

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Love at first sight, different people from different cultures.

Driving my Pajero along the rugged coastline of Mayo. A fortnight I had lived in Ireland. Banished for my own safety; a key witness in court against something dark, dangerous. Displaced from my family for doing what was right, exiled into the night. The previous eve I lost myself in similar lanes, crying.

In daylight the shadows dispersed. He was in his tractor, he belonged, descendant of families forever etched in the Irish soil. Appointed by chance as my gardener, meeting by fate. I never once doubted. Three years married. Aliens.

From Guest Contributor Kerry Valkyrie Kelly

8
Dec

Two Birds

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Tom and Ruth had been married forty years. The heart monitor was beeping with every breath Ruth took.

“I’m going to miss you,” Tom said. His weathered hands were one with Ruth’s. Two streams of tears ran from his eyes.

“I’ve lead a good life. I’ll be okay,” Ruth said.

“I don’t know how I’ll…” Tom asked.

“We’ll be together soon enough, love. The children need you. You have to be strong for them.”

She closed her eyes quietly. A bird took off and flew high into the clouds towards the sun. Its counterpart sat pensively, wondering where to go.

From Guest Contributor Steve Colori

Steve was born in 1986 and during undergrad he developed schizoaffective disorder. Over the years he has worked hard to overcome the disorder and help others while doing so. Steve has published thirteen essays with Oxford Medical Journals, he has written freelance for Mclean Hospital since 2011, he writes a column with The Good Men’s Project titled “Steve Colori Talks Mental Health,” and he has a memoir available on Amazon, “Experiencing and Overcoming Schizoaffective Disorder.” A quote he has come to live by is “To Improve is to Change; To be Perfect is to Change Often.” (Winston Churchill)

8
Nov

The Reading

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

The flashing sign blinds Marissa’s eyes. The door says enter, and she pushes it open with a sigh.

“Please sit,” says the woman in flamboyant blue and green gypsy clothes. “I assume you want a reading.”

“Yes, good and bad.”

The woman takes Marissa’s right hand and reads her palm. “I don’t see a future for you. There will be no success or love in your life. You will die tragically and without warning.”

Marissa jolts in her chair. “I’m not up to this. Here’s your money.”

Anxious and distracted, Marissa doesn’t see the car coming. She dies on impact.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

30
Oct

Deadly Hour

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

John, riding down the dark empty road at three o’clock in the morning, takes a swig of beer.

“I can’t believe Amy is marrying that jerk! She said she loved me. That lying witch!”

Inebriated, he swerves in and out of lanes, his vision blurry. He presses on the accelerator just missing an approaching car. The driver honks his horn profusely at Johnny. Laughing, Johnny takes his eyes off the road and crashes head on into a tree.

Lying dead with his head on the steering wheel and his thumb pressing on Amy’s cell number, the phone begins to dial.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

11
Aug

He Will Think I Don’t Love Him Anymore

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Seven-year-old Ava Mendez fidgets with Mimi’s cellphone in her lap.

Abruptly it rings. She smacks the green button. A recording informs her it’s a free call from her daddy, being recorded.

Press one to accept. Hastily she slams her little finger onto the keypad.

Horror grips her sullen face as tears flow uncontrollably, realizing she pressed the number two in haste.

Nothing but dial tone. She wails for her Mimi. “I have to talk to my daddy,” she cries.

Daddy, in a holding cell waiting for deportation, has not forgotten nor heard her angelic voice in three days and nights.

From Guest Contributor Yknow

31
Jul

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.