Posts Tagged ‘Sister’
Nov
Talk To Yourself
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
My mother used to talk to herself, still does. It’s more muttering than talking. My sister, when I ask her, says that of course she talks to herself. My niece, the one who feels connected to me through the umbilical cord, says she also talks to herself. My daughter talks to other car drivers, but that is something I see men do. My self talk is more like my mother’s, my sister’s, my niece’s. It’s silenced talk, cowering, frightened talk, defiant talk too, but quiet, subterranean defiance, crawling, hushed, vigilant, raging, hungry to growl and bite, make men swallow words.
From Guest Contributor Edvige Giunta
Sep
Lure Of The Surf
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Chatter heightened in a resort restaurant.
“She’s a striking beauty,” someone blurted. “Out surfing every day,”
another added. “Can’t miss.”
Ken placed lunch servings before the patrons, imagining running into
someone like that.
When work ended, he headed for the beach. Between relationships,
feeling low, he sought peace by the sea. Surfers dotted distant
sparkling waters. Their faces couldn’t be distinguished.
Next day, Ken served the same group of diners who had talked so
passionately about the mystery woman.
“She’s walking ashore holding a surfboard,” someone shouted.
Everyone, including Ken, turned to look out the window.
It was his sister.
From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs
Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction.
May
Nothing To Spare
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Yours? Mine? Arguments. Ideologies differ. Attempt to build bridge between us. Links missing. Structure collapses. Earth? Water? No collaboration. Excuses made. Stubbornness. Misunderstandings. Light? Dark? We try meeting at middle ground. Concluding we can’t agree. Not in thought, time or space. Coffee’s gone cold. I mind. He doesn’t. Ketchup smeared on fridge door. I wipe off. Mustard appears. Grass is greener over there, he says. I don’t care. I prefer wildflowers. He repaints the scene with concrete. I’m younger, by two years exact. Can hardly wait for… Brother leaves for college. Forgets his toothbrush. I throw it into his room.
From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs
Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. Published at: Nailpolish Stories, 50-Word Stories, 100 word story, 101 Words, Boston Literary Magazine, From the Depths (Haunted Waters Press), ShortbreadStories, SixWordMemoirs, and Espresso Stories.
Jan
Comfortable Ignorance
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Tim read his sister’s winning entry through, comparing it with listed runners-up. He reflected on the superficial ditties with which building society advertisements were enamoured to the point of misidentification as poetry. Perhaps that ill-timed reflection jaded him, for he was not gentle with his critique of Martha’s literary infant.
“’Ill-conceived twaddle’?” She snatched away her manuscript and lunged melodramatically from the chair.
Tim guffawed as the histrionics caused her to jar against the table, but recovered. “Look, you can’t exhale against a corset, whale-bone or otherwise. The rib-cage contracts to exhale, expands to inhale.”
Martha cashed the cheque anyway.
From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid
Jan
Dodge
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Combined their ages were 106; they decided to celebrate their birthdays straight after her youngest sister’s wedding in May. They would drive from Boca Grande, Florida all the way to Tampa and hop the first flight to London available. Only a few would be privy to their plan. The mother of the bride and her eldest daughter, whom many despised. They would celebrate the sixties and the end of thirties with the same trials and failures that they marked the twenties, fifties, forties, and tens. The zeros were so distant; neither woman could remember them. “Happy 106, us,” they smirked.
From Guest Contributor E.B. Morrison
Jan
Disturbed
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
There was an old man who never slept at night. I saw him often from my room, I recognized him but didn’t know him.
I used to see a flickering light in his room, it disturbed me and didn’t let me sleep. I wanted to shout ‘could you turn off the light’ but never did.
My sister got married and I shifted to her room. I never saw him again; now all I get to see is a closed window with broken glass. I wonder where he’s gone? Previously, the open window disturbed me and now it’s the closed one.
From Guest Contributor Preeti Singh
Preeti is a french language interpreter and a media professional who is engaged in writing short films and playing characters for tv series.
May
Failure To Thaw
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The funeral didn’t make her cry.
She had been given a frosty life, locked out of warmth. Once she found the sun, she never looked back. And yet, here she was.
The chalky dough of a face, ice white and just as cold, with a slash of red lips and the hum of memories in the air bounced off of her like the wrong side of a magnet. She gave the packet of tissues to her sister before brushing past.
Leaning close, she touched the stripe of rouge. Some rubbed off on her finger.
Curious, she thought, the measures taken.
From Guest Contributor Emily Fox
Emily has an MA in English and Creative Writing from SNHU. She currently lives in North Carolina. You can find her at emfoxwrites.com, or follow her on Twitter @emfoxwrites.
Jul
Family Under Scrutiny
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Spectators looked on with intense intrigue as the judge examined articles placed before her.
“Mister Coroner,” she began. “Did you succeed in contacting the victim’s next of kin?”
The questioned man glanced nervously about him. “No, Your Honor. Records show her parents are deceased. A younger sister ran away from home six years ago. Hasn’t been seen since.”
“Have you tried her extended family?”
“I’m not aware of any members.”
I sat fidgeting in the back of the courtroom.
“Excuse me,” I said rising. “I knew the young victim.”
“Who are you?” the startled judge asked.
“I was her sister.”
From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs
Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. Her work has been published at: Nailpolish Stories, 50-Word Stories, 100 word story, 101 Words, Boston Literary Magazine, From the Depths (Haunted Waters Press), ShortbreadStories, and espresso stories.
Jun
Caution
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
“Have I met you before?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Where I have I seen you then?”
“I have met your mother, your father, your sister, and grandparents,” he said, irritably. “But not you.”
She looked at him. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” he said. “Well, at least, not until now.”
They laughed; his far heartier than hers.
She shivered. His black cloak and queer scent was off putting.
“So,” he said, leaning closer, “I suppose introductions are in order.”
“No,” she said. “I know who you are.” She clicked her seat belt in.
‘Drat.’ He left. She got home safely.
From Guest Contributor, Joey Harlow.
Jul
Dead Of Night
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
“Never open the attic door.”
It was the number one family rule, one hammered into Simon from the time he could walk.
The caution seemed excessive. If the heavy padlock were not enough to keep Simon out of the attic, the whispered voices he heard in the dead of night on his way to the bathroom certainly were.
When his sister was killed, brotherly love succeeded where simple curiosity failed. Not two weeks after the funeral, he heard her calling to him from the attic.
Simon quickly learned why “Never open the attic door” was the number one family rule.