100-Word Fiction: ‘The Red Dust’

The red dust came from desert skies
sanded the paper and screens of the press

caught in the eyes of conspiracy freaks
piled up the stress of Western dreams

grazed the feet of measured prose
stormed the sounds of drum and song

covered the rows of memorial crosses
and all their long-remembered losses

tickled the wings of the watching hawks
scratched the surveillance camera’s lens

scuffed the talk of the innocent doves
rendered pretend what might have prevailed

as it landed deep on these shores, here –
striking home to avenge what we began before
striving vainly to settle foreign scores

100-Word Fiction: ‘Dust to Dust’

It never got dark any more. At night, streetlight would filter through the blinds and cast shadows on the walls. You lay awake, wondering how long it would be before you would fall asleep. You remembered nights of total darkness but they were gone. Now everything was fuzzy and grey. People didn’t sleep much. They lay awake and worried about the planet and about the apartment, how it needed cleaning. All the surfaces were covered with dust. No matter how much you cleaned, within a day or so it was back. Dust to dust. Awake with things on your mind.