Posts Tagged ‘Tears’


Colony Collapse

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Hands full of bees, Alice screamed at the sky. Sitting in the grass, blades tickled her thighs. Bee by bee, Alice lined them up. “I’m sorry,” said the speaker at a funeral attended only by the dead.

Maybe she shouldn’t have quit work. Never built an apiary. Would’ve been better joining a gym. Cooking. Reading books that lived in corners of her home. Would’ve been better to speak what he said in the elevator, his voice curling green, twisting to lick her ears.

Alice lay down, tears falling into her hair. She didn’t want the bees to see her cry.

From Guest Contributor Michaela Papa


Prom Night

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

She hung the dress on a hook and shoved it all the way back in her closet, past her pink winter coat and communion dress. This was where outfits went to die.

She took a tissue and wiped her tear-stained makeup off in the mirror. The rolled up wad joined a dozen others in the vicinity of her trash bin.

She crawled into bed in full surrender. She looked at her cell phone on the table and thought of calling Janet, but she likely wasn’t home yet. The fact she hated that her friend was enjoying herself made everything worse.



by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

The doll sat dirtied and broken, ripped from the hands of the little girl, as they took her parents away. Screaming and reaching for her parents’ hands, the guerilla yanked them away. The young girl, Naba, cried out and ran after them, blurry eyed from tears.

“Please don’t take my parents away! Please bring them back!”

But the truck was long gone leaving nothing but tire marks in its haste. Naba, alone and frightened, picked up the doll, the only present her father was ever able to give her, and walked the dirt road in hopes of finding a home.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher


Two Birds

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Tom and Ruth had been married forty years. The heart monitor was beeping with every breath Ruth took.

“I’m going to miss you,” Tom said. His weathered hands were one with Ruth’s. Two streams of tears ran from his eyes.

“I’ve lead a good life. I’ll be okay,” Ruth said.

“I don’t know how I’ll…” Tom asked.

“We’ll be together soon enough, love. The children need you. You have to be strong for them.”

She closed her eyes quietly. A bird took off and flew high into the clouds towards the sun. Its counterpart sat pensively, wondering where to go.

From Guest Contributor Steve Colori

Steve was born in 1986 and during undergrad he developed schizoaffective disorder. Over the years he has worked hard to overcome the disorder and help others while doing so. Steve has published thirteen essays with Oxford Medical Journals, he has written freelance for Mclean Hospital since 2011, he writes a column with The Good Men’s Project titled “Steve Colori Talks Mental Health,” and he has a memoir available on Amazon, “Experiencing and Overcoming Schizoaffective Disorder.” A quote he has come to live by is “To Improve is to Change; To be Perfect is to Change Often.” (Winston Churchill)


The Death Of Tales

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

The mist glistens with false promises. The canopy drips blood of myriad misled bards vanquished by the Mediocre tribe.

The incantation echoes through the rain forest, causing even lianas to cringe. “We have decided not…”

The shaman feels tears slow to a reticent trickle from still-closed eyes. His heart freezes with horror, sharp mind balking from interpretation.


It takes a moment to understand he is being addressed.

Lids snap open. “Yes?”

“Did the Mystic Mushroom bring wisdom?” The bard asks, handing him a bowl of spring water.

Cathbad rises from the straw bed. “No, Carolan, a warning of ignorance.”

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid


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


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.


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


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.


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