Posts Tagged ‘Wife’
Mar
Myth Match
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The day is cold even by New England standards. Girls dump menstrual blood on icy sidewalks in some kind of protest. Myth is dead. Our high school biology textbook compared the body to a furnace. Mr. C, our very nice teacher, was killed that spring with his wife and baby daughter in a car wreck. There’s no point in speaking ironically to people who can’t understand irony. You’ll just end up having to publicly apologize. Freud said dreams are the day’s residue. It has to linger for a while, as if to warn we’re a danger to self and others.
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.
Dec
Art, Music, Philosophy
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Our 5-year-old daughter, Celeste, was singing to herself. She suddenly stopped and said, “Why do I always fart when I sing?” Then a French farmer while plowing on a hill uncovered a rusted revolver that may be the very one Van Gogh used to shoot himself. I looked at my wife, who was looking back at me. I can’t keep drowning, I can’t. There are little children living without parents in freezing tents in detention camps. The ancient Greek stoics maintain a complicit silence. I just want it to end. Every kind of music is meant to be played loudly.
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.
Dec
That Day
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
He dreamt of one. Then another and another…until the sky was
crowded with them. Umbrellas. Pristine white. Open. Descending from up
high. Why?
They were irrelevant in his daily life. Not so for his wife who needed
different umbrellas to complement her wardrobe.
Upon awakening he realized what triggered the scene he envisioned. Why
he told his boss he wouldn’t be at work that day.
“Does this go with my sweater?” his wife asked, opening an umbrella by
his bedside.
The man quietly slid back under the covers.
No way was he going to move on Friday the 13th.
From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs
Krystyna, a former librarian, gathers tidbits from around the
world in her travels, strings them into delectable morsels of poetry
and prose, and stores them in her gopher hole in the Canadian
Prairies. She is open to sharing, upon request.
Sep
Past Life As A Goldfish
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
You don’t believe me, Doctor!
It’s not what I believe, you believe it.
Our apartment number is 911.
Joe, really, it means nothing.
You think it is a coincidence?
Coincidences happen, Joe.
I’m starving! I can’t breathe!
Dr. Adams knew that he should do something. Even though he was a psychiatrist he never could stand seeing a grown man cry. He texted his admitting orders to the hospital.
Then he texted Joe’s wife. He needed her to hold off serving Joe with divorce papers.
He looked it up… “googled” they used to say… left alone for days, many pets died.
From Guest Contributor E. Barnes
Aug
Daddy’s Little Girl
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
His little girl called and said that she was getting married.
When he first held her she weighed about as much as two large apples. He was told it could be only hours so say goodbye.
Hours turned into days and then years.
His wife never wanted to try again so his little girl would be the only one that went to see the Yankees with him and share the dogs, the overloaded nachos, the wings, sundaes, and when she was old enough, the brewskis.
“How do I look, Daddy?” The gown was perfect for her 400 pounds.
“Beautiful, Baby.”
From Guest Contributor E. Barnes
Jun
When The Heart Aches
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The anguish of losing a loved one aches the heart. Henry knew this too well as he walked the cemetery grounds to his wife’s grave, carrying a dozen red roses, her favorite flower.
The scent of spring was in the air. The nearby sparrows chirped without a care, and the squirrels climbed the trees. Henry, too busy making sure the roses were placed perfectly leaning against the stone, didn’t notice.
Henry kissed her name on the stone. “I’ll be back next week, my lovely Serena,” he said and walked away.
A gentle breeze blew a rose petal in the air.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
May
In That Moment
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Chuck entered the car in a hurry and drove off, tires screeching. His wife, Hallie, was in surgery and he promised to be there when she awakened. He sipped his Starbucks coffee and wondered when the traffic would let up, cursing and punching the steering wheel.
After an hour, the cars started moving and Chuck sped up determined to make it on time, when his cell rang. He turned and grabbed the phone. In that one moment his eyes were off the road, he swerved and crashed into a guardrail.
Chuck would be at the hospital, but not for Hallie.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
May
Junk
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
There’s so much still to suffer that even tediously waiting for a train that’s hours late would be a grateful interruption. People are digging in the burning soil with bare hands. My wife’s there. My mother, too. I was going to join them, but now I can’t. It’s as if I’ve become, without my consent, a junk collector. Strange items keep appearing outside the door: a pamphlet, “Human Beings against Music”; rusted bedsprings; a bundle of pencils with broken points; feathers from random birds. Someday, I suppose, children will ask me, “What was it like, the end of the owls?”
From Guest Contributor Howie Good
Dec
Holiday Spirit
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
My neighbor’s colorful red, blue and green Christmas lights gleam
through my window, as my tree with white lights and silver garland
enliven the room.
I sit with my coffee and watch my wife and children prepare milk and
sugar cookies for Santa.
The Christmas song Silent Night plays on the radio and I sit back, feet
reclined, taking in the warmth of the fireplace.
My kids leave the milk and cookies by the fireplace, expecting Santa will come through the chimney with his big round belly and toys.
My family is as true the meaning of Christmas as Jesus.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Oct
Corn
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Toxic chemicals from a nearby factory contaminated Mr. Williams farm. Every year sixty-foot tall corn would grow. The farmhouse and barn are not affected and deemed safe.
A cornstalk opens sideways and reveals a mouth and eyes. Its husk legs can move up and down quickly but have a hard time moving forward. It extends its husk to reach for a wagon, but spots a unicycle and grabs that. The giant cornstalk rides towards the house.
Mr. Williams’s wife Ruth hears something and looks out the window, then screams.
“What is it?” her husband asks.
“It’s a unicorn,” says Ruth.
From Guest Contributor Denny E. Marshall