Posts Tagged ‘Rumble’
Feb
Frozen Morning
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The bright light of the dawn greets him with a cheerful glow, sneaking lies between the buildings.
His breath forms thick clouds that mocks him with its resemblance to cigarette smoke. His fingers ache in his tattered gloves. His legs creak as he raises himself from his bed to face the whitewashed town, bleached clean of its sins.
Looking back towards his bed, the cardboard’s damp. Ragged sleeping bags and repurposed plastic have brought him into the frozen day.
Children laugh in the distance. The rumble of snowploughs begin, pushing the salt-weakened snow into heaps of black slush.
From Guest Contributor T.W. Garland
Feb
Dangerous Waters
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
After smoking cigarettes with a few other men in the lounge, I walk onto the deck for some ocean air, and watch the water splash against the Lusitania. I rest my arms against the railing and look out at the great ocean. After taking a deep breath, I notice a ship in the near distance. Other passengers are pointing, and no one seems panicked, but I know. Below I hear a rumble and see something approaching at great speed. A torpedo.
I jump, and when I hit the water, a mental image of my family without me, aches my heart.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
May
A Normal Day
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Bree walked up the subway steps into the abundant sunshine. It was a beautiful fall day, and the streets were filled with pedestrians hurrying to work. Cars honked and buses came to a halt at their designated stops. It was a normal day in the city of Manhattan.
Bree stopped for a bagel and tea at the cart in front of her building. The owner greeted her good morning and handed her the lightly buttered bagel and tea, sweetened with Equal and skim milk. After paying, she turned.
The rumble under her feet would be a moment she’d never forget.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Nov
Last Night
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Still tired, I wake in the darkness. In the distance, I hear a train and the rumble of traffic. I strain for the sound of your soft breathing next to me. An aeroplane passes overhead, now I hear the humming of the refrigerator. Eyes closed, I can feel the heat of you an arm’s length away; just an arm’s length. I reach out to touch you; I hear the angry hiss. Still not forgiven. My heart turns to stone when I glimpse your fury through clenched fingers. Everything turns to stone, hard stone. Hard words echo in the night air.
From Guest Contributor David Rae