Posts Tagged ‘Parents’

13
Dec

Broken

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

The doll sat dirtied and broken, ripped from the hands of the little girl, as they took her parents away. Screaming and reaching for her parents’ hands, the guerilla yanked them away. The young girl, Naba, cried out and ran after them, blurry eyed from tears.

“Please don’t take my parents away! Please bring them back!”

But the truck was long gone leaving nothing but tire marks in its haste. Naba, alone and frightened, picked up the doll, the only present her father was ever able to give her, and walked the dirt road in hopes of finding a home.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

27
Oct

Self Help

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Whenever he did curls on the bench, he had to resist the urge to look at himself in the mirror. He was always disappointed.

Everything he tried, varying his routine, increasing his dosages, upping his protein intake, failed to have the desired results. He’d even cut back his work hours because being here was more important.

Barbara didn’t understand. His parents didn’t understand. His professors definitely didn’t understand.

Every second of his existence was a battle against his oxidizing cells as they gradually lost the ability to replicate.

The gym was not an addiction. It was a fight against oblivion.

24
Aug

The House On The Hill

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

As the floodwaters receded, Thompson entered what used to be his home. The structure had once stood proud at the top of the hill. Now it was in shambles, the storm having carried it off its foundations and depositing it several hundred yards away.

With stooped shoulders, Thompson shifted through the remains. His friends would say he should count himself lucky that anything survived at all. At least he was alive. But it was hard to think that way with Jessie’s waterlogged doll in his hands. He was not one of those parents who looked at their children as disposable.

3
Aug

Loner

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Worst thing about having a drunken Da who pissed people off was that Malachy tended to suffer from ‘trickle-down’ syndrome: friendships nurtured in his own child-like manner evaporating as parents infected would-be playmates with their contempt for his father.

He crouched over the little burn on farmland close to his suburban home watching the tadpoles emerge from frogspawn, eager to claim a hopper for his very own.

There was a sizeable puddle in his backyard courtesy of poor drainage.

The leprous ache inside expanded to form tundra.

Still, it was quiet, and the symphony of wind and wildlife was wonderful.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid

18
May

The Origin Of Myth

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

As far back as anyone can remember, Lulumak stole. When he was young, the elders told Lulumak’s parents that this was a sign of intelligence but once he matured into warriorhood, the elders warned Lulumak that he would be punished if he stole again. A day after Lulumak was warned, Chinoon caught him stealing fish from Yellow Hair’s net. The next day a few elders told Lulumak they discovered a rich fishing area and invited him to fish with them. When the elders returned without Lulumak, they told the tribe that Nanal, the monster, had eaten Lulumak for his sin.

From Guest Contributor Dave Harper

Dave, a recovering software developer, now finds himself addicted to writing fiction.

27
Apr

The Sea At Night

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Dana wasn’t allowed to walk the beach alone, even in broad daylight. Her parents never gave a reason, but she’d heard them whispering about the men who lived in the sea.

Late at night, when her family was asleep, Dana would wade out into the surf. She’d dig up sand dollars and watch the moonlight refract through the water. She had never been hindered by fear of the unknown.

When the sea men came for her, Dana did not scream. Perhaps this was what she wanted all along. She would not miss her family. She would not miss the earth.

23
Nov

Small Mercies

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Her father had come out a year before he died. Her parents had been divorced more than a decade by then and the news probably shouldn’t have comes as such a shock. At the eulogy, she lamented not handling his announcement with more compassion. She would never be able to understand what it had been like for him, growing up in small town Indiana.

She left the election viewing party early. She needed to cry alone. It was the first time she was glad Dad had died. He was spared having to see the wheels of progress start rolling backwards.

24
Oct

Once They Cross The Brambly Bridge Far Too Far From Town

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

The man in the black coat turns around, long ears dangling, striped vest pink-and-white, smiling. The children have followed him into the woods against their parents’ warnings, but just for a minute, not very far they say, as he pulls the golden ivory box from inside his pocket’s silk lining, lifts the top and their eyes grow wide for they are each inside, two inches tall, ceramic dolls he’s carved on a carousel winding round-and-round the emerald mound on tiny white ponies they’re riding, cymbals in their hair, penny whistles singing, ‘til they no longer hear the dinner bells ringing.

From Guest Contributor Kathy Miller

Kathy is a writer of poems, stories, songs, and screenplays. She lives in Michigan and has a B.F.A and an M.F.A. in Writing. Her publications include HarperCollins’ It Books, Universal Music Publishing Group, and The Aviator.

3
Oct

Priorities

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Lillith’s earliest memory is of her nail poking at her father’s love handle. As if her finger was able to inject happiness, and heal the month-to-month worries that emerged as dollar signs in his eyes, just around his pupils.

In high school, Lillith filled out a career questionnaire while watching her mother dust her two-thousand-square-foot ball and chain. What did she want to be? She simply wrote: free.

On her thirtieth birthday, Lillith’s parents pulled up to her one-hundred-and-forty-four-square-foot tiny home. As Lillith washed the sand off her feet, her mother whispered to her father, “When’s she gonna grow up?”

From Guest Contributor Susan Shiney

Susan is a writer, painter, and teacher originally from Southern California. She is now living in Lille, France.

26
Sep

Old Mrs. Meyer

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Johan returns with the potatoes for lunch. Mrs. Meyer, who lives opposite, opens her door. Though he’s eleven, the kind old lady still gives him candy.

However, seeing the two Gestapo officers with her, Johan hides.

“My father was German,” she says.

“The Reich is grateful,” they reply.

Soldiers arrive. Knocking down their front door, they drag out his parents and the family in the attic.

“Jew-loving Dutch swine!” says a soldier, spitting at his father.

Johan never sees them again.

His eyes meet Mrs. Meyer’s, peering out from between her curtains.

He never forgets her look of triumphant malice.

From Guest Contributor Ian Fletcher

Born and raised in Cardiff, Wales, Ian has an MA in English from Oxford University. He has had poems and short stories published in Schlock! Webzine, 1947 A Literary Journal, Dead Snakes, Short-story.me, Anotherealm, Under the Bed, A Story In 100 Words, Poems and Poetry, Friday Flash Fiction, and in various anthologies.