Posts Tagged ‘Refrigerator’

22
Feb

Host

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

I have chips and salsa ready for when the family arrives for Super Bowl Sunday.

The last time I hosted, I ran out of snacks and had to drive to the convenience store to stock up. I missed the most important play of the game and it’s not the same watching it on DVR.

They’re coming up the driveway.

I go to get the beer and my refrigerator sticks. I have to yank it and all the beer bottles fall, break, and spill on the floor.

Looks like I’ll be heading to the store and watching the game on DVR.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

6
Nov

Shame

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

I take a bite of the chocolate cheesecake, stolen from a remote corner of the refrigerator and want to savor with closed eyes, but I don’t dare. Mom can come anytime. I gobble it up, throwing the carton in the trash.

She descends the stairs and frowns at the cake crumbs on the floor. I hate her for that.

I look at the book I’m supposed to be reading and try to hide my shame, my secret. The same secret that’s hers when she introduces her teenage daughter to her friends, her eyes apologizing for the girth of my thighs.

From Guest Contributor Anuradha Dev

5
Dec

Secretly Thankful

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

The story I’m told, is my cousin ran a red light, hit an oncoming car and died on impact. This happened the day before Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving Day, my aunt and uncle are preparing for his funeral.

I told my cousin Mike, time and again, he needed to stop fiddling with the radio when driving, because he could cause an accident or kill someone. I never thought that someone would be him.

The turkey sits in the refrigerator, no one wanting to celebrate thanks when a young man died.

Secretly, I’m thankful it isn’t my wife or one of my kids.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

2
Nov

Last Night

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Still tired, I wake in the darkness. In the distance, I hear a train and the rumble of traffic. I strain for the sound of your soft breathing next to me. An aeroplane passes overhead, now I hear the humming of the refrigerator. Eyes closed, I can feel the heat of you an arm’s length away; just an arm’s length. I reach out to touch you; I hear the angry hiss. Still not forgiven. My heart turns to stone when I glimpse your fury through clenched fingers. Everything turns to stone, hard stone. Hard words echo in the night air.

From Guest Contributor David Rae

16
Apr

The Next Great Marketing Campaign

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

She sat in a corner of darkness, showing her back to the world. When confronted, her words drove stakes through the hearts of every remaining friendship. She clung to her timeworn memories until they crumbled about her in indecipherable fragments.

On occasion, for no apparent reason, she would laugh pathologically.

Every day of her life was a ritual of punishment. She obsessively opened and closed a refrigerator as empty as her existence. Her soul was dead.

For the rest of her life, if life you could call it, she would never forgive her roommate for drinking the last Miller Lite.