100 word stories – Page 11 – Sarah Potter Writes

Friday Fictioneers — Dreams & Inventions

Often my mind returns to those fields where we lay gazing at the sky, sharing our dreams. Why couldn’t you have stayed with me and lived the simple life, tilling the soil, living in harmony with nature?

Instead, you became a scientist employed at a Government research facility, where you invented a device to regulate abnormal cell growth in the human body and cure all forms of cancer.

Terrorists modified the device for war but neither side won.

Us survivors live underground, unable to endure sunlight upon our mutated forms. We live off worms and dream of a time machine.

Friday Fictioneers: 100 word stories
Photo prompt: image © Marie Gail Stratford

Friday Fictioneers — When Bambi’s Mother Died

‘That boy of yours is a regular faucet. Tell him to man himself up.’

‘He’s your boy, too.’

‘No, he’s a cry baby. He can’t be mine.’

‘Are you accusing me of having slept around?’

‘Just shut him up, will you?’

‘I asked you a question.’

‘Be a good girl. Make me a cup of tea.’

‘You’re so much your father’s son.’

‘I just want some quiet.’

‘And a repressed son, who keeps his emotions under wrap.’

‘A thirty-year-old crying over Disney movies?’

‘Sensitivity is good.’

‘Not if you drown in your own tears.’

‘Sadly, your tap jammed years ago.’

Friday Fictioneers: 100 word stories
Photo Prompt: image © Madison Woods

May’s Guest Storyteller, Douglas MacIlroy

Douglas MacMillan MacIlroy is a former submarine pilot turned observatory night attendant who writes novels, screenplays, flash fiction and poetry, all for the joy of putting pen to paper. He lives on the Big Island of Hawaii and is a professional disc golfer.

This is what he has to say about his two thought-provoking 100 word stories below:

“The revelation that reincarnation is real hits hard, both to the outside observer and to those experiencing it for the first time. Like it or not, a door in the mind is opened and the view through it is stunning”.

“….’Twas all Astonishment”

“I’m afraid,” cried Samahe as saffron and rose limned the eastern sky.

“Not even time itself will stand in the way of my return,” I whispered into my wife’s thick raven hair.

How the gods must have laughed.

At daybreak I left on the Silk Road, safeguarding a caravan of Lapis-Lazuli bound for distant Seres, far beyond the Taklamakan Desert.

A month out of Samarkand, bandits fell upon us. Carrion crows stripped my bones.

I will keep my promise.

For eight-hundred years and many lifetimes I have searched for my love.

When I find her, I will never leave.

Unhinged

Water fills my mouth with the taste of loam. Sunbeams illuminate my slowly billowing dress as I tumble along the muddy bottom into unbearable brightness and a letting go.

It was just a recurring dream until I saw the picture of the river in a travel magazine. I knew the spot even though I’d never been there before today.

County records note the drowning of a four-year-old girl in the War Eagle River on Maundy Thursday, April 1969. Three states distant and one day later, on Good Friday, I came wailing into this world.

I stand on the river bank, unhinged in time.

Sarah says: Thank you so much for guest storytelling this month, Doug, and for your two beautifully written stories on the oft debated subject of reincarnation. For those with an interest in Doug’s perspective on time and writing, he has published a fascinating post about it on his blog at ironwoodwind.wordpress.com/2012/06/25/476/.

You can find the links to previous guest storyteller posts at https://sarahpotterwrites.com/guest-storytellers-2/

Friday Fictioneers — The Quick-frozen Bedouin Tribesman

Settlers from the constellation Canes Venatici arrived on Earth five centuries too late for contact with humans. They’d expected to find a blue and green world teeming with wildlife, but instead found a place of eternal winter.

They searched for answers beneath the snow, as there was little on the surface to show that civilisation had ever existed.

In an excavated block of ice, a human male sat cross-legged. Flesh covered his bones and he had a black beard. Next to him rested a four-legged creature with thick lips, long eyelashes, an extended neck, and a hump on its back.

Friday Fictioneers — Hoofs

The shoeless boy with frayed trousers often rode the freight train to cattle market. He had a wall-eye and folks called him simple.

Perched atop, he played cowboy tunes on his harmonica to entertain the steers. As they rattled about and clomped their hoofs against containment, he imagined them dancing to his music.

One week, the train broke down and stayed broken. The boy sat for a while, tapping the spit out of his harmonica and thinking so hard the wrinkles in his forehead hurt. When nobody came, he released the steers but forgot to jump out of their way.

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