Posts Tagged ‘Dreams’

29
Jun

Microplastics

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Too small, too tough, the forever stuff. Five millimeters to a nanometer, all recycle cheaters. Polyethylene is not green. Debris in the sea, in the sand, on the land, in the air. The minuscule plastic molecule – drink it, breathe it, absorb it. 200 thousand microplastic molecules in you every year. Perfect hair, revolutionary skincare – just vain dreams ruining streams. All the sales promotions on lotions and potions, laundry soap, shopping bags, and tags. So much trash; it’s the sin of the bin. It’s hard to be a container abstainer, a nature campaigner. This is the mess we’re in.

From Guest Contributor K Mayer

14
Jun

Sentinels

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

With the heavens above, eyes perceive blackness below. The silhouettes of lonesome silos dotting a barren landscape gives way to perceptions of ancient obsidian obelisks, sentinels erected by the offspring of some long-forgotten civilization, sating deities of seasons past.

Against a moonless night, one can appreciate the unencumbered band of the Milky Way, glorious gold and white light from hundreds of thousands of stars, blues, oranges and reds, sparkling beacons of potentialities adorning the night sky.

I repose beneath a blanket of starlight, and the encircling melody of coywolves lulls me to sleep as I long for dreams of you.

From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster

5
Jun

Vernon Dreams Of Love

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Vernon had a mighty fine vision of a better life. Though the East had been kind to him, his yearning for adventure in the Wild West was powerful.

He dreamt of wide-open prairies and a sky lit by a million untamed stars. Somethin’ he’d only read about in books. The drawings of them big ol’ mountain ranges plumb near took his breath away.

Unbeknownst to Vernon was the expanse of Manitoba, sometimes called âpisînikan by the Cree, which means someone who rises from the dead. Soon, his easygoing lifestyle would be disturbed as hordes of undead settlers blocked his path.

From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster

31
May

A Closed Time Curved Loop Time Traveler

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

As a closed time curved loop time traveler watched in horror at the death of mankind. He wondered. Was it always thus? A learning simulator bent on self-destruction? From one reality bounce to another, pray for peace. In the end, God wins all games. Why? In a Dyson Sphere or Solomon’s statement, there is nothing new under the sun. And that which the author of life has given, so he shall take. Multiple dimensions exist. And every twist and turn of the story of life is taken. What about the dreamers? Even their dreams come true somewhere within a simulator.

From Guest Contributor Clinton Siegle

8
May

Dreams In Green

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Standing here on this frigid night, I look out over a frozen landscape, and I can’t help but wonder why?. There is still hope. Maybe one day, this land will come back to life, the trees will grow, the water will flow, and the air will smell fresh and clean.

I can still feel the excitement coursing through me, the sense of wonder at seeing something so beautiful. The land of ice and snow holds a strange sort of magic.

But the land is not dead. It’s only sleeping, waiting for inspiration or something green to grow the days away.

From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster

17
Oct

Rationale

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Summer has been washed and hung to dry across the equinox. Quibble gathers the last of his alien friends for a farewell. To feast, they eat the neighbor’s two loudest dogs. Those dogs kept Quibble away at night barking at wishes and dreams. Quibble does not partake of the meat, but he imagines the joy the aliens conclude. At the end of the farewell celebration, the aliens open a portal between the shed and fence line and fall one by one through. Quibble only mentions the aliens when his neighbor tries to blame him for the disappearance of the dogs.

From Guest Contributor Ken Poyner

17
Aug

The Watchmaker

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

He had become a master in the arrangement of all her beautiful pieces.

A lifetime of experiencing his shattered dreams had made this so.

With patience, he would file down or build up their broken parts until two pieces fit together as one.

His hands of meticulous love removed the heart from his chest and gently placed it within hers.

She raised her head slowly and smiled.

His head sagged downward as he did the same.

With that, she rose, exiting the tiny room.

Opening the door as the sun burnt her eyes, but the pain only lasted a moment.

From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster

19
Jul

Time Passing Away

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Time passing. The events to come? A wild nightmare or biblical prophecy? They knew the time traveler to the committee as the long hauler. Why? He had gone to the very doorsteps of hell and back. What had he learned? Hell was not such a dangerous place up to a certain point. And then? Then everything was what I thought the hell of. The point of no return. All your dreams could happen at the cost of your soul or spirit?

How close had he gotten? Moments of two galaxies colliding within a blink of your eyes. To see the end.

From Guest Contributor Clinton Siegle

4
Oct

The Gandy Dark

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Three miles, under moonlight, over the dark bay, a long bridge over troubled water. Aside the Sawgrass swamps. The Doors’ low groan hypnotic. New Orleans is waiting for you. Look, I’ll drive, your friend says when you start swerving sideways. You’re slipping under, you are fading down to dreams. Yes, you say, stab your fingers into the packet of American Spirit, wave them at the pale pomelo half-plate in the sky, the sliver of moon that is lighting your way. You are on your way to meet the Devil you don’t believe in, but neither of you know it yet.

From Guest Contributor Lorette C. Luzajic

Lorette is a widely published writer of flash fiction and prose poetry, with recent or forthcoming appearances in Tiny Molecules, The Citron Review, Ghost Parachute, Dillydoun Review, and more. She is the founder and editor of The Ekphrastic Review, a journal of literature inspired by visual art.

19
Feb

Dreams

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

“What’d you expect? I am who I am.”

With a scowl she looked down at him sprawled across the weathered porch, a cigar box guitar across his lap. He knew to say more now would elicit a sharp slap across his perspiring jaw.

“You got chores, Bo. Get off your butt and get out in that field.”

Slowly he rose, put the instrument down gingerly, and peered at the rich delta loam between his toes. He reached for a gunny sack and turned toward endless rows of cotton shimmering in the heat.

I’m gonna be somebody, he thought. I am.

From Guest Contributor Fred Miller

Fred is a California writer. Over fifty of his stories and poems have appeared in publications around the world in the past ten years. Many may be seen on his blog.