Posts Tagged ‘Silence’

30
Jul

Conversation RIP (Killer)

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

There was furious silence in the booth from the women, mixed with a gauged suspension of opinion from the men.

Ginny, being invested, had expressed her dissatisfaction with the quality of man available to the unwed mother.

Kurt had provided a brutally frank answer. It hung in the air above the table like a phantasm.

To me, he’d drawled, a man willing to bring up another’s child born of selfish gratification – or conversely accept someone who’d aborted – wouldn’t think much of himself. Where’s the quality in that?

I wished the now red-faced Frank had given a brutally curt answer instead.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid

15
Jan

The Reason He Loves

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

“How do you have so much love for me?” my wife asked. We were laying on the couch.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“You understand people so well,” she said.

“It just took time,” I replied. “I wasn’t always this way.”

She put her hand on my chest. “How were you?”

“I slept with half the town. I didn’t care at all about anyone.” A shameful silence followed. “One morning I felt empty and meaningless.”

“Then what?”

“I started searching for my soul. When I found it, I was in pain.”

“And?”

“I found the only cure was love.”

From Guest Contributor Steve Colori

6
Sep

The Unexpected Drive Home

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

The rain pelted against the windshield and traffic was at a standstill. Impatient drivers honked their horns to no avail and I tuned them out with my radio. Finally, the traffic began to move, but the rain didn’t let up. Every car was crawling. My stomach gurgled from hunger and my throat was parched. It had been two hours.

As I reached the drawbridge crossing there was an ambulance. Two cars collided head-on and a body laid on the ground covered with a black tarpaulin.

I shut off the radio and drove the rest of the ride home in silence.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

29
May

One Last Sunrise

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Carl awoke to the escalating chorus of songbirds echoing through the dense northeastern forest. He arose and went through his morning ritual in silence. Dress and redon boots. Rehydrate and consume breakfast, coffee. Breakdown camp. Load his backpack.

These same activities he had performed for countless summers, now at a slower more deliberate pace.

The sealed cardboard box was left out of his pack today. He would carry it the last few miles in his hands.

Arriving at their unnamed peak, he savored the sunrise view east. Opening the box, he sprinkled her remains. Finally, at peace. Finally, at home.

From Guest Contributor Todd Raubenolt

9
Mar

Lift The Perfume

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Lift the perfume, dust, put it back down.
Lift the box, dust, put it back down.
Lift the moisturizer, see her initials, freeze.
JS.
Just last week she was teasing me about cleaning our bedroom.
Well, my bedroom now.
Since the accident.
Not an accident, a stupid drunk drove into the side of the car.
The violent end replays in my mind.
My room is silent now. No more laughing. No more cuddling. No more urging me to clean up.
Just an alone silence. An empty room.
I put down the moisturizer.
Lift another perfume, dust, put it back down.

From Guest Contributor Rodney Goodall

18
Nov

Reflex Action

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

The front page of the morning newspaper is carrying a photo of the xenophobic, misogynistic new President.

Suddenly I spit. Expectorant deluges the photo and page. It is an uncontrollable reflex action. I couldn’t suppress it. It’s not like I knew it was going to happen or had planned it.

The commuters in the subway car look at me in silence. I am embarrassed. I am also sorry for damaging a complete stranger’s newspaper.

It was when he raised his open newspaper to read it, the front page photo loomed in front of my face triggering this; a reflex action.

15
Jul

English Ivy

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Flamboyant scarlet blossoms arched twisting, winding heirloom English ivy. An

unexpected downpour ignored by the water-soaked guests. Whitewashed mason jars

splashed crimson pallets of rustic rural splendor. The music began, he stood nervously

waiting, looking down at his rented black shoes. She grasped her father’s arm. Fervent

desire charged fiery passion. Sugary words melted sultry shadows. Fireflies and fairy

dust lit moonless nights. Silence invited the darkness. Substance replaced by distance;

whiskey preferred to a kiss. Emotions frost bit in autumn’s showy splendor she’d climb

grasping, experiencing struggle with the fortitude of English ivy. She knew he watched

her sleep.

From Guest Contributor Christy Schuld

22
Apr

Ride

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Only a motorcyclist knows why a dog sticks his head out a car window, he thought. A perfect day for a road trip. 79 degrees, cloudless blue sky, divorce finalized, and the new girlfriend’s boobs felt terrific against his back. The speedometer needle inched past 105mph. Miles of Nevada Highway 50 stretched into the horizon.

The auditory bliss of an unmuffled V-Twin’s howl was joined, and subsequently replaced, by a symphony of mechanical annihilation. 1200 feet and sixty-five seconds later, a cloud of pink mist, feathers, chrome, plastic, aluminum, steel, and leather came to rest.

The desert’s natural silence prevailed.

From Guest Contributor Edward Yoho

Edward recently earned an MFA in Writing from Lindenwood University. According to his spirit guide/favorite professor, the title of his thesis, Science Fiction, Sarcasm, and Other Profane Oddities, accurately reflects his writing aesthetic. Edward’s previous publication credits include an essay and a fiction story in Potluck Magazine.

21
Mar

Bringing Back The Dead

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

She gasped as he removed the scarf from his face.

“Don’t be afraid my love, I’m here,” he whimpered, choking back tears, “see me, see me for all that I am.”

Silence. Gut-wrenching silence.

Anguished, she bowed her head. With one deep breath she finally let him go. “The man I loved is not in this room, I do not see him before me.”

“You wear his face but he is not you, you are not he.” She turned to the door, her lip quivered, her voice shook as she softly uttered their final exchange, “Goodbye darling, you’re free now.”

From Guest Contributor Jodi S. Ivers

19
Mar

Anechoic, Deprived

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

I once thought I heard my father listening to Santana on our back patio. He never listened to music. The only soundtrack to his workaday life was the eight cylinders rumbling at his foot’s command. A kick drum reverberating in his chest that echoed his life. A violent explosion shrouded by modernity, reduced to a drone. I eased through the sliding glass door and found him staring at the beyond the lower pasture in silence. “Be still,” he said. His words hung thick in the mid-summer air. I still don’t know if I wanted the music for him or myself.

From Guest Contributor J. Andrew Goss