Posts Tagged ‘Thumb’
Oct
Rolled And Stoned
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
He: I know I’m a Midnight Rambler, but I can come to your Emotional Rescue. Won’t you Tell Me you want to Live With Me? I am through with Honky Tonk women.
She: This could be the Last Time I tell you – Jumpin’ Jack Flash is my boyfriend. You Can’t Always Get What You Want, you just want to tell people I am Under Your Thumb.
He: I can’t get no Satisfaction. I thought that we could have a rosy future, but now I will just Paint It Black. Won’t anyone Gimme Shelter? I don’t have a Heart Of Stone.
From Guest Contributor Doug Hawley
Doug lives in Oregon (spelled wrong / pronounced right) and escaped actuarial work to hike, snowshoe, volunteer, and string words together.
Aug
Swimming Sterility
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
HUBRIS CONTEST:
I’m a fish, except I swim between kitchen, bedroom, and bathroom.
I sterilize, wash, wipe, dry. Watch episodes of Barry and Curb Your Enthusiasm, semblances of entertainment before the virus.
I’m swimming in sterile fishbowls.
Some nights, I open windows. I absorb tree branches shifting, the tenderness of a fleeting breeze. I absorb the thump of distant speakers. Wear widened eagerness, an expression I thought I suppressed.
Some nights, I try to step out among bars, laughter, bodies.
Some nights I make it a block. Two, even.
But I retreat. Wide eyes sink into submission.
Brave fish are always doomed.
From Guest Contributor Yash Seyedbagheri
Yash is a graduate of Colorado State University’s MFA program in fiction. A native of Idaho, Yash’s work is forthcoming or has been published in WestWard Quarterly, Café Lit, and Ariel Chart, among others.
Jan
The Chronicle of Higher Education
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
What is inside you is going to come out. I think of it as a crime scene. You have brought your dead cat, placing it wrapped in a pink baby blanket on the floor. I feel in the wrong just being there. Before the exam starts, you ask the girl seated behind you for paper, but are given a slice of bread. I can’t explain it. I would need to Google you to find out. At the front of the room, the proctor makes a gun with his thumb and forefinger and then holds it to his temple and fires.
From Guest Contributor Howie Good
Howie Good 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.
Jun
Dreaming Of Mitch
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
I’m wearing my navy blue, long sleeve shirt that says, “Nevertheless She Persisted,” just like the one I have in real life. I’m standing on the shoulder of a mighty highway, with my thumb out! Me, looking to hitch a ride to Washington DC! Was Mitch even there? Was Congress still in session? What about security? That’s the trouble with dreams. They’re stingy with details. I’ll leave them to my ride, who’s shown up driving an eighteen-wheeler. He’s honking and honking that bazooka kind of horn. It’s saying hurry up. It’s saying you’ve got work to do, girl. Get in.
From Guest Contributor Linda Lowe
Oct
Deadly Hour
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
John, riding down the dark empty road at three o’clock in the morning, takes a swig of beer.
“I can’t believe Amy is marrying that jerk! She said she loved me. That lying witch!”
Inebriated, he swerves in and out of lanes, his vision blurry. He presses on the accelerator just missing an approaching car. The driver honks his horn profusely at Johnny. Laughing, Johnny takes his eyes off the road and crashes head on into a tree.
Lying dead with his head on the steering wheel and his thumb pressing on Amy’s cell number, the phone begins to dial.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Oct
That Which Grows, That Which Dies
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Lisa found a pallid yellow seed on her pillow. She rolled it between her finger and thumb, speculating that if planted, a good husband would grow. One that didn’t drink or stay out all night. One that wouldn’t smoke, swear, shout and scold. Her man would come, different to the others.
The seed cracked and an ocher fluid seeped onto Lisa’s fingers. She licked at it as the crack repaired itself. The fluid was hot on her tongue. It erased all the thoughts she had of the perfect spouse and replaced them with images of sleeping pills and razor blades.
From Guest Contributor, Horrorshow