Posts Tagged ‘Blood’


The Golden Thread Part One

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

“It’s too dark. I heard there are tigers in this jungle.”


“Ordinary tigers?”

“Different. They’re faster, and their fangs have venom, like a snake.”

“What if we see one?”

“They will see you first. Just watch. Just be still.”

“How can we be still with tigers after us?”

“They’re not after us.”

“What if they catch us?”

“If you run they will chase you and they will catch you. They tear the throat, and the poison goes in the blood. It paralyzes you, makes you blind, makes you forget why you are here. And then you drop the thread.”

From Guest Contributor Brook Bhagat

Brook Bhagat’s poetry, fiction, non-fiction, and humor have appeared in Empty Mirror Magazine, Little India, Dămfīno, Nowhere Poetry, Rat’s Ass Review, Peacock Journal, A Story in 100 Words, Anthem: A Tribute to Leonard Cohen, and other journals and anthologies. She has completed a full-length poetry manuscript, is writing a novel, and is editor-in-chief of Blue Planet Journal. She holds an MFA from Lindenwood University and teaches creative writing at a community college. More at


The Warrior’s Path

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

The warrior sharpened his sword every day by slicing individual strands of grass. He started in the front of his house and worked his way, patch by patch, blade by blade, towards the back. When he finished the last corner, the grass in front had grown long again. Without pausing, he would get to his feet and return to the starting point, ready to start over.

In this way, his weapon remained sharp, always ready to draw blood. And in this way, time had nothing with which to compare itself to and became lost.

Such is the path to immortality.



by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Sally sits at the dining table, scooping a spoonful of cheerios.

Her dog, Willow, begins to growl viciously. “Willow, what’s wrong?”

Willow snarls, revealing his sharp teeth. Drool dripping onto the floor. His eyes fixated on her. Ready to kill.

“Mommy! Daddy! Something is wrong with Willow!”

Minutes pass.

Sally’s parents run into the kitchen to find Willow is on top of Sally. His jaw locked on Sally’s leg. Ripping the flesh off. Blood gushing. Sally screams in agonizing pain.

Her father grabs the shotgun from the bedroom.

He takes a shot. Willow falls.

Sally is free, but bleeding heavily.

From Guest Contributor Alexa Findlay

Alexa spends most of her time writing fiction and poetry. She is the Founder and Editor-in-Chief of three online literary magazines. She is obsessed with Disney and Jurassic Park. Her work has been featured in Pomona Valley Review, Better than Starbucks Magazine, Adelaide Literary Magazine, Halcyon Days, Grotesque Magazine amongst others.


Hope And The Sword

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Face down in pine-needles, Tom could hear rustling undergrowth.

It wasn’t such disturbance of leaf and stalk that might herald the man’s return, but more woodlandy – some creature curious about the blood…his blood.

Gauging the effort required, he summoned what energy remained and thrust.

His right arm collapsed, the incline rolling him onto his back.

The unobstructed air was invigorating. He’d never appreciated that before. He coughed half way through a breath, spluttering blood.

He managed to avoid choking. He might just survive–

Now he could see the man hadn’t left at all.

The shooter raised the gun again.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid


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



by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

The oppressive dryness from the onboard heating joins forces with the mid-carriage intensity of the bus engine to agitate my Nor Loch-purchased nausea. I glare up the aisle at the convex miniature of the driver’s face trying not to think of anything stomach-related…or liquid…or food.

My teeth are Publius Horatius at the Sublicius Bridge: facing off against a more dreaded force than that of Clusium.

But bridges span rivers, and the guy next to me sipping spring water from a bottle of ostentatious brand summons images of the Tiber and spilt blood.

Bile breaks through and brings friends.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid


Observations Of A Canadian Terrarium

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Opulence surrounds me – magically tinted daguerreotype of warped idyll ­– mahogany and cast iron impressing their hubris upon the carpet, much as the armies to the south are scorching their indelible brand of gunpowder and blood upon the land.

Lace and silk give room warmth once provided by the pulsing hearts of Toronto sons; now fighting south west of Vancouver over some San Juan Island potato-eating pig.

You’d think our neighbors would have had their fill of war by now; or at least be spilling blood and stale sweat over nobler offenses than that of one hungry porker and careless farmer.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid


I Killed Him

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

The corridors, they felt never ending. The blood stained my hands, no matter what I wiped them on the blood stained my hands. I attempted to wipe the blood from my face but that caused more mess. I turned right. I heard shouting from behind me. “RUN!” It was the last thing said to me before it happened. I slipped into the bathroom running into a stall. I tried not to look but I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Covered head to toe in blood. As I breathed heavy all I could think was I killed him.

From Guest Contributor Lulu

In her own words: My name’s Lulu I’m 14, I wrote this in 2 minutes.


Absent Samaritan

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

He used the lamppost to drag himself to his feet, having groped for the muddy spectacles.

“Help,” he thought he called, clamping the damaged frame to his face to supplement the remaining arm. “I’ve been mugged.”

But he couldn’t have made a noise. Surely the trio who passed would have stopped if he had?

He steadied himself against pain and dizziness and tried to focus his remaining energy into a shout for aid.

He watched through smeared lenses as they faded into the rain: ghosts into oblivion.

He couldn’t be sure they’d heard.

The blood seemed the only irrefutable fact.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid


An Ending, A Beginning

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Dr. Philippa Marsden awoke with a start, the hard cold wood of her desk on her forehead. She clasped her hands to either side of her head, as if she was trying to hold her splitting headache prisoner. Her breath wheezed through her pursed mouth, but the fever was gone.

“Jonathan?” He lay on the floor, white coat stained with blood, stethoscope laying beside him like a dead snake. Pulse? None.

Philippa ran from ward to ward, the cacophony of the previous night replaced by silence. Pulse? None. Repeat. She ran outside to the street..

“HELLO! ANYONE?” Nothing but silence.

From Guest Contributor Ross Clement