Posts Tagged ‘Mirror’

26
Feb

What The Stars Saw

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

The stars saw her face, someone who wishes wildflowers never died, thunder always accompanied rain, and the sounds of the waves were something that left the shoreline. Even the tears she shed when she thought it was only her and the items of clothes on the floor because the mirror just did not look right. The stars saw the smile she wore when he cherished her in the dark and the tears she lost when she was left to her own company on the worst nights. Some nights the stars were enough. Some nights, she wished they would do more.

From Guest Contributor Caitriona Mullenix

22
Feb

Rainbow Potato

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

I tell myself I don’t belong here, and I don’t. The place is home to depressives, insomniacs, winos, recidivists. Trains pass through without whistling or slowing down. Meanwhile, stacks of coffins keep arriving in the dark by truck. The first thing I do most mornings is examine my face in the mirror for signs of fresh trauma. There was one morning when I asked Google if rainbow and potato rhyme. The answer came back, “Not exactly.” A handsome young drifter, stepping off the overnight bus from Providence, smiles plausibly while wearing a necklace of human ears tucked inside his shirt.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie’s latest book is Frowny Face, a mix of his prose poems and handmade collages from Redhawk Publications.

1
Mar

Platero And I: Father

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

I have always known my father as a man with a beard, Platero.

He was a proud man—always mounted the fiercest stallion, never a simple donkey like you.

I sometimes saw him standing in front of the mirror with small scissors to remove rebellious or – with years passing – white hairs.

As a child I thought it was a fake beard, but I never risked tugging it.

According to the customs of this country it is up to the eldest son to remove the beard of the father, the undertaker said yesterday.

Guess what, Platero, it was real after all.

From Guest Contributor Hervé Suys

Hervé (°1968 – Ronse, Belgium) started writing short stories whilst recovering from a sports injury and he hasn’t stopped since. Generally he writes them hatless and barefooted.

4
Nov

Kingdom

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

I want to assure you we are all safe here. We have adequate resources to wait until all of the infected have died. With our fortifications and firepower there is no way any plague carriers can get in here. Furthermore, all of you have been chosen for your talent, intelligence, and genes for repopulating the country when the time is right. As long as you trust me as your King, we will prevail against all challenges. Questions? Yes, my good friend Geraldine Jackson. King, have you looked in a mirror lately? You have a red splotch on your right cheek.

From Guest Contributor Doug Hawley

16
Jun

Family Tree

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Robots Contest Entry:

I was born in the rain and dark. “Cure me or kill me,” I begged the doctors in attendance. But apparently only when silent was I able to be heard. I’d been assembled by someone who couldn’t be bothered to read the assembly instructions. Seventy years later, I look in the mirror and see bits and pieces of a stranger’s face – a long, fleshy nose, protuberant eyes, a domelike Shakespearean forehead. My now grown children stand well off to the side, uncertain whether to huddle or flee. As I tentatively approach, I clutch a rose, shoulder high like a dagger.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie’s books include the prose poetry collection THOUGHT CRIMES, scheduled to be published in fall 2022.

8
Apr

Close Call

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

The traffic light turned amber. On any other day Geoff would have braked, but today something compelled him to floor the accelerator.

His wife, Janet, looked over, alarmed. “What are you doing?”

Grim-faced, Geoff focused on the road ahead. The light went red. Janet covered her eyes as the car shot through the intersection.

Safely on the other side, Geoff eased off on the accelerator and breathed out.

“What was that all about?” Janet asked.

Geoff was lost for words.

Glancing in the mirror, his jaw dropped as he watched a jack-knifing lorry careering into stationary cars at the intersection.

From Guest Contributor David Lowis

1
Sep

Leading The Formation

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

I was the second-best dancer then. Mariza, with her long black hair waving down the front of a white cotton shirt, tucked into just-right faded jeans, controlled all of nature’s choreography within her. Her feet skimmed the floor, easy on the beat. Her arms and legs flexed to the rhythm, finding a kind of body paradise. But following her movements, memorizing and imitating, I became frustrated and discouraged. Until I realized I wasn’t destined to be a mirror. I would guide the expression of music I felt, becoming the lead dancer on that thin ledge, possessing my true 13-year-old self.

From Guest Contributor Yvonne Morris

Yvonne is the author of the poetry chapbook Mother was a Sweater Girl (The Heartland Review Press). She has poetry and fiction forthcoming in Cathexis Northwest Press and Drunk Monkeys.

11
Jun

A Good Day

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

My day wasn’t a wasted one after all, he said to the man in the mirror while washing the blood from his hands. He lifted his shirt and uncovered a nasty wound on his abdomen. His clothes were ruined, those stains would never wash out.

The radio was on and reported on events earlier that day:
“…concerning the mystery man who saved two children from a burning building. The man jumped through a window on the second floor carrying the infants. He might be in need of some medical attention…”

Not a bad day at all, said the Superhero.

From Guest Contributor Hervé Suys

Hervé Suys (°1968 – Ronse, Belgium) started writing whilst recovering from a sports injury. He writes his disturbing fiction generally barefooted and hatless.

26
Mar

The Silenced

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

She did not say yes.

The silence of more fear than cultural respect was not a sign of consent. The tears on her face at the dawn of her ‘big day’ were not a sign of consent.

The lashes fell upon her, one, two…

She had dreamt of wearing green for her wedding. Red was her mother’s choice.

His voice was loud it silenced her lips.
Ninety-eight or was it already past hundred? She’d later count the scars on her back, looking at her reflection in the broken mirror stained with blood.

She never wanted marriage.
She never wanted this.

From Guest Contributor Anne Silva.

Anne is a student writer from Sri Lanka. She publishes her writing on social media as Poetry of Despair.
You can read them at www.instagram.com/PoetryofDespair.

11
Feb

Wilted Lily

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Sarah awakened from a frightening dream, her nightgown pasted to her body in sweat. Her husband, Mark, was still asleep, so she gently lifted the covers, went to the bathroom, and splashed cool water on her face. She stared at her reflection in the mirror and remembered every detail.

It was her wedding day. At the altar she couldn’t breathe, her body slowly disappeared, and her bouquet of lilies fell to the ground.

“It was just a bad dream,” she whispered to herself.

She softly kissed her husband and went back to sleep.

Under the bed, rested a wilted lily.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher