Posts Tagged ‘Desert’
Jan
Lost
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Which way do I go? Delirious, I have no idea. Lost, walking in the desert, hot, tired, and thirsty, my lips dry and cracked, I crumble to the ground from exhaustion.
I don’t remember how I wound up in this hell, but I know I will die here. I stare at the empty sky; the sun torching my body and pray for a quick death.
“Doctor, he’s opening his eyes.”
“Jared, can you hear me?”
Everything is blurry for a moment and then focuses. Standing before me is a doctor and nurse, the nurse gently holding my hand.
I’m home.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Mar
Flat Earth
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Flat earth society originally was created to scoff at technology. To challenge the idea that technology was superior. This I thought what a neat concept. Then? I noticed something. I could see thing much farther away than 3.7 miles. Example? Chicago to Michigan Shore Line. I went farther and saw in desert mountain 100 miles away. Making me think. Think? This age of technology to rethink reality and come up with absurdity that technology and science is lying to me? I started questioning a lot. Evolution? No proof after millions of bones. Think before it is too late to change.
From Guest Contributor Clinton Siegle
Jul
Relic
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
They found the capsule buried in the desert. Its outer shell consisted of some unknown material, a shiny metal that was alien in origin. Opening it with their bare hands proved impossible and smashing it against the rocks barely left a scratch.
Many theories arose as to where the container came from. Perhaps it was a message from the stars. One wiseman hypothesized it was a relic from the distant past. The future seemed more likely.
When they finally pried the lid off, the language seemed familiar but the words were largely unintelligible:
Crispus Attucks Elementary School Class of ‘25.
Jun
The Last Angel
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Blinking like a stunned mole against the harsh white light of the desert sun, the last of the angels steps out of his winged chariot onto the hot tarmac. Little girls in braids present him with bouquets. Jeers erupt somewhere among the hundreds of people solemnly watching the ceremonies from behind a security fence. The plainclothes police officers mixing with the crowd club everyone within reach rather than try to identify the actual culprits. On the tarmac, meanwhile, a military band strikes up a brassy tune that has long been a favorite of dictators around the world. Birds hum along.
From Guest Contributor Howie Good
Howie is the author of more than a dozen poetry collections, including most recently Gunmetal Sky (Thirty West Publishing) and The Bad News First (Kung Fu Treachery Press).
Jul
Prey
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The birds of appetite circled the spot below them on the desert floor. Inkblots against a sky cloudless and blue. They wheeled in decreasing concentric circles. Always, the spot the center of a bull’s-eye.
One bird landed feet from his target. Drawing nearer, he became agitated. There was nothing there. With a screech he took off in search of better prey.
Slowly, the spot resolved itself against the haze and became the figure of a man. He had stopped to rest after walking for hours. He stood now, indifferent to temperature and to thirst. Indifferent as well to his destination.
From Guest Contributor James C. Clar
Nov
A Termination At Jaguar Tree Conditioning
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
“You ordered the wrong humidifiers, Eckersley. We’re letting you go.”
Eckersley blinked disbelievingly. Nineteen years in data entry and supply procurement.
As security was escorting him to the exit with his belongings, Eckersley abruptly broke free and fled to the (HEC) Harsh Elements Chamber.
Their company was based out of a biodome in Lehigh Valley, Pennsylvania where they simulated extreme jungle, desert, and arctic conditions to test the constitution of military grade radar equipment and software.
Sealing the doors behind him, his elusive promotion finally at hand, he sprinted confidently into the dunes and vanished—smiling—into a quicksand pit.
From Guest Contributor Thomas Fitzgerald McCarthy
Aug
Ripen And Split
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
We both said we meant it, your hands in my hair. In the end it didn’t matter, you looked out across the desert like you were already crossing it, a dehydrated camel hell bent on pushing yourself towards purple sunsets no matter how rough or dangerous the terrain. I sat in the barely shade near a towering saguaro and braided spines and blossoms intermittently, blood flowering on the waxy white petals. I watched you go until the heat rising from the sand turned you into a wavy haze. I sighed when both hands dropped the struggle to hold you near.
From Guest Contributor Sarah Reddick
Sarah is a writer, editor, and a writing professor at the University of Missouri-St. Louis. Her work has previously appeared in The Local Voice, The Mid-Rivers Review, and Salt Journal.
Jul
Last Sunset Before Flagstaff
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Sydnacious Crumb’s “Pick Me a Squirrel,” Grunge’s last anthem, fought through the mountains for spotty FM reception. Too dark now for sunglasses, he rested his eyes on the long stretch of desert between painted rocks and casino frybread. Squinting occasionally, he thought of how this band, or any artist, could create something that was so much better than anything that came before or after. Just as Crumb caught a clear wave and the chorus echoed, “squirrel, squirrel, squirrel,” he saw in the rearview a beam of light. Not quite purple or red, no, it was pink. And then he understood.
From Guest Contributor Adam Axler
Adam is a former New York City paramedic, physician assistant, and is the current owner of online bookstore Collectible Science Fiction.
Jul
Wanderlust
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
At age eleven I begged to travel to Venice, to see those water streets.
“My desert baby has wanderlust,” Mama laughed.
On weekends, if we had money for gas, she’d tell me, “Pick a direction.”
We stopped at roadside attractions to buy those tiny spoons. We ate questionable tamales. We took pictures with four different Paul Bunyan statues.
For my sixteenth birthday, we followed highway signs promising The Thing. Surprise! It was a fake mummy. Stomach dropping, I realized people like us never saw the Grand Canal.
“We’re lucky,” Mama whispered. “Italians don’t even dream about seeing something like this.”
From Guest Contributor L.L. Madrid
Apr
Ride
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Only a motorcyclist knows why a dog sticks his head out a car window, he thought. A perfect day for a road trip. 79 degrees, cloudless blue sky, divorce finalized, and the new girlfriend’s boobs felt terrific against his back. The speedometer needle inched past 105mph. Miles of Nevada Highway 50 stretched into the horizon.
The auditory bliss of an unmuffled V-Twin’s howl was joined, and subsequently replaced, by a symphony of mechanical annihilation. 1200 feet and sixty-five seconds later, a cloud of pink mist, feathers, chrome, plastic, aluminum, steel, and leather came to rest.
The desert’s natural silence prevailed.
From Guest Contributor Edward Yoho
Edward recently earned an MFA in Writing from Lindenwood University. According to his spirit guide/favorite professor, the title of his thesis, Science Fiction, Sarcasm, and Other Profane Oddities, accurately reflects his writing aesthetic. Edward’s previous publication credits include an essay and a fiction story in Potluck Magazine.