Posts Tagged ‘Window’


Young Love

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Elsie opens the window and the warm breeze enters the room. She sits next to William holding his hand, remembering.

“It’s a beautiful spring day. It reminds me of our first picnic in the park. After eating and talking for hours, you finally leaned my head back, kissed me and wrapped your hands gently around my waist. Your lips were soft and tasted of salt from the chips.” Elsie brushes William’s hair behind his ear. “I can’t believe that has only been a year ago.”

Elsie’s eyes begin to water, and she wonders why dementia has taken her young love.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher



by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

The rain is pounding on the window and I see water seeping through the sill. I put towels to block it, but to no avail, and the dogs are barking uncontrollably, pacing back and forth at the clap of thunder and lightning. With nothing else to do, I sit and wait for it to pass. A summer storm doesn’t usually last long.

“Three o’clock, I must’ve fallen asleep.” The dogs are beside me on the couch plopped down with their tails wagging.

I look out the window and see abundant sunshine. In the distance a glimmer of a rainbow appears.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher


Her Greatest Love Affair

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

On her death bed, Jennifer’s thoughts don’t dwell on her husband, despite several decades of marriage and two children together.

It’s Mateo she remembers instead. Jennifer was only meant to spend three days in Barcelona, but she switched out her ticket and let her friends travel on to Italy without her.

She remembers Mateo’s laugh, and the way he mispronounced her name in the cutest way. She remembers the passion when they made love in his flat beneath the open window.

It was only two weeks, but that was enough time to know Mateo was the love of her life.


The Beats

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Gregory Corso was sitting in the window of Allen Ginsberg’s East Village apartment – two, three hours, just sitting in silence. He had vowed to himself not to be a willing participant to any further chaos. Just to be every day, it took everything. You could be having a really nice time at the beach or the park one minute and in the next minute there could be cops with meaty red faces gassing and clubbing you. Once at a reading some lady asked him, “What’s an id?” and he waited a bit before answering, “Eighteenth-century sea captains carousing in Surinam.”

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie is the author of The Titanic Sails at Dawn (Alien Buddha Press, 2019).


The Sound Of What’s Coming

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

There was a guillotine in the basement. People in the surrounding buildings reacted by hurling rocks and bottles. The whole thing felt suspicious, like someone was trying to send me a message. So I started cutting out images of crashes and mass shootings from the newspaper and transferring them onto the surface of prison-issued soaps. Then I figured out a way to do that onto the prison sheets. The residue that accumulated on the floor and walls took on a life of its own. Now what do we do? The window provides enough natural light to keep the snake alive.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good


A Man Among Ferns

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

He remembers waking up—ages ago—amid ferns, with neither a plan nor any desire to ever be waking up again at all, least of all amid ferns, which he had considered to be beautiful before he wandered into them and disappeared, hoping to disappear forever.

Now, almost a half-century later, he endures his almost unendurable insomnia in the broadest daylight his personal December has to offer. He sits with his journal at his favorite café table by the window, attempting to capture any fragment of last night’s dreams, but is sadly reminded—again—that not all attempts are successful.

From Guest Contributor Ron. Lavalette


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



by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

He sat alone.

He watched her scrape the painted letters from the window; watched FINE ARTS CAFE become FINE ART, then FINE and finally FIN.

She took a break.

He couldn’t bear to watch anymore anyway, imagined Painting becoming mere Paint, then Pain; Lessons, Less.

Having finished his coffee, he talked to the café owner about her plans now that she’d finally served up her last cup.

He knew he’d go soon too.

He mentally counted out the other empty storefronts, some of the buildings invisible from where he sat, their windows staring out at a rapidly fading Main Street.

From Guest Contributor Ron. Lavalette



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


Afternoon Tea Party

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

“Eat this, Mom,” she said, handing me a plastic donut.

“Mmm,” I said, pretending it was delicious. I put it down and asked for more tea. Giggling, she poured air into a pink cup.

Someone pounded on the door.

The pot dropped to the table. I slid our pre-packed bag out from under the bed. She clung to me, like a baby monkey to its mother, and reached for her doll.

The door was giving in. Soon, it’d be off the hinges. I hoped we had enough time. I opened the window and my heart clenched.

The FBI waited below.

From Guest Contributor Bethany Cardwell