Posts Tagged ‘Paper’
Nov
Undercover
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The clatter of typewriters, especially Maryanne’s, echoes in the room. She’s pounding heavily on the keys to reach the deadline. It’s imperative she gets done before the other women if she’s to prove herself capable. She reaches the end and pulls out the paper. With quick steps, her heels clanking on the floor, she heads to her boss’s office.
“Well done, Maryanne. You’ve proven yourself. You’ll be going to France as an undercover secretary. Are you up for it? I can’t help you if you’re caught.”
Maryanne nods and waits for instructions.
She has no idea the danger she’s in.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Sep
The Waiting Room
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
My clammy hands make the number I pulled soggy. I roll the paper’s corner between my fingers until it looks like the twisted end of those poppers you throw at the ground. The chairs are ice cold and don’t warm up to me. Who am I waiting for to call my name? The slip is blurry. There’s no number after all. My skin is on fire. The paper disintegrates. Now I’ll never know when I’ll be called. The gift of creation is eating me alive. I really wanted to get that checked out. But I don’t think anyone is coming.
From Guest Contributor Madeline van Batum
Madeline lives in Colorado with her cat and hopes that one day she can go back to her home country of the Netherlands to finally meet the Flying Dutchman.
Apr
The Bully Business Professor
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The asshat in an ascot quoted Foucault. He made faculty senate holy hell. I think he was in English, maybe History; I knew he wasn’t in athletics!
Anyway, motherfucker just loved the drone of his self-important voice. How about the dulcet tone of a head slap?
I snapped and pummeled him. An Engineering professor high-fived me before public safety came.
At my hearing, I learned he was old money, Ivy League—his mom and dad were philanthropists. He smirked when I got suspended.
Afterwards, I gave him a super wedgy and nasty pink belly.
That’s my story.
Paper or Plastic?
From Guest Contributor JD Clapp
Apr
The Origins Of Classic Nursery Rhymes
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
I didn’t grow up surrounded by art and culture. There were newspapers scattered around the house but few books on the shelves or paintings on the walls. One day I sat drawing in my room – I must have been 12 or 13 years old, just starting to figure shit out – when my mom stuck her head in. She watched me for a moment, then she said, “Why are you wasting paper?” I have had kind of a bad feeling ever since, like the farmer’s wife is still back there in the kitchen torturing three blind helpless mice with a knife.
From Guest Contributor Howie Good
Howie’s newest poetry collection is Heart-Shape Hole (Laughing Ronin Press), which also includes examples of his handmade collages.
Aug
Some Games Are Not For Grown-Ups
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Ten, nine, eight jumps to go. Nick meets my gaze. Seven, six, five, four.
Say it, Nick. Say it. Three.
“Irene.”
Grown-ups shouldn’t play alphabet games.
“Isa, come back. Letter I is so tricky.”
Grown-ups shouldn’t jump rope. It’s not good on the heartstrings.
I sat under a Jacaranda and tore the Valentine’s Day card. Nick and Isa 4 ever 2 gether littered my lap.
Grow up.
I dug into my hand bag, pulled out my diary and littered again. My lap brimming with lavender scented paper.
Grown-ups shouldn’t keep diaries. It’s not like I’m Anaïs Nin for goodness sake!
From Guest Contributor Isabelle B.L
Isabelle is a teacher based in France. She has published a novel inspired by the life of a New Caledonian feminist and politician. Her work can be found in the Best Microfiction 2022 anthology, Visual Verse, Free Flash Fiction and elsewhere.
Jul
Compassion
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
George staggered into the hallway searching for Cecilia. He didn’t have much time and he needed her to make haste.
“There you are. I signed it.”
She sipped her tepid coffee. “Oh, George, can’t I even take a short break?”
“Just take it. You don’t need to read it.”
“I know, I’m your attorney. I read it already. Are you sure about this?”
George sighed and put the paper in front of her, pushing aside the glazed donut.
It was done.
His estate would go to Myra Ariello, the compassionate nurse who cared for him when no one else would.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Lisa has been writing since 2010 and has had many micro-flash fiction stories published. In 2018 her book Shorts for the Short Story Enthusiasts, was published and The Importance of Being Short, in 2019. Her most recent book In A Flash, was published in the spring of 2022.
She currently resides on Long Island, New York with her husband Richard and dogs Lucy and Breanna.
Oct
Document
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The rain pelts my face, the umbrella useless. I walk quickly, but not enough to draw attention. I must get to my destination and back before curfew.
The document I carry may save countless lives. If the Nazis stop me for a search, they’ll never find it.
“Do you have it?”
I place the umbrella down, dripping, release my shoe and pull the document from my heel, handing it to the contact.
“Good work,” he says and hands me a paper that I neatly place into the heel of my shoe.
I leave and make my way home before curfew.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Jul
Hands
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
My mother’s hands frail and worked. Her crepey paper fingers and running rivers of lines pass along the hilly blue mounds of veins. Many cultures stand proud of ages proof as it displays wisdom, strength—a life lived. Honored one should be of the achievement—living.
What do they know?
I watch as these hands perform tasks, ones they always have, no longer recognizing them. They are not my mothers anymore; they are mine. The words wisdom—a life lived whisper at my ear, and I try to catch them in the wind. These hands—I want to obliterate them.
From Guest Contributor Dianne C. Braley
Dianne is a nurse freelance writer and blogger from Hamilton, Massachusetts.
Aug
Let’s Stay Focused On The Good News
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
HUBRIS CONTEST:
Gerald raced home, test in hand, too excited to look both ways as he crossed intersections. There was never any traffic anyway, and this news was too good to wait. He only paused at one point to pick up the books that had scattered on the sidewalk behind him because he’d forgotten to zip closed his backpack.
He sprinted up his driveway and burst through the front door.
“I am the GOAT!!!” He threw the paper towards his mother, who looked up in bewilderment.
“A B+ on your English exam. I’m proud of you. Now what about your math quiz?”
From Guest Contributor Breanne Nyhoff
Jul
Learning To Read
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
I lean into my chair holding the book by its bind, learning to read what I did not as a child, but now with gray in my stubble. Flipping through the pages, feeling the paper crease between my fingers, I fumble to link it all together.
I follow the words with a methodical dexterity of a trained scientist, and with repetition, I begin to sense the fruits of my labor, basking in the glow of my mother’s maiden language come alive.
The exercise ends with a whistle, as I close my cookbook and taste the pepperpot burn my overeager tongue.
From Guest Contributor Eric Persaud
Eric is an Indo-Guyanese American living in New York City. He is currently working on his doctoral dissertation in Public Health and writing stuff in his free time.