Posts Tagged ‘Smile’
Aug
Waitress And The Ventriloquist
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
She had sun-streaked hair. I told her we could have a quickie after the show but she just looked blankly at Murphy, the doll. That night I jerked off with Murphy and cussed him for missing my chance with her. He looked on with the wooden smile, his wooden fingers clenched tight by his side. Murphy said cute things that day. People laughed at the stale jokes about slavery. I saw her reach out for the tip. And then she walked past me, with sad the ruffle of notes in her bodice. A little girl came up and hugged Murphy.
From Guest Contributor Sreemanti Sengupta
Sreemanti writes fiction and poetry (Losing Friends – Alien Buddha Press 2.0) while occasionally dabbling in collage art. Some of her haikus have been translated to French and a poem read out at City Lights Bookstore, NY. She runs The Odd Magazine and Odd Books.
Jun
Flying Dancers
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
She dances with the leaves on this late autumn night. They rise, fall, crackle, swoop back into the air, without reflection about their falls. No signs of injury. No self-pity.
She envies the leaves. They can fly from words.
Too artistic, dark, can’t you be happy? Go to this party. Go to that party with your father. Stand straight, watch your gait. Smile. Writing’s a waste of time.
The words float in her mind like sickly alphabet cereal. But another curtain of leaves showers her. She twirls, the leaves dancing with her, sky and street opening wider than ever before.
From Guest Contributor Yash Seyedbagheri
Yash is a graduate of Colorado State University’s MFA program in fiction. His work is forthcoming or has been published in WestWard Quarterly, Café Lit, and Ariel Chart, among others.
May
A Picture Of Him
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The rain came in through the window, but she didn’t move to close it. Her eyes were fixated on the picture of her late husband.
His toothy grin, unkempt hair, and the obnoxious Rolling Stones t-shirt brought a smile to her face. She had forgotten how goofy he could be when taking a photo. He had the complete inability to be serious when a camera was pointed at him. The various ridiculous poses and his exaggerated grins came to mind and made her chuckle to herself.
She gently traced his face with her fingertip as tears glided down her cheeks.
From Guest Contributor Zane Castillo
May
Senseless Dreams
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
We’re speeding in Mama’s 1955 Chevrolet Bel-Air. Mama’s talking about new names we’ll concoct. Lives we’ll live.
“It’s a movie,” she says, smile crooked. “Our lives. We can be anyone. Romanovs, if we want. People of privilege.”
I think of him. Proclaiming Mama hysterical, a dreamer too much into writing and other subversive things. He threatened to have her committed. I think of Mama and me packing late at night, holding on to each other.
“It’ll be fine,” Mama says. “He can fuck himself.”
We need plans, not senseless dreams. But she needs to believe. So do I.
“Yes, Mama.”
From Guest Contributor Yash Seyedbagheri
Yash is a graduate of Colorado State University’s MFA program in fiction. Yash’s work is forthcoming or has been published in WestWard Quarterly, Café Lit, 50 Word Stories, (mac)ro (mic), and Ariel Chart.
Apr
Sacrifice And Prayer
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
John jumped into the trench for cover, and a dead soldier stared blankly into nothingness. John silently prayed, took a deep breath, reloaded his rifled musket and repositioned. He abhorred shooting at his own people, but that was the only way. President Lincoln wanted slaves freed and John believed slavery was inhumane.
John pulled out a picture of his wife and stared at her radiant smile. He said another prayer, kissed his wife’s face, climbed up the trench and fired. Return shots echoed in his ears.
His wife’s photo remained clutched in his hand as he fell to the ground.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Mar
Coda
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
He followed the familiar tune through the fog: strings, horns, that impossibly sweet voice. The gloom lifted to reveal the girl, singing her heart out under the spotlight, invisible orchestra in accompaniment. He cried tears of joy, felt love, and also something not quite love.
“You sing it to me every night in my mind. But it sounds so much clearer now. Why?”
She smiled sadly. “Can’t you guess?”
*
“Is he dead?” The reporter watched the killer’s body inside the execution chamber.
“Yes.”
He peered closer. “What does he have to smile about? He murdered that girl right on stage!”
From Guest Contributor Clay Waters
Feb
Happy Valentine’s Day
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
It had been six months since Emma’s dog Max passed away. She still felt his head on her lap, breathing softly as she pet his head. She missed their walks together and his playful barks when she’d throw him the ball. He’d catch it every time, the ball hanging from his mouth.
The picture on the end table had been a favorite. Max in her arms, licking her fingers, tail wagging, a smile on Emma’s face cuddling her friend.
The doorbell rang, distracting Emma.
“Surprise,” her boyfriend said and placed the puppy in her arms.
Emma’s valentine wish came true.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Dec
Christmas Morning
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Ben watches the kids open their presents. Sharon’s smile is frozen in place. His too. It’s like a hard layer of snow has settled over everyone, precluding self reflection.
He remembers the frenetic joy that would build as his presents got bigger, even as they became fewer. After the last one, a shameful disappointment set in, a feeling he refused to acknowledge even to himself.
His phone buzzes in his pocket. He slinks to the bathroom to read the texts in solitude. Sharon already suspects.
He uses the holidays as an excuse not to say anything. Let’s wait until January.
Dec
The Gift
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Timothy wants a brother for Christmas.
His mother, divorced, comes up with an alternative solution and sits Timothy on her lap. “Honey, there’s another way we could give you a similar present. Each month we can sponsor a child.”
Timothy tilts his head. “What does that mean, Mommy?”
“Well, each month we’ll send money to help the boy get food, education, and whatever he needs. Some children in other countries can’t afford these things and need help.”
Timothy’s face lit up the room with his radiant smile. “I like that, Mommy.”
In Bangladesh, a little boy has a happy holiday.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Nov
Cemetery Sentiment
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
in this silent graveyard,
no one mentioned death.
the hair on my arms stood at attention,
like soldiers in the cold war.
temperature below freezing,
any moisture turned into ice
and fell onto his eyelashes.
just before midnight,
we grabbed a bouquet of
plastic
yellow
roses.
he quivered from the cold,
but his smile never faded.
vows spilling from his lips,
like a waterfall made of his soul.
his nose was cold against mine,
after the final words of our connection.
pulling away he looked at me,
a shimmer in his eyes,
knowing,
that forever,
he will always be mine.
From Guest Contributor Neyalla Ryu