Posts Tagged ‘Sun’
May
Abedabun
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Abedabun weaves baskets while her father makes arrowheads. The sun is warm against her face and she tires of the mundane ritual but does not complain when her father rubs a droplet of sweat from her cheek with affection.
Her mother is by the river collecting herbs, humming in tune with the birds, while her brother and sister collect insects for amusement.
Hiawatha, the finest young man in the tribe, approaches Abedabun and her father with a token of marriage, a deer slung over his broad shoulders.
She stops her work and looks to her father.
Hiawatha’s token is accepted.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
May
Determination
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Through the stained-glass window, the heat of the sun beams on my face while mellifluous birds chirp in unison. I yearn to be outside on this spring day, listening to the sounds of nature, and children’s chortles, but my body lays limp.
Something is wrong. The hospital is bustling, and I hear shouting. “He is coding!” The doctor is giving orders and then I hear the sound of the defibrillator.
“Clear!” Thump. “Again.” “Clear!” Thump. “Again.” “Clear!” Thump.
The monitor steadies and the doctor sighs relief. “He has stabilized. This patient is determined.”
After my arduous episode, I rest soundly.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Apr
The Death And Life Of The Avant-Garde
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
When Franz K. was taken off the train in the middle of the night, he came to on a street of futuristic glass towers that, from an architectural perspective, were already passé. “What are those buildings?” he asked his keeper, a tall, thin, priestly figure who emanated an aura of gentle authority. “You’ll find out,” the keeper said, smiling. He never did. By the time the sun rose, he was tied to a post, watching in terror the firing squad assemble. It was sort of like avant-garde cinema where a series of incidents doesn’t necessarily add up to a plot.
From Guest Contributor Howie Good
Howie Good is the author of more than a dozen poetry collections, including most recently Gunmetal Sky (Thirty West Publishing) and The Bad News First (Kung Fu Treachery Press).
Feb
Savage State
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Special trains departed every hour on the hour for labor camps and reeducation centers. Hatchet-faced men in leather trench coats would grab people right off the street. I struggled hard to keep the look of the panic-stricken out of my eyes, the hitch of the guilt-ridden out of my step. It wouldn’t even be noon, and the sun would already be a dying ember in an ashen sky. There was no specific end to the workday. Steel bars had been installed on factory windows and suicide nets on the roofs. Manufacturers knowingly sold baby food contaminated with the devil’s tears.
From Guest Contributor Howie Good
Howie is the author of more than two dozen poetry collections, including most recently Gunmetal Sky (Thirty West Publishing, 2021).
Dec
The Great Beyond
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
“I don’t know how I feel about myself anymore?” I asked. The long quiet hallways of the in-patient unit were brightly lit and sterile.
“The mental health journey is a hard process,” the counselor mentioned. I picked up my heavy luggage and walked to the door. Nathaniel, an elderly man with a cane methodically lumbered the length of the hall to catch me.
“I wanted to tell you something,” he said. “I think you are an amazing person, and I hope to see you in the great beyond.”
I exhaled deeply and walked through the doorway looking at the sun.
From Guest Contributor Steve Colori
Oct
Queue For Killing Time
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Mow lawn with toenail clipper; count sand. Invite spiders to tea party; pretend you’re the Mad Hatter.
Adopt imaginary twins; cry when they say their first word (“quarantine”); ransack new recipes to quiet their insatiable hunger; crank open doors and windows; demonstrate how to run fingers over wild, overgrown grass; bike them to beach; build castles, mermaids, moats; inhale salty ocean air; watch fire-red sun sink into horizon.
Lift face to pale moon and marvel, “Isn’t it crazy that there are more stars in the sky than all the grains of sand on earth?”
Time killed, savor moment without end.
From Guest Contributor Michelle Wilson
Michelle’s words have appeared in 50-Word Stories, 101 Words, Literally Stories, The Miami Herald, and elsewhere. She lives in Miami Beach, Florida.
Sep
Lost
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
He was deserted by the sun, forced to sleep at night. He would lay in bed, tossing and turning until the first rays of the sun would fall upon the earth. Sometimes he would wake up in the middle of the night, get out of bed and sit in the corner with his face hiding between his knees. Sometimes he would leave his room and wander alone in the silent streets where shadows would chase him into dark alleys. Sometimes he would just look up at the sky, smile and think that at least the moon hasn’t left him yet.
From Guest Contributor Sergio Nicolas
Aug
The Botanist
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
HUBRIS CONTEST:
Settled at the picnic table, I was teaching my three-year old granddaughter, Natalie, the process of planting seeds. Surrounded by supplies: seeds, cardboard egg cartons, a bag of soil, a big spoon and a spray bottle filled with water, Natalie carefully filled each section of the egg carton with soil. All the while I explained to her how seeds grow into plants if they have sun, water and food. I believed that she thoroughly understood. She was seriously working.
Grandpa joined us and asked, “What are you doing?”
“We are growing eggs!” Natalie boasted.
I’d better wait till she’s four.
From Guest Contributor Patricia Gable
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
Jun
Dust To Dust
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
NATURE SUBMISSION:
The dust swirls through the late evening sun, catching the light just so. Growing up, people used to say the dust was your dead skin. A few of my more morbid friends even said it was the skin of dead people. Dust to dust after all.
I wonder if that’s true. The poet in me wants to believe it is, that we’re surrounded by our ancestors at all times, that their spirits live for eternity on the winds.
The claims adjuster in me turns back to my computer screen. Perhaps if I concentrated a bit more I’d be home already.
From Guest Contributor Angie Thrush