Posts Tagged ‘Tears’

29
Feb

Home

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

The muffled voices from outside the closed door play behind every memory. The echoes of arguments filled my ears each night as I fell asleep. The stinging sliding down my face and the taste of salt along my lips fills me with comfort. My frowning face in the bathroom mirror, as I rinse the dried tears from my cheeks, is a clear picture of me. Home is a safe place. I feel safe behind those doors. I feel safe tucked in my bed. I feel safe as I cry myself to sleep. Home is the familiar noise of troubled souls.

From Guest Contributor Selah Mantravadi

26
Feb

What The Stars Saw

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

The stars saw her face, someone who wishes wildflowers never died, thunder always accompanied rain, and the sounds of the waves were something that left the shoreline. Even the tears she shed when she thought it was only her and the items of clothes on the floor because the mirror just did not look right. The stars saw the smile she wore when he cherished her in the dark and the tears she lost when she was left to her own company on the worst nights. Some nights the stars were enough. Some nights, she wished they would do more.

From Guest Contributor Caitriona Mullenix

28
Jun

Orange Sky

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

The sky has turned a hazy orange from wildfires capable of creating their own weather. Pages are torn out of books to further feed the fires. Birds wildly flap their wings to escape, only to go round and round in circles. Everything that isn’t predator is prey. Sisters of Mercy are forced to strip naked on the edge of a burial pit, folding their arms over their breasts in misplaced concern for modesty. Today is without a tomorrow. The roof burns, and we let it. My eyes fill with tears from the smoke, but I have never seen more clearly.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie’s newest poetry collection, Heart-Shaped Hole, which also includes examples of his handmade collages, is available from Laughing Ronin Press.

29
Mar

Blue Lights

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

“In the basement?” I throw my face at Sunny. Gosh. I hate him sometimes. “What could you possibly want to show me…in the basement?”

The bulb above us illuminates his smile. “Just open it, Sophie.”

I push the door, and I gasp.

“It’s beautiful,” I whisper.

“Yes. Just like you.”

“Where did you get this Sunny? It must have cost a lifetime.”

“You’re worth a million lifetimes, Sophie.”

Tears anoint my cheeks.

“One more thing.” Sunny flicks off the lights. The white dress glows an azure sheen.

He kneels. “Will you marry me?” A ring sparkles in my face.

From Guest Contributor Tom Okafor

8
Dec

The Secret To Staying Human

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Mom digs her feet under the wet sand of the Atlantic. I stand next to her, wondering if the ocean will remember her and melt her legs back together.

Each wave climbs higher up our pale legs. Our feet sink deeper and deeper. The surge threatens to topple me, to suck me out to sea. Tears stream down my cheeks.

Mom grabs me. “This was a mistake.”

I cling to her as she rushes toward our towels.

She dries her feet. Inspects each toe. Sighs in relief.

My toes tingle, translucent skin spread between them. The ocean’s song calls me.

From Guest Contributor Sally Simon

Sally (ze/hir) lives in NY. When not writing, ze’s travels and stabs people with hir epee. Read more at www.sallysimonwriter.com.

6
Oct

Echo Of Inevitability

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Sounds become muffled. All she hears is an echo bouncing off the walls. For an infinitesimal moment her soul levitates, detaching from the present. She looks at the doctor’s face as words grow inaudible. A silent scream explodes from her lungs into an invisible body spasm. A voice in her head continues unrestrained: ‘She’ll be alone” but her mind allows her to compose herself as she kisses minuscule freckles on her daughter’s face. As chubby little fingers wipe off her tears, she peers into the eyes of Innocence, so intrinsic, untainted.

The headstone inscribes: ‘RIP Innocence. Your life starts anew.’

From Guest Contributor Andrea Damic

Amateur photographer and author of micro and flash fiction, Andrea Damic, born in Sarajevo, Bosnia and Herzegovina, lives in Sydney, Australia. Her words have been published or are forthcoming in 50-Word Stories, Friday Flash Fiction, Microfiction Monday Magazine, Paragraph Planet, 100 Word Project & TDDR with her art featuring or forthcoming in Rejection Letters, Door Is A Jar Magazine, and Fusion Art’s Exhibitions. One day she hopes to finish and publish her novel. You can find her on TW @DamicAndrea, Facebook or Instagram.

4
Oct

Fifty-Fifty: A Sullen Revival

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

scowling, baldwin grabbed the welcome-to-9 birthday card from the tv compartment. birthdays? useless! he thought. aren’t birthdays for children whom god gave little time and had to celebrate their short lives. just like my twinnie.

he crumpled the card. flung it. headed for the garden.

seeing him, his mother flinched. this wasn’t baldwin. but why wear baldwin’s clothes? even baldwin’s red hair?

—joey!

—i’m now baldwin. no longer joey. i come to say ‘no birthdays anymore!’

—whatcha doing, eh?

—we’re fine wi’ddis, mum.

his mother wiped tears. groaned. —baldwin’s dead, joey. stop this.

—he’s my twin. he wanna live, too!

From Guest Contributor Elisha Oluyemi

26
Apr

Open Casket Funeral

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Walking inside the church, a woman hands out pamphlets with a picture of the deceased. There’s a room full of people standing and talking. In the corner of the room stands an open casket and your aunt to the left. Tears fall down her cheeks. People walk up in a line and hold her hands, giving condolences. Within the casket, a corpse lays with its pale skin, shut eyelids, and carved lips. Not four months ago your uncle gave you a remote control helicopter to avoid you being the only one in the room without a gift on Christmas day.

From Guest Contributor Leif Bradley

Leif is a student of Literature and Creative Writing at Pikes Peak Community College.

20
Apr

Mother’s Tears

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

In 1991 my parents invited Sharon and I on a cruise to Hawaii and Tahiti (where we had never been). This was during the run up to Desert Storm, the US invasion of Kuwait to liberate it from Iraq. The trip was quite enjoyable, but what sticks in my mind was the sight of my mother crying on the deck when we received news of the invasion. It saddened her to think of her three brothers going to war in the WWII Pacific and Korea. Flying back to the mainland USA I imagined that the plane was filled with terrorists.

From Guest Contributor Doug Hawley

11
Apr

Moonflowers & Untold Truths

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Mother waters her garden at midnight, with tears of the moon, she says. I can sometimes hear her crying, but I don’t tell her. Her garden is beautiful, with pale petals on willowy stems and dew clinging onto their souls, she says. I asked her once to see her budding seeds, but she insists that she must tend to them alone, fragile blooms. I nod because I know she is right, and because I am scared that if I don’t, she will find out, and my heart is too fragile.

Mother’s garden has no flowers, and I am still wilting.

From Guest Contributor Zeyneb Kaya