Posts Tagged ‘Perry McDaid’

1
Dec

Thrill

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

“Not healthy,” Jan whispered to her surviving brother, peering into the darkened parlour where her mother sat, eyes fixed on the flickering screen of Brian’s cracked Smartphone.

Tom lifted and dropped his shoulders helplessly and returned to the closed-coffin wake in the other room.

Jan herself had only been able to watch the footage once: the glee of Brian hanging from a spar changing to terror as his grip had slipped.

The phone had been lucky enough to fall back onto the bridge.

Jan stared as her mother hit replay again. She’d even stopped sobbing.

“Friggin’ selfie generation,” she muttered.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid

21
Nov

Red Tape Mania

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

James scooped mail, spinning the wheelchair precipitously for the turn, a big grin on his face. Wheels clattered on tiles as he righted.

“I would have got those. Those stunts–”

Envelopes in lap, the veteran mock-pouted. “Self-entertainment. Can’t just wait to die, honey. Adapt and move on. I was thinking of entering the Paralympics.”

Tanya sighed noisily. The smile she sought to force died at the sight of his expression. His hand still gripped an open letter and envelope.

“What?”

“Remember the Disability Benefit reappraisal?”

“Ye-aah?”

“Seems they reckon loss of limbs and Kidney Impact Syndrome don’t–”

Pages…

Floor-ward…

“JAMES!”

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid

13
Nov

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

25
Aug

Duty And Thoughts Of Alisen

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

A sweep of peach graced the western sky…maybe. Sleep deprived, he couldn’t really be sure. Vision might be compromised, eyes too bloodshot to discern the ambiguous purity of grey dragging the downpour along the horizon.

And the windows were filthy.

Sunday eyed him from the corner, placid gaze sharpening as her head rose from his Nike, quasi-spaghetti dangling from open maw.

He identified with the drool-laden laces.

“Curious passion,” he said, observing the dog…but thinking of Alisen.

Sunday growled, mouthing the trainer, front paws tensed and backside hoisted by her wagging tail. Play and a walk.

Duty called.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid

15
Aug

Future Perfect

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

It had taken some time to bring the fixer-upper to a standard he could happily call home.

He was in the company of all who cursed the pope amid the loyalist festivities.

He dusted and buffed his bowler unto that classy matt gleam. His sash shone with the pride of centuries.

“Why not be ‘triumphalist’?”

There was no response. None needed.

He wore long johns and fleece under the treasured regalia.

“A dry day,” he affirmed.

He practiced a few tunes on his fife and strode purposefully from his front door.

Alone he trod the permafrost-patterned ground of Devon Island.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid

3
Aug

Loner

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Worst thing about having a drunken Da who pissed people off was that Malachy tended to suffer from ‘trickle-down’ syndrome: friendships nurtured in his own child-like manner evaporating as parents infected would-be playmates with their contempt for his father.

He crouched over the little burn on farmland close to his suburban home watching the tadpoles emerge from frogspawn, eager to claim a hopper for his very own.

There was a sizeable puddle in his backyard courtesy of poor drainage.

The leprous ache inside expanded to form tundra.

Still, it was quiet, and the symphony of wind and wildlife was wonderful.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid

13
Jul

Sunday Morning

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Polystyrene-on-glass calls pause. Unknown bird waits. Magpie’s hoarse rattle bobs upon chill breeze, followed by one clipped caw. Wind and distant slumber.

Dog yelp, muffled by intervening streets, punctuates keyboard-click.

Repeated.

Nothing.

Wheeze of diesel engine and hiss of pneumatic tyres upon Tarmac cue pair of voices in garbled conversation, growing as they near.

The dog dips paw into arena of proper barking before relenting, wounded by unanimous indifference.

Then…timeless chorus of seagulls.

All cede to a hesitant wind under sombre sky.

Footfalls.

Children’s voices shatter tableau, announcing subdued urgency of Sunday morning.

Bleakness prevails, yet wind chimes sound.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid

2
Jun

Tableau

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

The protracted screaming was unnerving. I thought a rat had been caught by one of the local dogs allowed loose around the estate. It was Creggan in the nineties, where all sorts of mixed breeds roamed freely.

I pushed aside the lace curtain and gaped.

Pinning a dunnock to the ground with its talons, a sparrowhawk majestically scanned for potential interruption, its ribbed breast an exotic cuirass.

I caught its eye, heart strained in macabre tug-of-war between awe and horror at the continuing shrieks.

The raptor blinked like its distant ancestor, stooped, and ripped the voice from the little hedge-sparrow.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid

25
May

Unrequited

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Soft and warm, her diamond-drill eyes cut through troubles to allow her molten laughter to fill his heart.

She moved like a leopard and, when her thighs brushed innocently, nerve endings tingled with an indescribable charge.

Wanting her more than breath, his eyes often sought the smooth valley beneath her throat, desire locking his tongue until…too late, leaving him to pounce at the desiccated dust eddies in her wake.

Fleeting shards of opportunity teased like mirages, requiring more energy and know-how than his aging, wounded, soul possessed.

She’d offered him a photo once. He’d declined. 2D simply wasn’t enough.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid

15
Feb

Homage To Discworld King

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

The tall caped figure dismounted the midnight horse and negotiated cracked paving to knock on nondescript door.

Bright dancing eyes and grey beard yanked it open. “Well?”

Taken aback, Death cleared his throat. “HELLO.”

“Bugger ‘HELLO’, what kept you?”

“UM!”

Author pushed past the cowled figure.

“ER… DON’T YOU WANT TO DRESS?” Death waved a skeletal digit at the grimy T-shirt, shorts, and flip-flops.

Author pointed his beard aggressively. “That would be rather pointless now, wouldn’t it?”

Death sighed and followed the little man to the waiting steed. He was sure he’d forgotten something.

“OH YES.”

He raised the scythe.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid