Posts Tagged ‘Space’
Apr
The Silence Of Space
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Silence.
Complete silence filled his head.
A dark empty void encompassed him. Helpless, he hurdled in an endless tumble towards infinity. In the lonely darkness the unending quiet pulsed in his head. The terror of the inevitable quickly found his thoughts. Alone he fought to control his mind as he drifted aimlessly in space. His only partner the broken umbilical from the shuttle. The debris scattered around him a vivid reminder of the devastating meteor storm. An emergency alarm sounded though his visor. Fifteen minutes of oxygen left. His life now measured in minutes. Alone, he awaited his cruel fate.
From Guest Contributor Stephen Johnson
Mar
The Curse Of The Wormhole
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
You look like a sailor, sir. I thought so. Do me a favor, will you? Take me with you. You could use a talisman in space. Listen, I used to be just like you. How did I get my peg leg? Aye, I wrestled a space shark and lost my leg. After we passed through a wormhole, we ran aground here. All I do now is meow, lick my paws clean, and cough up hairballs. I’m easy to care for. I promise. Proud to be potty trained. Tuna-flavored Meow Mix will do. Take me with you. You won’t regret it.
From Guest Contributor Umiyuri Katsuyama
Translated by Toshiya Kamei
Umiyuri Katsuyama is a Japanese writer of fantasy and horror. In 2011, she won the Japan Fantasy Novel Award with her novel Sazanami no kuni. Her latest novel, Chuushi, ayashii nabe to tabi wo suru, was published in 2018. Her short fiction has appeared in numerous horror anthologies in Japan.
Nov
Her Sacred Space
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Sammy was buried in the garden, behind a shed. Rose stepped daily over a trail meandering between overgrown shrubs to get there.
She told Sammy how dearly she missed him. How her life lacked happiness, excepting visits from grandchildren.
They would’ve delighted seeing him. But it was different for them. They lived elsewhere in town. Their lives filled with interests young people sought.
Only when Rose died did her grandchildren realize her loneliness. Close to the burial ground, hidden under debris, they uncovered a stash of cigarette ends.
Undoubtedly saturated with the tears she shed for her beloved Chihuahua, Sammy.
From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs
Krystyna is a writer of poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction.
Aug
Flash Bang Boom
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
With the encouragement of family and friends, I adopted a retired bomb-sniffing dog. I called him “Flash” – after the flashing lights of a migraine, I would joke to anyone who asked. One day he discovered under the couch a severed doll’s head I didn’t even know I had. Next the piano stopped producing sounds when I sat down to play it. Then the tree outside my window appeared suspended like an astronaut in space. Now I often catch the dog lying on the couch studying me with cold, squinty eyes as if calculating exactly how much a person can bear.
From Guest Contributor Howie Good
Howie is the author of THE DEATH ROW SHUFFLE, a poetry collection forthcoming from Finishing Line Press.
Jul
Melodious Birds
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Erik sat silently in the small attic, fatigued, and his legs aching from being crunched together in the confined space. His father had told him to stay quietly hidden until the birds chirped.
Before the gunshot, his mother screamed. His father yelled a profanity, then he heard another gunshot and muffled his cries.
As Erik awakened, the birds sang. He slowly opened the creaking door and went downstairs.
In the kitchen, his parents bloodied bodies laid on the floor and a Nazi soldier stood against the wall.
“Ich habe gewartet.” I’ve been waiting.
A gun was aimed at Erik’s head.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Mar
The Sound Of Silence
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
I pine for smiling yellow walls, the low murmur of conversation.
Social distancing exiled me.
I try to write among sterile walls. Blank screens taunt.
There’s no favorite table in the corner. This space is devoid of smiling baristas with big glasses. No laughter from large rectangular tables or sizzling coffee. No undergraduates talking of failed chem tests and parties. I can’t inhale fragments of conversation or insert myself into their worlds.
There’s just silence, the occasional clump of feet upstairs.
I play movies, but my companions are always lonely 80s working-class characters or Lifetime psychopaths.
I surrender to silence.
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.
Dec
Love Triumphal
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Mother hides me in the closet.
You won’t go back to that school. I’ll deal with that asshole father.
She smells of lavender perfume and sweat. Not like Dad with his Old Spice, calculated aroma, who mocks Mother. Arranges my future with Headmaster Edgar. Harvard, law.
Men bang at the doors. Buzzwords waft into my musky space: “Custody arrangement,” “Legal orders.”
Fuck off. Mother’s words hold firmness, edge.
Footsteps draw near, unpleasant pounding.
My mother tells them I’m her son. I’m someone who needs love.
I absorb that word, so foreign, while she spars, words rising.
Love. What beautiful form.
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 journals such as 50 Word Stories, Silent Auctions, City. River. Tree. and Ariel Chart.
Nov
Wild Geese
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Geese rise from campus soccer field, into falling evening. Wings flutter in unison. No stragglers.
You should be on the way home. But you watch, transfixed, weight of homework, aloneness sliding from consciousness.
The geese honk, harsh, soothing, moon on their wings. You like to think it’s joy, that they sense the vastness of unfettered space. They don’t give a fuck about the observers and voyeurs below.
You wish you could join. Fly, part of a team. They fly farther and farther, still calling. Don’t look behind.
All too soon, night engulfs them. You stride home, feet heavy, treading constraint.
From Guest Contributor Yash Seyedbagheri.
Yash is a graduate of Colorado State University’s MFA program in fiction. A recipient of two Honorable Mentions from Glimmer Train, his story, “Strangers,” was nominated for The Best Small Fictions. His work is forthcoming or has been published in Microfiction Monday, Unstamatic, Maudlin House, Door Is A Jar Magazine, and Ariel Chart, among others.
Oct
Traveler
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Curiosity turned into passion. A passion to explore the unknown.
Time. Space. Alternate history. I visited them all.
And my memories unfolded…
Worlds I explored.
Arrakis. Gethen. Narnia.
Characters I observed.
Zaphod Beeblebrox. Severian.
Winston Smith.
Wonders I experienced.
Clocks that struck thirteen.
Monoliths that searched minds of
ape-like men.
Farm animals that spoke of revolution.
Gods of worlds that I was privileged to.
Wolfe. Asimov. Lewis. Clarke.
But you wondered about how I made the impossible possible.
Inventor of faster-than-light travel?
Navigator of black holes?
Man familiar with alien technology?
I responded with three simple words.
“No. I read.”
From Guest Contributor John Lane
Jul
The Knock
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
There’s a knocking on the spaceship door when there shouldn’t have been. For Chris-sake, I’m umpteen millions of miles from anywhere and here’s this knocking. It’s deliberate, and it’s the all too common knock of: knock, tiddly-knock-knock, knock knock. Is this a space hallucination? I’ve heard of them, but hell’s bells, I’ve only been up here for 50 days, surely it couldn’t happen as soon as this. Oh, mother, it’s peering in the port-hole now and looks just like me. I do feel a bit lonely now, maybe we could get along. I’ve just got to get this hatch open…
From Guest Contributor Len Mooring