Posts Tagged ‘Trail’
Dec
In Pursuit Of Tomorrow
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
A young boy shaped sand sculptures. His parents combed the beach with a metal detector. When clouds rolled in, mother rose, balancing on the only leg spared in a shark attack.
Over driftwood, shells and rocks they trampled to reach the trail that would lead them to a road.
Father turned for one last glance of the abandoned tanker anchored by the coast. He had heard of buried treasures from at least a dozen ships in those turbulent waters.
As he imagined newly acquired wealth for his family, the sea tossed out a bottle. Nestled inside was a folded note.
From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs
Krystyna writes poetry, fiction and creative nonfiction. She resides in Alberta, Canada.
Aug
Narcissi
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Resplendent in her white dress, she headed down the steps from the veranda. He tightened his parka to stave off the wind and followed.
Behind the house they built, they strode toward the pond, their barren feet leaving a trail along the mucky ground. Her smile was terse, he clenched his jaw. He searched for something new to say, she shook her head. They knit their hands, now ringless, and peered at their reflection.
Later, when the children rushed out to search for them, all they found by the water’s edge was a white lily rising beside a thistle bush.
From Guest Contributor Nicholas Katsanis
Nico is a writer of magical realism and absurdist fiction. His work has appeared in 50-word stories and Literally Stories. Look out for his debut novel Bocce at the End of the World in 2022 and follow him on Twitter @nicholaskatsan1
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.
Jun
To Her
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The forest had darkened with overgrown conifers. At a fork the man made a guess taking the less trodden trail.
Raucous ravens accompanied his steps. When he encountered a dead end without seeing the landmark he sought to see, he realized his mistake.
Back at the fork sadness overwhelmed his senses. He no longer was motivated to continue the walk and returned to his car.
He raised a bottle of water to her memory, vowing to try again. He’ll find that bench. The place of memories. Where he took restful breaks and she, his retriever, would wait at his feet.
From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs
Krystyna is a writer of poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction.
Nov
Fool Moon
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
It was his initiation day. Just the thought of what was to come turned his stomach upside down, yet having to transform with the entire family watching was a nightmare.
When the time came, he followed the trail through the forest. They were already there, waiting in silence. His parents came for a moment to speak words of encouragement, then joined the others in the circle.
He took a deep breath then looked above him at the night’s sky. He saw the moon rise from behind the crest, silver and round, and he heard himself howl. Something inside him began.
From Guest Contributor Ioana Birdu
Oct
Fuel For Thought
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
I miss him already.
Longing for his accommodation from my customary position on his lap. His immediate response to desires communicated with a caress of my foot.
This will be our last intimacy for some time. The intercooler died. The journey to the garage is an uncomfortable affair. Accelerating by exhaling, barely contacting the pedal. Still plunging the road behind into an apocalyptic black cloud of unburnt diesel.
Miles per gallon reading’s down to yards. Glares from other road users threaten to ignite the fuel trail.
“Go green!” They yell.
Jersey is green. Spruce Green. Says so on his logbook.
From Guest Contributor Frances Tate
Oct
Boss
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The dog was known as Boss by the Belfast housing estate kids. They heard harsh scratching as he desperately tried to crawl away from his tormentor, his muzzle leaving a dark trail of blood from where the first round had hit him in the face. His life trickled away from him through the short grey hairs on his jaw; an occasional desperate snarl ripping apart the cold morning air before he began whimpering again like a child.
Lining up the rifle sight, his tormentor watched the heaving chest, pressed the trigger and the pavement was awash with blood and fur.
From Guest Contributor Bernie Hanvey
Jul
Conquest Sapiens
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Winter today felt like death. Sor glared at the obvious trail leading to his concealment.
The scentless pale race had carried out a callous pogrom against his kind. He was the last. They’d extracted the cave tribe like so many snails from their shells.
The speed and nature of the slaughter had appalled. Herded into a clear space, Gargar and her people had seemed to shrink, then vanish in light when the captors had waved short sticks in their direction.
Better to die fighting.
Sor tensed. Someone– His crouching body disintegrated.
“The planet’s sterilized,” the marine announced over her com.
From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid
Jun
Tracks
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The snow showed her tracks. It was easy for them to follow her. They were clumsy and noisy, but were on her trail. At this pace, she was not sure how long she could last.
As the snow came down harder, her tracks were getting covered and would make them hard to follow. If the snow continued at this rate, her tracks would be obliterated and she would be safe. Then she could stop and rest, and hide under some fir trees until they passed or gave up. She would live another day and maybe give birth to her fawn.
From Guest Contributor NT Franklin
May
Youth
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
We pelt through the underbrush, giddy and squealing, following a trail too small for adult passage. Fronds of yellow broom lash our way with petals; it is early spring and the mud has only freshly set beneath our footfalls. The wooden knuckles of roots provide easy grapple holds for our pudgy hands, and we push on undaunted.
“Where are you?” he calls, breathless from behind me.
“Here! I’m up, follow my voice!” I guide him and we emerge, hand in hand, into the clearing.
Noble and patient, our grandfather’s oak tree welcomes us. A bird’s nest awaits as our reward.
From Guest Contributor Violetta Buono
London-based introvert Violetta Buono (@ViolettaBuono on Twitter) lives in a fantasy land of her own making. She graduated in Classical Studies, and is currently a freelance writer. Between writing poetry, flash fiction, and pretending to work on a novel, she sometimes submits her work but has yet to be published. This is her first piece appearing to the public.