Posts Tagged ‘Sky’
Aug
Inkling Of Jackals
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
While you putter and sputter and wander room to room forgetting
there are jackals on the moon. They nip and shiver in a hidden corner of the Lake of Dreams, a secret pocket of atmosphere just big enough to make a den, a home, a scratching ground. Black eyes shine from once red-brown-white coats, now just ashen tufts of moondust, moondust, pale gray. The pups scramble up from their rough and tumble, fall silent, and sit still, narrowing their eyes and curling their ears at the little blue marble in the wet ink sky.
They are waiting for your Howl.
From Guest Contributor Brook Bhagat
Brook Bhagat’s poetry, fiction, non-fiction, and humor have appeared in Monkeybicycle, Empty Mirror Magazine, Harbinger Asylum, Little India, Rat’s Ass Review, Anthem: A Tribute to Leonard Cohen, and other journals and anthologies. She and her husband Gaurav created Blue Planet Journal, which she edits and writes for. She holds an MFA from Lindenwood University, is an assistant professor of English at a community college, and is writing a novel. Her poetry collection, Only Flying, is due out Nov. 16, 2021 from Unsolicited Press.
Jul
Fond Memory
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
As I lifted my daughter in the air, her melodious laughter echoed. My wife waved and set the picnic table, her long blond hair blowing in the breeze. The birds chirped in unison and the squirrels scampered searching for food. The sun beamed without a cloud in the sky and I relished the day.
“Let’s go eat my little one,” I took her small hand in mine.
I sipped cold water and it cooled my insides. I kissed my wife on the lips and my daughter on the forehead, their smiles branded in my mind.
Tomorrow I leave for war.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Jul
Prey
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The birds of appetite circled the spot below them on the desert floor. Inkblots against a sky cloudless and blue. They wheeled in decreasing concentric circles. Always, the spot the center of a bull’s-eye.
One bird landed feet from his target. Drawing nearer, he became agitated. There was nothing there. With a screech he took off in search of better prey.
Slowly, the spot resolved itself against the haze and became the figure of a man. He had stopped to rest after walking for hours. He stood now, indifferent to temperature and to thirst. Indifferent as well to his destination.
From Guest Contributor James C. Clar
Jun
Flying Dancers
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
She dances with the leaves on this late autumn night. They rise, fall, crackle, swoop back into the air, without reflection about their falls. No signs of injury. No self-pity.
She envies the leaves. They can fly from words.
Too artistic, dark, can’t you be happy? Go to this party. Go to that party with your father. Stand straight, watch your gait. Smile. Writing’s a waste of time.
The words float in her mind like sickly alphabet cereal. But another curtain of leaves showers her. She twirls, the leaves dancing with her, sky and street opening wider than ever before.
From Guest Contributor Yash Seyedbagheri
Yash is a graduate of Colorado State University’s MFA program in fiction. His work is forthcoming or has been published in WestWard Quarterly, Café Lit, and Ariel Chart, among others.
Jun
Love You Till The End
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
NATURE SUBMISSION:
I’d never seen a more glorious sunset, even after a tornado. Half the sky was a golden yellow and the clouds above the sun were skeins of vermilion fire. Even the orange flames on the horizon dulled in comparison. Dust in the air; much of it probably radioactive.
We had come out of the root cellar, its door fortunately hidden by an overgrown raspberry patch, where we’d hidden from marauding mobs that had fled the cities, and hidden again when the pursuing troops began shelling. Our house and outbuildings were charred skeletons, the animals gone. We were still holding hands.
From Guest Contributor F. J. Bergmann
Jun
Werewolf
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
NATURE SUBMISSION:
It is nighttime. Myriad dots of light litter the sky. We lie on our bed with our distinct commitments disinterested in rekindling a lost pulse. As a pack of wolves practice their choric song, my wife trembles, scratches her skin and flutters her limbs trying to repress an urge. She grinds her teeth as if she wants to sing like the baritone owls and soprano sparrows. I ask, “What’s wrong?” She doesn’t bother with an answer. Instead she escapes into the toilet. A high-pitched scream perks my ears. She returns with calm on her face and nuzzles into my neck.
From Guest Contributor Anindita Sarkar
Anindita is from India. She is a Research Scholar at Jadavpur University. Her works have recently appeared in Indolent Books, Ariel chart Magazine, and Flash Friday Fiction.
Jun
Nature
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
NATURE SUBMISSION:
I watch the red cardinal swoop from tree to tree and chirp in unison with the other birds while flapping its wings. The air is crisp and the sun abundant. The breeze gives a slight chill, so I wrap a scarf around my neck and continue planting.
The sun begins to fade, and the birds disappear into the sky. I wipe my forehead and remove the gardening gloves.
As I sit with my feet up sipping a cold glass of water, I say a silent prayer that the pandemic ends, and we are free as the birds flying this earth.
From Guest Contributor Lisa Scuderi-Burkimsher
Jun
Waiting
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
It was an old apartment. Sam was sitting on the edge of the bed. He looked at the window. He could see the blue sky and white clouds floating in it. He could see the birds flying high in the sky. There was silence in the room. His two deep blue eyes were filled with innocence and sadness. He was so young. So young to be this hurt. He sat there alone. He had never felt so lonely before. He turned his gaze to the door. It was still closed. His eyes moistened and a tear rolled down his face.
From Guest Contributor Sergio Nicolas
Apr
Strange Sightings
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
HISTORICAL FICTION SUBMISSION:
Bill watched as fire tore the sky. Just as suddenly, the flame disappeared and a streak of dark smoke hit the ground. Whatever noise sounded at the impact was too distant for Bill to hear.
He hopped on his tractor and headed to the next field. He’d heard of airplanes in Albuquerque, but never actually seen one.
What Bill found at the crash site sent him running. As he drove to Roswell to inform the authorities, he was passed by a line of army trucks headed to his farm. By the time he returned home, the strange vehicle was gone.
From Guest Contributor Chris Thompson
Apr
Burning Uncertainty
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
HISTORICAL FICTION ENTRY:
My elder sister Tanya and I burn portraits of Nicholas, watching his solemn eyes melting. Melting, melting. Flames envelop his beard, rising into the night sky.
“To the Revolution,” she proclaims. “We’ll be happy again.”
“To happiness,” I proclaim. I hug Tanya. She smells of sweat and oil and victory.
I wonder what will come next. We’ve lost homes and positions, slaved in Siberia. She was a teacher and I, a writer. Those positions are in the past, though.
Will we be of use? Or will the Revolution brand us too bourgeois?
I wish the picture wouldn’t burn so fast.
From Guest Contributor Yash Seyedbagheri
Yash is a graduate of Colorado State University’s MFA program in fiction. Yash’s work is forthcoming or has been published in WestWard Quarterly, Café Lit, 50 Word Stories, (mac)ro (mic), and Ariel Chart.