Posts Tagged ‘Mirror’


Supermarket Sleep

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Wednesdays, post-second shift, bone-marrow tired, Kyra grocery-shopped. To stay alert, she categorized customers, itemized their purchases.

First: class, marital status, number of kids, happiness level. Pony-tailed woman opposite Kyra? Pinching pants tight in the crotch? Must be married ten years; barely making do managing odd-lots store; two sucrose-loving preteens; miserable as a mutt, minus flea collar, August.

Cart contents: Pony tail and family down waffles, wings, PB & J, rolls, store-brand sherbet, Bud, Coke.

Kyra’d be sad, eating that.

Pulled leggings, smoothed hair. Double-take: her mirrored reflection! She’d best snap out of this, load check-out counter. Be on her way.

From Guest Contributor Iris N. Schwartz

Iris is a fiction and nonfiction writer, as well as a Pushcart-Prize-nominated poet. Her work has appeared, or is forthcoming, in such journals as Bindweed Magazine, Connotation Press, The Flash Fiction Press, Jellyfish Review, Quail Bell Magazine, and Random Sample Review.


The Mirror

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

The crack begins in the center of the mirror, spreads out, and creates four distinct sections. Each one reflects a different period of his life: childhood, young adult, middle age, old age. He sees the past and the future all at once. Like the mirror, he is shattered, torn in different directions. He has regrets, sure, but he wouldn’t be where he is today without those regrets and where he is isn’t so bad. Still, what if he could do it all over again? He reaches out and falls into the mirror and finds himself back at the beginning again.

From Guest Contributor Dan Slaten


Morning Run

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Keep your footing steady, prepared for the slick, the slide, your
flight, your footlessness, your unexpected sky view. Run towards the
hazy white clouds, the early sun’s pinkish fire, the black ice–a
lake, a mottled mirror. You know the quiet sidewalk, the barren apple
tree, the forgotten field. But this sea yearning, this siren call to
dive deep, feet first, into the glass, the shatter–is undeniable, an
immersion, a full body baptism. You suddenly find yourself splayed and
shaken, flat on your back, laughing at your air walk, your feet now
hesitant, dull–the morning light cool, the day transparent,

From Guest Contributor Holiday Goldfarb


I Killed Him

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

The corridors, they felt never ending. The blood stained my hands, no matter what I wiped them on the blood stained my hands. I attempted to wipe the blood from my face but that caused more mess. I turned right. I heard shouting from behind me. “RUN!” It was the last thing said to me before it happened. I slipped into the bathroom running into a stall. I tried not to look but I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Covered head to toe in blood. As I breathed heavy all I could think was I killed him.

From Guest Contributor Lulu

In her own words: My name’s Lulu I’m 14, I wrote this in 2 minutes.


The Anniversary

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

The mirror was unkind. Struggling to zip the reclaimed wedding gown, she closed fading blue eyes. The scent of fresh roses mingled fern, the coolness of pearl against deep furrowed neck. Weathered, shaking hands smoothed vintage satin. Gently opening the floral hat box, once belonging to grandmother. Keepsakes of that day hidden for decades welcomed light. The tea length veil distorted graying hair, a pair of ivory gloves, stained by spilled wine from an over zealous toast. “Somewhere My Love” played in her head, lifting her gown she twirled. Singing softly. He watched without her knowing, not wanting to interrupt.

From Guest Contributor Christy Schuld


Shades Of Time

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

I sat quietly on the exam table pondering my yellow skin. Turning toward the mirror hanging on the wall, I ran my blue fingertips up my slender arm touching the pale face that reflected. Too young for wrinkles I thought. I never liked doctors or hospitals. Maybe that’s why I waited. But after a year of treating my superfluous symptoms, well – it never crossed my mind that it would be too late. That time was limited and colors carried the secret. The doctor wasn’t comforting. My dark brown wide set eyes that glittered with life would soon turn dim.

From Guest Contributor Dana Sterner

Dana is a registered nurse and has written for regional and national healthcare magazines and has been a prior contributor to a A Story in 100 Words.


Her Recipe

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

With more downs than ups, Francine realized she needed to make a drastic change. To reverse an unfulfilled lifestyle where only food seemed to delight her.

She would find a new recipe. Something appetizing. Fresh. Not too many ingredients for she wouldn’t know how to put it together. Unwanted ones not given a chance. She’d aim for excellence maintaining good judgment in taste. Leave critics aside.

After going through her closets and emerging empty-handed, she looked at a mirror and smiled. Grabbed car keys off a dresser.

She figured out her recipe for happiness.

Clothing stores were not far away.

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, and Espresso stories.


Future Ghosts

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Every instance of seeing one’s reflection, especially when alone, merges to form a person’s self-awareness. When reviewed in one’s mind, these tiny portraits play like a film at thirty frames per second.

For Hugh, this rendition of himself had for too long been tinctured by a sinister affectation. He didn’t want to believe the person facing him in the mirror was truly himself. Yet, the longer he faced this apparition, the more its evil seeped into him.

When Hugh died, after a long life of many misdeeds, his spirit stayed behind to haunt him through the mirrors of his past.



by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Some of us are birthed rigid, leather left too long in the sun, so carefully struck dense beneath hands. Everyone and everything’s hands. Shaped into whatever it is we play at long before your shadow cooled me. You knit something soft overtop, fingers of catgut dancing like satin ribbon and for a time there is a concealing, something less than painful looming in the mirror. And though we both knew I would ravel and tear with so many seams under the strain of your weight, I knew the taste of skin on your throat, and we made the world spin.

Nick Christian is a poet and fiction writer who currently studies at the University of Missouri-St. Louis.


The Poet’s Life

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

I sat on the large stone in the middle of the picnic field. I had my notebook out and was busy scribbling away. There were couples and families and dogs and blankets. There was food and sport and laughter and a few tears. The more life unfurled around me, the faster my pencil lurched across the page.

This is the life of the poet. A life of watching. You might call me a mirror, or a tape recorder. I am an instrument.

But life is lived whether we laugh and love our way to death or record others doing it.