Posts Tagged ‘Picture’
Feb
Home
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The muffled voices from outside the closed door play behind every memory. The echoes of arguments filled my ears each night as I fell asleep. The stinging sliding down my face and the taste of salt along my lips fills me with comfort. My frowning face in the bathroom mirror, as I rinse the dried tears from my cheeks, is a clear picture of me. Home is a safe place. I feel safe behind those doors. I feel safe tucked in my bed. I feel safe as I cry myself to sleep. Home is the familiar noise of troubled souls.
From Guest Contributor Selah Mantravadi
Jul
Raise Your Voice
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
raise it as if your life depends on it. Your future too.
Scream if needed. Scream even if your voice cracks.
Don’t wait for help, help yourself.
Learn to survive, and remember,
the young neighbor who cries every night,
a distant cousin with a broken arm, a young girl on the bus, with bruised marks.
Remember the scars, the burns, the pain, the losses too.
Read the silence, the untold stories behind every closed door.
Then write a new story, draw a new picture,
paint your toenails red, wear a bindi, go out and shout
Shout until you are heard.
From Guest Contributor Marzia Rahman
Marzia is a Bangladeshi fiction writer and translator. Her writings have appeared in several print and online journals. Her novella-in-flash If Dreams had wings and Houses were built on clouds was longlisted in the Bath Novella in Flash Award Competition in 2022.She is currently working on a novella. She is also a painter.
Jul
Last Breath
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
My heart aches when I look at the faded photo of my wife. I place it back in my pocket and lean over the trench, rifle in position.
The tanks approach and deep down I know it’s an impossible situation, but I run onto the field shooting, the tanks firing back, hitting me, and my body thrown midair.
Charles, my friend, pulls me into a ditch and I manage to gesture to my pants pocket. Charles reaches in and pulls out the picture and hands it to me.
With the photo clutched to my chest, I take my last breath.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Feb
I Scream
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
I love eating ice cream with Tom, we go to Cold Stone Creamery down the road whenever I’m feeling down. The 2 things that can cheer me up whenever I am not feeling the best, Tom and Chocolate Ice Cream. I asked him “Why are we here today?” “Well, you don’t seem like you’re very happy honey, thought a cup could cheer you up,” he says smiling like he always does. He looks so adorable. I want to remember this forever, I take my phone to click a picture and there is nothing. Today marks one year since Tom passed.
From Guest Contributor Mariam Dinah Jacob
Aug
Key
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
I rummage through drawers and cabinets before placing everything back. It hits me then. There must be a hidden key somewhere. I look under every piece of furniture and there it is under the desk chair. I scan the room and come across a painting of the Fuhrer that is askew. I remove it from the wall and find a safe. The key fits.
Inside are papers with the Nazi’s plans. I memorize what I can and place the picture and the key back, making haste through the rear entrance without being noticed.
Outside, I breathe a sigh of relief.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
May
Open Casket Funeral
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Walking inside the church, a woman hands out pamphlets with a picture of the deceased. There’s a room full of people standing and talking. In the corner of the room stands an open casket and your aunt to the left. Tears fall down her cheeks. People walk up in a line and hold her hands, giving condolences. Within the casket, a corpse lays with its pale skin, shut eyelids, and carved lips. Not four months ago your uncle gave you a remote control helicopter so you wouldn’t be the only one in the room without a gift on Christmas day.
From Guest Contributor Leif Bradley
Leif is a student of Literature and Creative Writing at Pikes Peak Community College.
Apr
Open Casket Funeral
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Walking inside the church, a woman hands out pamphlets with a picture of the deceased. There’s a room full of people standing and talking. In the corner of the room stands an open casket and your aunt to the left. Tears fall down her cheeks. People walk up in a line and hold her hands, giving condolences. Within the casket, a corpse lays with its pale skin, shut eyelids, and carved lips. Not four months ago your uncle gave you a remote control helicopter to avoid you being the only one in the room without a gift on Christmas day.
From Guest Contributor Leif Bradley
Leif is a student of Literature and Creative Writing at Pikes Peak Community College.
Mar
Ambrose Bierce Walks At Midnight
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
I recognized him from his picture in an old literature textbook. It had been over 100 years since he had mysteriously vanished. I asked where he had gone and why and what he had done there. He wouldn’t answer. When I added I was a big fan of his writing, especially the Civil War tales, he just snickered. I didn’t know what to say next but felt I had to say something. “You like being a ghost?” I asked. He gave me a sly little grin. “You get to sleep all day,” he said, “so you can work at night.”
From Guest Contributor Howie Good
Howie is the author of Failed Haiku, a poetry collection that is the co-winner of the 2021 Grey Book Press Chapbook Contest and scheduled for publication in summer 2022.
Nov
Waiting
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The mud on my face sticks to me from the heat of the sun, and I’m cramped in a hole waiting.
The sound of ammunition and men screaming is deafening. I reach in my pocket and take out the picture of my wife. She’s so beautiful. I close my eyes and envision myself stroking her long black hair and kissing her luscious lips. I miss her so much, it aches. I promised I’d make it back, but I know that could be a lie. No one knows what will happen in this damn war.
And so, I sit and wait.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Nov
Golden Memory
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Hannah clutches the picture close to her chest and closes her eyes, a smile on her lips as she envisions her young daughter dancing, her steps light, and the sunshine gleaming on her golden blond hair.
“Move, Jew,” the man shoves Hannah into the train. Everyone is cramped, and the foul stench is unavoidable.
Hannah couldn’t help but stare at the frail woman beside her.
“Is that your daughter?”
“Yes, we were separated.”
“You’ll be with her soon,” says the woman.
The train comes to a halt and the door slides open.
The air is filled with a snowy substance.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher