Posts Tagged ‘Love’
Feb
La Piedra
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
I was once asked a question. In fact, it was the most important question in the history of the world.
The question was so immense that it should have been saved for God himself in the afterlife.
It covered love and hate and fact and fiction and everyone and everything at once.
Naturally, I wanted to answer, but my throat froze and my eyes turned to stone like those of a statue. If my heart throbbed, I wasn’t there enough to feel it.
Honestly, how’s a piece of shit like me supposed to know if everything happens for a reason?
From Guest Contributor Branko Tubic
Dec
Cicadas
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
Dec
Ah, Love
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
“I need a man that can put a ring on my finger.”
“I’ll get you one as soon as possible, baby!”
“I deserve someone better.”
“I can be better. I swear I can!”
“I need someone that will always be there for me.”
“And I can do that! I’ll be here, there, anywhere! Just name it!”
“I want a guy that will actually listen to me.”
“I’m listening, sweetie. My ears are all yours.”
“Somebody that loves me.”
“I do!”
“I need a man that is guaranteed to please me in bed.”
” . . . I don’t think this is going to work.”
From Guest Contributor Patrick Winters
Nov
I Stole A Baby
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
And I’m sorry. I stole a blue-eyed toe-headed overalled emptiness because I
Just couldn’t help myself. She was climbing a fence, she was smelling a tree. She was a whip snapping wet wings. She was a sky that could hold anything.
I fed her square meals of television, eggs, and ambition, served rare. She ate the garnish, grew smaller and smaller until she was gifted and talented—pretty new scales, shiny black shoes worth the pinch. Now it’s not clear whether, if I keep tightening the belt, she will ever be able to disappear.
In my defense, I love her.
From Guest Contributor Brook Bhagat
Brook holds a BA from Vassar College and an MFA in Writing from Lindenwood University. She teaches college writing and is the co-owner and chief editor of BluePlanetJournal.com. Her nonfiction, poetry, and flash fiction have appeared in Creations Magazine, Little India, Outpost, Nowhere Poetry, and The Syzygy Poetry Journal.
Nov
His Name Is Death
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Tears flowed down her face.
The chain broke as the coffin was lowered.
She gasped and covered her face. She wanted to run, but her love for him kept her standing in front of his grave.
The grave-keeper struggled with the chain and the casket. He pulled the chain, causing the casket to drop into the grave.
The lady fainted when the casket entered the grave.
The grave-keeper said, “Carry her and put her into the hearse. I’ll bury him. Then, we will go to the hall.”
She woke up and said, “Death.”
“That was his name?”
She nodded. “Death.”
From Guest Contributor Larry Sells
Oct
Locked
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Depression lives with me. Locks my mind in a formidable place. It allows limited interactions with the outside world. Pushes aside the people who love me.
When I feel ready to emerge, it tempts me to abandon the thought. I’d peer out of windows opened to the world and sniff the air. Then, recoil. Preferring the comfort of what I know to something new.
Today, its hold is difficult to resist. A backpack filled with textbooks stays put in my bedroom. The bed becomes my refuge. The pillow, a sponge for tears.
The lock on my school locker remains locked.
From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs
Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. Her work has been published at: Nailpolish Stories, 50-Word Stories, 100 word story, 101 Words, Boston Literary Magazine, From the Depths (Haunted Waters Press), ShortbreadStories, SixWordMemoirs, and Espresso Stories.
Jun
I’m Alive
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
People come and go, they fuss and say they love me while doing everything that I cannot. They touch my arm, but I don’t feel it. They talk to me, but I cannot reply. Their mobile lives allow them freedom to gaze upon beauty or hide from the disgusting whenever they please, but I will forever remain seated in my chair, staring at the projections that appear on my television screen. My fault or not, a single moment brought me to this place; a car accident I barely remember. This is my life now, but at least I’m alive, right?
From Guest Contributor Michael Atherton
Jun
Wishes
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
I saw a comet yesterday. It came as though from nowhere, soaring across the deep blue expanse of sky inset with bright stars. Watching it, I felt youthful again, glowing with vibrant dreams and astronomical aspirations—reborn like a phoenix from the ashes of adulthood.
In a moment of euphoria, I closed my eyes and wished for the love of my life. The fiery tail ripped through the night, searching for my soulmate. When I opened my eyes, my wife was standing before me.
Then I remembered—comets are hard, icy rocks, and they suck the life from the sun.
From Guest Contributor Taylor Shepeard
Mar
Staking A Claim
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
It started with his touch and before that the way he looked at me; clear blue eyes that knew how to take me in, how to see through my quiet, my fear. We explored city streets that summer, always attached, love-linked. A goodnight kiss turned couch tumble—hungry hands searching, lips and teeth crashing, his weight pinning me down. And then that surprise on the back of my neck: sweat, tears so sweet. Surrender, yes, maybe even love; but later, and better, trust and understanding, an intimacy that allowed regrets to be shared, my darkness to escape, a homestead staked.
From Guest Contributor Holiday Goldfarb
Holiday is currently enrolled in the MFA Program in Writing at Lindenwood University, Saint Louis, MO. If all goes as planned, she will graduate in December 2016.
Mar
Bringing Back The Dead
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
She gasped as he removed the scarf from his face.
“Don’t be afraid my love, I’m here,” he whimpered, choking back tears, “see me, see me for all that I am.”
Silence. Gut-wrenching silence.
Anguished, she bowed her head. With one deep breath she finally let him go. “The man I loved is not in this room, I do not see him before me.”
“You wear his face but he is not you, you are not he.” She turned to the door, her lip quivered, her voice shook as she softly uttered their final exchange, “Goodbye darling, you’re free now.”
From Guest Contributor Jodi S. Ivers