Posts Tagged ‘Tears’

2
Oct

A Survivor’s Calling

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Mouth agape, eyes widened with fear, I looked on to what my world had been. Everything I lived for was swept up in a distant array of mud, debris and…corpses. Even through my grief, I knew the landslide had chosen me, to avenge everyone’s lives that came to an end in this short, devastating moment. This was my calling, which I would live through for the rest of my life, bearing their dreams.

Standing strong, even until this day, I recall this distant memory. With tears beginning to well in my eyes I see hope glimmering from the future.

From Guest Contributor Danielle Simpfendorfer

28
Sep

The Mouse

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Robert and Rebecca arrived home to find a dead mouse on their kitchen floor.

It was an old building, so Rebecca was not surprised there would be rodents. Rather than being grossed out, she began reflecting on her own mortality, wondering if she were better or worse off than the mouse for having knowledge of her impending oblivion. It was a thought that often kept her up late into the night, as she listened to Robert’s light snoring and choked back tears.

Robert could only think about the mess that must have attracted the mouse, and began a thorough cleaning.

27
Sep

Natural Beauty

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Todd places a bouquet of red roses on his wife’s grave. The rain pelts down and the flowers wither. He sighs and kneels on the muddy ground, tears filling his eyes. Drenched from head to toe, he doesn’t care. It’s been two months since Maria died from cancer and his chest aches. He has no family, only his job to keep him company.

“I miss you, Maria. I wish it had been me instead.”

Weeping, Todd somberly rises to his feet and walks to his car.

After several minutes, the rain stops and the roses return to their natural beauty.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

3
Jan

Window Towards The Barn

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

She consoles the dust for being lonely. The rust for being needy. The rot for becoming unstitched by rain. It is easy to whisper these things on the day of rest. When even birds decline seeding and bees stay inside hives. There was little moving in the sparse outside, save a cat prowling between an empty peach bucket and a splintered fish pole leaned against fence rails, its frayed point vanishing in the tale’s middle.

She sits with tears on her cheek. Cheek on her hand. Pinkie finger tracing glass. Watching her three level acres all forlorn, infertile, sour, outworn.

From Guest Contributor Catherine Moore

Catherine is the author of three chapbooks including “Wetlands” (Dancing Girl Press, 2016). Her fiction appears in Tahoma Literary Review, Illinois Wesleyan University Press, Tishman Review, Mid-American Review, and The Best Small Fictions of 2015 anthology.

10
Nov

His Name Is Death

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Tears flowed down her face.

The chain broke as the coffin was lowered.

She gasped and covered her face. She wanted to run, but her love for him kept her standing in front of his grave.

The grave-keeper struggled with the chain and the casket. He pulled the chain, causing the casket to drop into the grave.

The lady fainted when the casket entered the grave.

The grave-keeper said, “Carry her and put her into the hearse. I’ll bury him. Then, we will go to the hall.”

She woke up and said, “Death.”

“That was his name?”

She nodded. “Death.”

From Guest Contributor Larry Sells

5
Oct

Locked

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Depression lives with me. Locks my mind in a formidable place. It allows limited interactions with the outside world. Pushes aside the people who love me.

When I feel ready to emerge, it tempts me to abandon the thought. I’d peer out of windows opened to the world and sniff the air. Then, recoil. Preferring the comfort of what I know to something new.

Today, its hold is difficult to resist. A backpack filled with textbooks stays put in my bedroom. The bed becomes my refuge. The pillow, a sponge for tears.

The lock on my school locker remains locked.

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, SixWordMemoirs, and Espresso Stories.

28
Sep

Preserved

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

It floated in a four-foot cube glass case with runes etched into the gold frame and tiger’s eye gems set into all eight corners.

Connor found his gaze drawn to their chatoyant lustre and wondered if the sphere was only an optical illusion.

“It must be,” he verbalized. “There’s no such thing­–”

“Ah, ah…unnatural,” the mage corrected. “You were never going to get this from nature.”

The image of Claudia moved inside the time-bubble. Connor watched his daughter smile: a welcome change from the burial mask.

“I’ll take it,” he said, smearing tears with the back of his hand.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid

16
Aug

Grief, Lack, And The Last Transmission

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

The cities were brought to a grinding halt by the death of the Great Leader. There was grief and tears, on personal media feeds, the walls, the screens, holograms, everywhere, even the real faces and eyes.

The psychologist-in-charge at the ground control station of the manned extra-solar expedition warned her supervisor not to intimate the traveling crew. She had warned, but the supervisor in his grief, blurted out the news to the Captain.

That was the last the world ever heard of the traveling space shuttle and of its crew. XT9 became a haze among the frequencies and disappeared forever.

From Guest Contributor Debarun Sarkar

Debarun sleeps, eats, reads, smokes, drinks, labors and occasionally writes stories and submits them. Recent works have appeared or are forthcoming in Visitant, Off the Coast, The Opiate, Aainanagar, Literary Orphans, Friday Flash Fiction and here at A Story in 100 Words, among others. He can be reached at debarunsarkar.wordpress.com

28
Jun

Homecoming

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Years of content memories awaited familiar arms. Angel wings brushed bedposts softly, listening for command. Good-byes graciously accepted. Passing without fear, anticipating this new journey, unknown. Each shallow breath now numbered, every fragile heartbeat heard. Yesterdays spent letting go of earthly things and people deeply loved. Words need not be spoken, it was understood. No sorrow or regret. She would miss them, but only for awhile. Withered hands smiled, soothing random tears. No pain present, peace her blanket. Voices heard yet distant, creased lips pressed in prayer. Fading eyes searched light, bent fingers directed misplaced hair. Would he recognize her?

From Guest Contributor Christy Schuld

10
May

Blood In The Dirt

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

The man strolled to the saloon, thinking about what he had done and what he would do now. His family had been killed and thanks to him their murderers were dead too. Revenge had been his life from the time he was fourteen.

He pushed his way up to the bar. He ordered a whiskey and sipped it.

A drunk yelled at him to pull his gun; it didn’t matter why to him.

He said, “Not here,” and he walked into the street.

The drunk followed.

“I’ll see you all soon,” the man muttered as his tears fell. “Now draw!”

From Guest Contributor Dylan Baker