Posts Tagged ‘Mother’

5
Sep

How We All Found Out

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Marlee couldn’t sleep, what with all that worry over her mother moving into the senior home down in Florida. So she sat on her Maine back porch, sipping hot cider in the wee October hours, watching falling stars while Bill slept. She stopped thinking about her mother when she realized that way more stars were falling tonight than other worried nights. And then she noticed many of those falling stars changing direction, hovering over the woods, and slowly descending. Then she yelled for Bill and grabbed her fancy new camera phone. The next day, of course, we all found out.

From Guest Contributor John Sheirer

John lives in Northampton, Massachusetts, with his wonderful wife Betsy and happy dog Libby. He has taught writing and communications for 26 years at Asnuntuck Community College in Enfield, Connecticut, where he also serves as editor and faculty advisor for Freshwater Literary Journal (submissions welcome). He writes a monthly column on current events for his hometown newspaper, the Daily Hampshire Gazette, and his books include memoir, fiction, poetry, essays, political satire, and photography. Find him at JohnSheirer.com.

29
Aug

Afternoon Tea Party

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

“Eat this, Mom,” she said, handing me a plastic donut.

“Mmm,” I said, pretending it was delicious. I put it down and asked for more tea. Giggling, she poured air into a pink cup.

Someone pounded on the door.

The pot dropped to the table. I slid our pre-packed bag out from under the bed. She clung to me, like a baby monkey to its mother, and reached for her doll.

The door was giving in. Soon, it’d be off the hinges. I hoped we had enough time. I opened the window and my heart clenched.

The FBI waited below.

From Guest Contributor Bethany Cardwell

28
Aug

The Other Side Of Obsession

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Nothing was as he remembered. Not the walk, with the chipped and uneven flagstones, nor the dusty, desiccated garden, nor the house itself. The two decades had ravaged the property and Stephen immediately regretted its purchase.

As a youth, his mother brought him here on Saturdays. He’d sit in the chamber to the rear of the kitchen reading library books, hoping the owner’s children failed to notice his presence.

The Packards had long since moved on to a much more modern estate. It seemed he was still trying to catch up in a race only he knew they were running.

23
Aug

The Red Cardinal

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Mark sat next to his motionless mother.

“How is she doing today,” Mark asked the nurse. A red cardinal perched
on the window sill chirped.

“The same. Quiet and still.”

Mark opened his journal and wrote the date. He spent his time writing
happy moments with his mother rather than spending time on a novel.

“Mom, look. There’s a red cardinal, your favorite bird.” Sophia’s mouth
sagged, expressionless.

He sighed. “Mom, I’ll be back tomorrow.”

Mark left the room with a blank space in his journal. Alzheimer’s took
his mother away and he didn’t know how to endure the emptiness.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

30
Jul

Conversation RIP (Killer)

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

There was furious silence in the booth from the women, mixed with a gauged suspension of opinion from the men.

Ginny, being invested, had expressed her dissatisfaction with the quality of man available to the unwed mother.

Kurt had provided a brutally frank answer. It hung in the air above the table like a phantasm.

To me, he’d drawled, a man willing to bring up another’s child born of selfish gratification – or conversely accept someone who’d aborted – wouldn’t think much of himself. Where’s the quality in that?

I wished the now red-faced Frank had given a brutally curt answer instead.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid

13
Feb

Stars

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

I sold myself like some cheap thing you find on sale in a store or in the market. It wasn’t until a year later I realized what I was made of: stars in our universe. I was one in a million of them. My mother wove my hair on a Sunday singing a song, then she told me, ‘Ola, do you know what you are made of?’ She smiled. ‘Stars in our universe,’ I said. I was broken, hurt, used, and thrown away, but I found my way back. I found my value, I found my peace, I found sanity.

From Guest Contributor Oghenemudia Emmanuel

18
Jan

Ned

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Ned woke with a sore head. The boys would be bailing hay, might have a spare half-one of whiskey for him. Still wearing yesterday’s overalls he yanked on wellie boots and moseyed along the pot-hole filled coast lane up to the farms. Fred and Slap-head saw him weaving in and out of the irritated cows. Sneakily Fred poured a laxative into his moonshine. Great craic!

After a few good slugs of the bottle Ned hobbled quickly through the gate back to his stone cottage. Aggie was furious. He didn’t make it to the outhouse. Her mother’s floral sofa was ruined.

From Guest Contributor Valkyrie Kerry Kelly

1
Dec

Thrill

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

“Not healthy,” Jan whispered to her surviving brother, peering into the darkened parlour where her mother sat, eyes fixed on the flickering screen of Brian’s cracked Smartphone.

Tom lifted and dropped his shoulders helplessly and returned to the closed-coffin wake in the other room.

Jan herself had only been able to watch the footage once: the glee of Brian hanging from a spar changing to terror as his grip had slipped.

The phone had been lucky enough to fall back onto the bridge.

Jan stared as her mother hit replay again. She’d even stopped sobbing.

“Friggin’ selfie generation,” she muttered.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid

16
Nov

Perfectionist

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

After his mother, it was his wife’s turn to chide him for his lethargy. Only a few of his good friends knew him to be a perfectionist. ‘You take a year to complete a chore’ was the common refrain muttered by his wife. His sweet talk on any given day always ended in a tiff. His wife, who envied the life of a butterfly, was fed up with him.

Unfortunately, he died suddenly of a heart attack.

A year later, in a drunken brawl, certain words slipped from two men, which led to the arrest of his wife for murder.

From Guest Contributor Thriveni C. Mysore

15
Nov

Salt Of The Earth

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Ian sits supping his pint, jotting down some verses in his notebook, his Sylvia Plath’s Collected Poems at his side.

A mother and two twenty-something daughters take the next table. The menfolk, the husband and the boyfriends, arrive with the drinks.

They notice him briefly and he senses the usual smirks and rolling eyes.

But he’s soon forgotten as they immerse themselves in their hearty little world.

The men have large practical hands. Eavesdropping, Ian learns that the daughters are in sales and retail, respectively.

‘Salt of the earth’ he thinks sardonically, thanking God for poets and tortured souls everywhere.

From Guest Contributor Ian Fletcher