Posts Tagged ‘Street’
Apr
East Meets West
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
HISTORICAL FICTION ENTRY:
On 10 November 1989, Hans shuffled nervously across the debris littered street, clutching a package close to his chest.
He apprehensively approached the building, straightened his lapels then entered the revolving door.
On reaching the counter, he removed the book from the bag, sliding it across to the stern looking assistant. She opened the book’s cover and said “this is date stamped 13.08.1961. I do hope you have a good excuse.”
Hans anxiously responded “I’d have returned it sooner if it wasn’t for that damned Berlin Wall being built.” Their eyes briefly met before they erupted into gales of laughter.
From Guest Contributor Dougie Shepherd.
Apr
April Come She Will
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Men on the street would call my girlfriend lindo. “Get used to it,” she said. I decided the best thing for me to do was nothing. April had been designated Artichoke Month. I remember we saw a movie about astronauts on a mind-bending journey to the cosmic womb. It was confusing and a little scary. She got really into the singer-songwriter who had committed suicide by stabbing himself in the chest. There were long lines outside liquor stores and gun shops. One day we found a hand-lettered cardboard sign lying abandoned on the sidewalk: Hungry & Cold / Anything Helps.
From Guest Contributor Howie Good
Howie is the author most recently of Stick Figure Opera: 99 100-word Prose Poems from Cajun Mutt Press. He co-edits the online journals Unbroken and UnLost.
Feb
Freedom Of Expression
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Their art combined gibberish with colour. Exterior walls and street recycling receptacles became graphic spectacles.
“Let’s see you join us,” they demanded.
“It’s wrong to deface public property,” I replied.
When a recycling truck rolled in, frustration of the driver as to not being able to do his pickup job landed them at the school office. The self-appointed artists got suspended from class and were ordered to remove their creations.
“Did you take part in that graffiti?” Dad asked.
“No, I only watched,” I answered, careful to not disclose that they asked me for my artistic advice and I obliged.
From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs
Krystyna is a writer of poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. She
resides in Edmonton, Canada with her husband and stuffed animals and
many friends.
Jan
A Philosophic Mind
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
He returned the edition of Kant to the library, unread again. He came out bearing Sartre’s “Being and Nothingness.” Surely he could make a last effort to master existentialism.
He decided to sit down on the bench in the high street to watch the passersby.
“How foolish they are,” he mused, “going on so unreflectively with their trivial business.”
“Not a philosophic mind amongst them,” he scoffed.
“They probably think I’m just an elderly man sitting here with nothing to do,” he surmised.
How wrong he was, for, unnoticed by the passing multitudes, no one thought about him at all.
From Guest Contributor Ian Fletcher
Jan
Last Dance
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Rain blackens the windows, dime-sized water balloons of toxic ash. We haven’t had sun in months, and now this. You look up and say, Think it’ll stop? I love how you still look up, that instinctive angle of hope, of God.
It doesn’t matter since ration deliveries have ended, but I don’t say that.
We stand on the porch and watch the rain. Our last neighbors emerge from their house, wave, then slow dance down the street. By the time they reach the corner they’re convulsing like punk rockers. I ask you to dance but you pull me back inside.
From Guest Contributor Charles Duffie
Jan
How It Was Is How It Will Be
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
No one claims to know how the Hebrew slaves came to be heaving the shriveled bodies of the dead into raging furnaces. Soon their throats swelled from the smoke, and they couldn’t swallow or eat, and then their eyes turned red, and everything looked blurry, as if seen through the sting of tears. I feel less certain every day about my own chances. I go to sleep afraid, and I wake up afraid. Sometimes I’m even chased down the street, shoes slapping the pavement, but when I glance back, I can’t quite see who it is that is chasing me.
From Guest Contributor Howie Good
Howie is the author most recently of Stick Figure Opera: 99 100-word Prose Poems from Cajun Mutt Press. He co-edits the online journals Unbroken and UnLost.
Oct
Fall
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The blanket of brown leaves, crisp underfoot before the overnight rains, were now a moist, organic mess. The wind was forcing entire sheaves of debris into clammy piles against curbs and hedges.
The water-logged corpse of one of the neighborhood’s homeless lay in the street half-covered as well. A growling dog poked at an exposed leg, disturbed by a scent only it could perceive.
Mrs. Roberts waited at the corner for the paramedics. She didn’t like the dog bothering the body, but she was unwilling to get any closer. She instead dragged from her cigarette and stared at her phone.
Jan
Street Hustle
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
“Hey man, wanna buy a Rolex,” the punk in the shiny nylon jacket asked as he approached me on the street.
“How much?” I asked as I looked around to see if he had a partner. He didn’t.
“Thirty bucks, and it’s the real thing,” he told me as he handed the watch to me.
I pretended to be examining the watch, when I said “hold on,” as I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out my badge.
“Metro vice,” I announced as I reached for my handcuffs. He spun around and ran like Jack the bear towards Fremont.
From Guest Contributor Leroy B. Vaughn
Dec
Dangerous
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
A young couple ambled into a strip mall parking lot. Carla wrapped herself around Thomas.
“I’m making a point,” she said.
“Cool.”
“I want to show someone I’m in love.” He smiled. “An old man.”
He frowned, and Carla nodded toward a lone figure staring from across the street. She kissed Thomas hard, quick. “He found me on the dating site. We had coffee. I was, like, your picture was 30 years old! Think your Cary Grant charm would win me over?”
“Cary …?”
“George Clooney?”
Thomas pouted.
“But it’s you I love. Now go put a scare into him.”
From Guest Contributor Chris Callard
Sep
Tony
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Tony sat on his Camaro at the corner of 14th and Lexington every weekend night, hollering at girls across the street. Some would ignore him but others flirted back. Occasionally, they’d drink Miller Lites in the backseat and heckle people coming out of the Vietnamese store.
After a few weeks, the girls started asking why he always picked the same corner. “Let’s visit the City,” suggested Jessica Rizzo. When Tony refused, she left for the bar with her girlfriends.
In reality, the Camaro had crapped out the day after he bought it and Tony didn’t have the cash for repairs.