Posts Tagged ‘Night’
Apr
God Bless America
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
HISTORICAL FICTION ENTRY:
He was met by his family at the Orlando airport after 12 long months of active duty.
Captain Steven Hooks was a free man. Now that the Army didn’t need him anymore, he could get back to being a husband and a father and re-open his dental practice.
Gloria, his wife, suggested a movie for his first night home. They gave the kids baths, dressed them in cozy pajamas, and loaded them into the station wagon.
Upon arriving at the booth he handed the cashier the money but she wouldn’t take it.
“Sorry, but this drive-in is for whites only.”
From Guest Contributor E. Barnes
E. has works published at Entropy, Spillwords, The Purple Pen, The Haven, and several works are in the anthology, “NanoNightmares.”
Apr
Divorced
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
I’m the son of divorce to the neighborhood. Parents keep me from their children. They don’t know my pedigree, they claim. Nothing against me personally.
They know about Dad and his liaisons. They slander over smiles and Sinatra. Mother’s a “hysteric.” Can’t keep a husband. Son’s a bastard.
Mother wears starched smiles for neighbors, weeps at night.
I want to fight. I want Mother to smile. Let neighbors hate me for loving Elvis, not for Dad’s idiocy. I want to cruise the streets, to be called friend. Best friend.
I’d be considered hysterical to mention this.
I don a smile.
From Guest Contributor Yash Seyedbagheri
Yash is a graduate of Colorado State University’s MFA program in fiction. Yash’s work is forthcoming or has been published in WestWard Quarterly, Café Lit, 50 Word Stories, (mac)ro (mic), and Ariel Chart.
Mar
Love Note
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Even though the sign says, “Do not swim near seals,” we’ll have fun, go on a picnic in the hills, maybe spend the whole night there, so many stars that the sky looks perforated by cosmic buckshot, or we’ll sleep in and then helicopter over traffic jams, moving, breathing, shining from rehab center to wedding cake palace, while the angel of death rolls a cigarette and the border wall sinks another quarter of an inch, and this will happen again and again and again, people turning up at all hours to complain bitterly about being written out of our story.
From Guest Contributor Howie Good
Howie is the author most recently of Stick Figure Opera: 99 100-word Prose Poems from Cajun Mutt Press.
Mar
Prairie Phantom
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Sand rolls steadily along the prairie with a wild wind. The fox finds his home between the sagebrush and through the sunflowers. He leaps airily at ease with his snout grinning. Atop the hill, he shimmies about and slides down while birds depart. Below he creeps to the cemetery and waits for night to lay a veil. A gentle chill glides along as starlight washes over weary stone. With a swift bark and a bound, he weaves among the graves. Moonlight tickles his whiskers and mist wanders in. Here the fox dances with ghosts who once called his prairie home.
From Guest Contributor Kristi Kerico
Kristi is a psychology major at Pikes Peak Community College. She is studying to become a horticultural therapist. She currently works at a bookstore and volunteers at a zoo and nature center. She began writing after enrolling in a creative writing course at PPCC. She enjoys poetry the most, considering it’s brief yet complex beauty. She also loves writing with a focus on nature.
Mar
Along The River
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Tawny wings tail the Arkansas and their shadows brush Russian olive. A hoo! drifts along begging recognition. Drowning the scuttle of waves, a quavering reply invites determination. Feathers ripple towards cottonwoods, nudging the fading sunlight across leaves and between branches. He allows a hoot to stray ahead asking for her to answer with a wandering whistle. The night approaches with a dimming silence that hushes happenings of the day and offers silhouettes. Moonlight shifts over a hollow as a frayed figure sails with unfurled wings. They settle below the canopy and dust bark with steadied feathers, ceasing flight for tonight.
From Guest Contributor Kristi Kerico
Kristi is a psychology major at Pikes Peak Community College. She is studying to become a horticultural therapist. She currently works at a bookstore and volunteers at a zoo and nature center. She began writing after enrolling in a creative writing course at PPCC. She enjoys poetry the most, considering it’s brief yet complex beauty. She also loves writing with a focus on nature.
Feb
Bottles Of Love
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Nick is aroused by the clinking of bottles in the fridge. Mother’s having another drink.
That old clink, so familiar. It’s a constant sound since Dad took off, piercing Nick’s twelve-year old ears.
Cue Mother’s laughter, cackling. Cracked.
He can’t tell Mother what it means to see tenderness replaced by laughter. Rage. Bills go unpaid, furniture disappears. But night after night, bottles take over. Wine, vodka. Beer.
One night, Nick sneaks downstairs, removes each bottle with methodical coldness. Hurls each one at the floor.
He shatters again and again, surveys the ruins.
Tomorrow, more will appear. He’ll do it again.
From Guest Contributor Yash Seyedbagheri
Yash is a graduate of Colorado State University’s MFA program in fiction. His story, “Soon,” was nominated for a Pushcart. Yash’s stories are forthcoming or have been published in Café Lit, Mad Swirl, 50 Word Stories, and Ariel Chart, among others.
Jan
Slow And Steady
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Millie was a fireball and Herbert was steady. The cattle woke them up one night.
“Snake,” Millie said. And she shot out of bed.
Millie had the snake partially subdued with a garden rake. It was still moving so she stood on it with her right foot just behind the head and her left near the tail. Barefoot.
“Herbert! Get out here!”
No answer.
“Herbert!”
Finally, Herbert comes sauntering up to the corral. Fully dressed, knife in pocket, hat on, boots laced up, he sized up the situation.
“Millie, if I knew you had it, I wouldn’t have hurried so.
From Guest Contributor NT Franklin
Dec
Moon Shot
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
You can open your eyes now. The walls are covered in scribbled physics equations. Nothing wrong with that, but someone has to get on that rocket and get blown up, maybe. Take it from me, you don’t want to overlook product warnings (“Do not insert in rectum or vagina using fingers or mechanical device.”). Awareness is just so important. Everything happens too fast, as if hurled in irrational anger by the hand of God, though it’s really fluid dynamics. Even a momentary lapse in concentration can result in the sky cracking, dripping, burning, and the blue of night remaining unsolved.
From Guest Contributor Howie Good
Howie is the author most recently of Stick Figure Opera: 99 100-word Prose Poems from Cajun Mutt Press. He co-edits the online journals Unbroken and UnLost.
Nov
Our Rooms Are Like Treehouses
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Both with decks attached that lead into pockets of treetops. Our rooms are like treehouses, and if I had a string long enough, I would make a tin can telephone and give one half to you. If we had a tin can telephone tying our treehouse rooms together, then I would whisper into it at night to see if you were still awake. If you were still awake, then I would tell you all the things that freeze on my tongue when we are together—when everything gets flurried, and I forget that you can’t hear me through the silence.
From Guest Contributor Grace Coughlin
Grace is from Buffalo, New York. She is currently a Senior at St. John Fisher College, majoring in Psychology with minors in English and Visual and Performing Arts. She has 100-word stories forthcoming in Eunoia Review and Otoliths Review.
Nov
Wild Geese
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Geese rise from campus soccer field, into falling evening. Wings flutter in unison. No stragglers.
You should be on the way home. But you watch, transfixed, weight of homework, aloneness sliding from consciousness.
The geese honk, harsh, soothing, moon on their wings. You like to think it’s joy, that they sense the vastness of unfettered space. They don’t give a fuck about the observers and voyeurs below.
You wish you could join. Fly, part of a team. They fly farther and farther, still calling. Don’t look behind.
All too soon, night engulfs them. You stride home, feet heavy, treading constraint.
From Guest Contributor Yash Seyedbagheri.
Yash is a graduate of Colorado State University’s MFA program in fiction. A recipient of two Honorable Mentions from Glimmer Train, his story, “Strangers,” was nominated for The Best Small Fictions. His work is forthcoming or has been published in Microfiction Monday, Unstamatic, Maudlin House, Door Is A Jar Magazine, and Ariel Chart, among others.