Posts Tagged ‘Air’
Nov
Golden Memory
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Hannah clutches the picture close to her chest and closes her eyes, a smile on her lips as she envisions her young daughter dancing, her steps light, and the sunshine gleaming on her golden blond hair.
“Move, Jew,” the man shoves Hannah into the train. Everyone is cramped, and the foul stench is unavoidable.
Hannah couldn’t help but stare at the frail woman beside her.
“Is that your daughter?”
“Yes, we were separated.”
“You’ll be with her soon,” says the woman.
The train comes to a halt and the door slides open.
The air is filled with a snowy substance.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Oct
Unspoken Memory
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Memories surfaced as the woman on the balcony leaned against the balustrade, her young daughter beside her.
She had been joyfully preparing to tell him the wonderful news. She cooked a special dinner and waited for his return from work. She opened the bedroom window, breathed in the fresh spring air, and watched the passersby. A group of people gathered near a stopped buggy. Tears rolled down her cheek. There had been no mistake. It was his still body.
She gently hugged her daughter and watched the young girl’s red hair blow in the breeze. The same color as his.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Aug
Lucif And Mi
by thegooddoctor in Uncategorized
Lucif turns to his friend Mi. “Let’s go.”
“Nonsense, we have yet to explore.”
“With days of darkness, how can this be a safe home for our families.”
“No, we are staying.”
Lucif makes a run for the spaceship. He almost reaches the lever for the door when Mi pulls him back, knocking him to the ground. They struggle and with one sweeping kick, Mi flies in the air and lands hard on his head, yellow eye wide open. He is dead.
Lucif leans over his friend and closes his eye, then heads to the ship.
He is going home.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Jun
Flying Dancers
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
She dances with the leaves on this late autumn night. They rise, fall, crackle, swoop back into the air, without reflection about their falls. No signs of injury. No self-pity.
She envies the leaves. They can fly from words.
Too artistic, dark, can’t you be happy? Go to this party. Go to that party with your father. Stand straight, watch your gait. Smile. Writing’s a waste of time.
The words float in her mind like sickly alphabet cereal. But another curtain of leaves showers her. She twirls, the leaves dancing with her, sky and street opening wider than ever before.
From Guest Contributor Yash Seyedbagheri
Yash is a graduate of Colorado State University’s MFA program in fiction. His work is forthcoming or has been published in WestWard Quarterly, Café Lit, and Ariel Chart, among others.
Jun
Love You Till The End
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
NATURE SUBMISSION:
I’d never seen a more glorious sunset, even after a tornado. Half the sky was a golden yellow and the clouds above the sun were skeins of vermilion fire. Even the orange flames on the horizon dulled in comparison. Dust in the air; much of it probably radioactive.
We had come out of the root cellar, its door fortunately hidden by an overgrown raspberry patch, where we’d hidden from marauding mobs that had fled the cities, and hidden again when the pursuing troops began shelling. Our house and outbuildings were charred skeletons, the animals gone. We were still holding hands.
From Guest Contributor F. J. Bergmann
Jun
Nature
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
NATURE SUBMISSION:
I watch the red cardinal swoop from tree to tree and chirp in unison with the other birds while flapping its wings. The air is crisp and the sun abundant. The breeze gives a slight chill, so I wrap a scarf around my neck and continue planting.
The sun begins to fade, and the birds disappear into the sky. I wipe my forehead and remove the gardening gloves.
As I sit with my feet up sipping a cold glass of water, I say a silent prayer that the pandemic ends, and we are free as the birds flying this earth.
From Guest Contributor Lisa Scuderi-Burkimsher
May
Mack’s Walk
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
A chill is in the air and Mack’s hands are numb. He pulls his coat collar around his neck and shoves his hands deep inside his pockets. He’s looking forward to a hot cup of coffee when he returns home, the simmering heat soothing his stomach. A few more blocks and he’ll turn back.
“Hi Mack. Have you seen my cat Arty;” the boy asks. “He got loose today, and I can’t find him.”
“Sorry, no, I haven’t.”
Timmy rides his bike at warp speed, making Mack’s head dizzy. Then a gentle brush against his pants distracts him.
It’s Arty.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Mar
Panic At Sea
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Mary attached her life vest to her body, squeezed through the screaming crowd and made her way to the lifeboats. The cold air chilled her body and numbed her feet; she could barely walk. Frozen in fear, she waited. After being placed in the lifeboat, panicked passengers tried to jump in as the deck hand began lowering them down. He took out his gun and started firing at no one in particular and shot a poor elderly man.
Mary, stunned, looked at the dark sea beneath, bodies floating by.
Titanic began to sink, and the lifeboat collapsed into the ocean.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Feb
Dangerous Waters
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
After smoking cigarettes with a few other men in the lounge, I walk onto the deck for some ocean air, and watch the water splash against the Lusitania. I rest my arms against the railing and look out at the great ocean. After taking a deep breath, I notice a ship in the near distance. Other passengers are pointing, and no one seems panicked, but I know. Below I hear a rumble and see something approaching at great speed. A torpedo.
I jump, and when I hit the water, a mental image of my family without me, aches my heart.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Jan
On The Train
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Poof went my idea for a poem, off it charged into the common air. It could be anywhere on this train now, traveling up the coast. Maybe people are talking about it in the dining car, maybe the conductor’s thinking about it as he takes their order for dinner. It could be in the heart of the young marine from Camp Pendleton, a lieutenant, stationed there for three years. He’s on his way to San Francisco to see his girlfriend. He has something important to tell her, something that just came to him, while the sun set over the Pacific.
From Guest Contributor Linda Lowe
Linda’s stories and poems have appeared in Outlook Springs, Crack the Spine, New Verse News, Star 82 Review, Indolent Books, A Story in 100 Words, and others.