Posts Tagged ‘Sky’


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


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.



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.


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

Bleakness prevails, yet wind chimes sound.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid



by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

We stopped by a lake. Saw the sky stratified in blues, greys, and white. Felt frosty air thicken.

“She’s golden,” Sonny said as he watched the leader dog devour caribou. “Saved me from drowning through ice.”

I closed the thermos emptied of coffee, positioned myself on the sled. Sonny yelled out a command. The team of six malamutes sprung us forward.

“Reckon we can make two miles before nightfall,” he said. “Set up camp.”

“What’s over there?” I asked.

“Remnants of igloos.”

More commands. Our sled slid faster. Ice crackling beneath us.

Night approached with spirits of the past watching.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. Her work has been published at: Nailpolish Stories, 50-Word Stories, 100 word story, 101 Words, Boston Literary Magazine, From the Depths (Haunted Waters Press), ShortbreadStories, SixWordMemoirs, and Espresso Stories.


Morning Run

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Keep your footing steady, prepared for the slick, the slide, your
flight, your footlessness, your unexpected sky view. Run towards the
hazy white clouds, the early sun’s pinkish fire, the black ice–a
lake, a mottled mirror. You know the quiet sidewalk, the barren apple
tree, the forgotten field. But this sea yearning, this siren call to
dive deep, feet first, into the glass, the shatter–is undeniable, an
immersion, a full body baptism. You suddenly find yourself splayed and
shaken, flat on your back, laughing at your air walk, your feet now
hesitant, dull–the morning light cool, the day transparent,

From Guest Contributor Holiday Goldfarb


My Constant Inconstant

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

It is hard to swallow that the sun always beams on someone, when she ignores shining on me. The sun parks behind the clouds on sullen January mornings, knowing, full well, the snow would be whiter and the air, warmer, if it was ambitious enough to burn through molten lead skies.

Wallowing in darkness, with only a feeble moon, I am not the least bit rapturous to know the sun blazes in Australia. Cosmic, coquettish peek-a-boos of partly cloudy days throw me into a dark mood but, in my codependency, I am happy that my constant inconstant keeps coming around.

From Guest Contributor Tim Philippart



by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

A painting pulled me from across the room. Past spectators scrutinizing other exhibits. Past a man commenting on contemporary art.

I wanted to meet the artist and ask what had inspired him.

Hut alone in a field. The dark evening sky contrasted with flaxen wheat. No people or animals.

“Do you like it,” a man asked me.

“Too depressing,” I answered. “Looks familiar.”

“It’s the toolshed on my parents’ farm. As a boy, I took shelter there during a sudden storm.”

“So, you’re the artist,” I exclaimed eyeing him.

I left the gallery realizing we were once classmates at school.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. Her work has been published at: Nailpolish Stories, 50-Word Stories, 100 word story, 101 Words, Boston Literary Magazine, From the Depths (Haunted Waters Press), ShortbreadStories, SixWordMemoirs, and Espresso Stories.



by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

I saw a comet yesterday. It came as though from nowhere, soaring across the deep blue expanse of sky inset with bright stars. Watching it, I felt youthful again, glowing with vibrant dreams and astronomical aspirations—reborn like a phoenix from the ashes of adulthood.

In a moment of euphoria, I closed my eyes and wished for the love of my life. The fiery tail ripped through the night, searching for my soulmate. When I opened my eyes, my wife was standing before me.

Then I remembered—comets are hard, icy rocks, and they suck the life from the sun.

From Guest Contributor Taylor Shepeard


The Lake Of Shadow

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

The traveler had spent his entire day trekking through the woods until he came upon a lake. As blue as the sky this lake was; he could see his reflection as if it was a genuine copy of himself looking into his own eyes.

He decided that he would take a swim in this beautiful lake that seemed to hold mysterious shadows in the depths below the translucent blue glow. It was a refreshing feeling as he entered the lake. But after only minutes, did the mystical glow engulf his consciousness, and his body sank into the shadowy depths below.

From Guest Contributor Gabe Mancino



by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

The night sky was the underside of a felt baldachino; the tower an ornate column; and the church main an altar for some expected giant: bold and bright against the diffuse starlight.

She wasn’t sure about the floodlights now.

“You going in or what?” Frieda tended towards the curt. “I’m happy either way.”


“Night wedding because he looks better in the dark?”


“That laneway he knocked you up in must have been pitch.”


“Twice your bloody age.”

The eighteen-year-old eased out of the limo’s back seat, wondering if the weight she felt was really just the baby.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid


After Midnight

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

After midnight, we climb the cemetery fence.

The sky is black as ink, but Gordy’s brought a flashlight. He’s been out of juvie for two days now.

I follow him to the far corner of the plot, wind brushing my clothes like ghosts.

“This is it,” he says.

His dad’s name is on the headstone along with this year’s date, him having died while Gordy was locked up.

I’ve seen the stripes on Gordy’s back, his broken nose, of course, but when Gordy takes out a sledge hammer, winding up, I grab his arm, saying, “Do that and he wins.”

From Guest Contributor Len Kuntz

Len is a writer from Washington State, an editor at the online magazine Literary Orphans, and the author of I’M NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE AND NEITHER ARE YOU out now from Unknown Press. You can also find him at