Posts Tagged ‘Desert’
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.
Apr
The Wagon
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Caroline stared up at the clouds on the horizon. Or they might have been mountains. Or cacti. She couldn’t say anymore. In the deserts of Utah, everything looked the same. Just like everything had looked the same in the plains of Wyoming, and everything had looked the same in the mountains of Colorado. Traveling by wagon had to be the slowest way to get anywhere.
Caroline wasn’t actually doing any of the work, and whether that increased her tedium or just allowed her idle nature to dream up mischief, she found their pace was becoming unbearable.
“Pull it faster, Daddy!”
The Daily Theme from Figment April 2, 2012
You are in transit, heading somewhere you’re either thrilled or dreading to go. Don’t explicitly say how you feel about it, but through your description of the destination and the journey, make it clear.
Dec
The Greenhouse
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Every desert harbors an oasis at its heart. The more consuming the landscape, the more bountiful its sanctuary. The soil squeezes every spare drop into hidden, long forgotten recesses, where it will be conducted to safety.
The great desert of my homeland is no different. For the past thirty years, I’ve acted as gatekeeper for the lonely greenhouse at its center. I have always guarded its doors with my life, allowing entry only to the meekest of souls.
They’ve promised me a taste of a single drop of water, a generation in the making, on the day of my death.
Jul
Little Motel
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
There is a stretch of highway where the tallest foliage is a three foot cactus. Shade is a commodity nearly as precious as water.
Blake sat on the porch of the Sierra Motel, staring at the horizon. His vision plumed and prismed in the heat, causing him to hallucinate. Or maybe he was already in Hell.
Blake lamented having to meet death with the lingering caress of rough linen on his skin and greasy cheeseburgers on his breath, but like his mom used to say, you get what you deserve.
At least he’d gotten one last night of decent sleep.
Feb
Survival Stories
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
A dim blue light manifested over the valley. The crisp breeze squeezed even the rumor of moisture from the air.
A spot of water, too meager to be named a drop, formed on the needle of a cactus. It clung near the edge, threatening to plummet into the abyss.
Gravity pulled, the breeze tugged, but the droplet’s tensile strength held firm, and rather than fall, it rolled the length of the spine, reaching the porous membrane at the cactus’s heart.
The water seeped inside. The cactus sprang to life at the sudden nourishment, enough sustenance to endure another few weeks.
Feb
The Long Forgotten Adventures Of Blake Worthington, Archeologist
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
We stumbled upon the entrance buried beneath the sand. It figured, with 14 miles of desert in every direction, the door had to be buried. Thank God for the stolen map.
The tunnel was cool, a welcome respite. We had run out of water hours ago.
“You know, if the Midnight Sun is not here, we are going to die,” Semele whispered.
“It’s here, trust me.”
We lit torches, and descended into the catacombs. The passageway opened into a cavernous chamber. The walls, the ceiling, the dais, everything was stripped clean.
“It appears Dr. Jones beat us to the prize again.”