101 Words

The night was cold and the road unlighted. Clouds shrouded the moon, which heightened my sense of unease. My heart thumped harder and I stepped up my pace. From the corner of my eye, I glimpsed a girl by the tree, hiding in shadows, coatless despite the chill. I called, “Are you okay?” She turned toward me, her face white as a sheet. “Never better.” Her voice sent chills down my spine as the frigid wind brushed against my cheeks. I closed my coat, walked faster, turned a corner, caught sight of the same girl hiding again, face pale in moonlight.

From the depths of you we rise, an army of unsaid, unfinished, unfulfilled.

You’ve left us fester, unattended for decades—buried but not dead.

From invisible cells to soft flesh to solid bones, we will set to conquer every last inch of you.

The squads of white coated men you’ll recruit, the probing machines you’ll deploy, the endless rounds of pills you’ll fire will all be in vain.

We will spread.

You’ll put up tall barricades; you’ll call it a brave fight—but you will have known all along.

From the start, from the very first cluster, we had already won.

Empty space surrounds him. Passerby give him a wide berth. He is haggard and disheveled, his clothes tattered and stained. He wears a dog tag necklace and is missing his right arm. His cardboard sign reads, Please help.

Pearl Street’s shops and brick walkways are immaculate. Delicious smells waft from restaurants and bakeries. Children play near statues and fountains.

“Anything. Anyone,” the man pleads.

In response: Nothing; no one.

An emaciated cat limps from a nearby alley. People gather, drawn by the animal’s mewling. “How awful,” they say. Some stoop to pet the cat and feed it portions of their leftovers.

Linda took a deep breath before entering Canni’s restaurant for her first day on the job. She was thrilled that they’d hired her so enthusiastically.

She waited while the maître d’ silently scanned a satisfied patron’s credit card with a white-gloved hand.

In the dimly lit dining room, a solemn tuxedoed waiter murmured to a diner, “Shoulder roast with red gravy. Very good, sir.”

“Follow me,” said the maître d’. He led Linda to the kitchen.

The chef, cleaver in hand, did not look up. He said, “Please give me your hand. The ladies at table 19 have ordered finger sandwiches.”

The man inside the mirror gazed out, frowning. He stared back, eyes narrowed, brow wrinkled, as if this was the first time he’d seen his doppelganger.

Over the years, he’d only had glimpses from afar. It had never been this close before.

His likeness had a rope around its neck, fastened tight somewhere above. It smiled, and he couldn’t help but smile back.

His own rope chaffed, the pressure tight against his throat. He kicked the chair away.

One of the men vanished.

An empty noose in one world, swayed back and forth, keeping time to the body in the next.

Camp was a sanctuary. Escaping the imprisonment of infusion, we found solace among our fellow cancer fighters.

Amber and I spent hours on the lake, watching blackbirds and breathing in the scent of pinecones.

“Let’s stay here forever.”

But the reprieve was soon over and so too was Amber’s struggle.

“Do me one favor,” she whispered. “Bring me back.”

Wiping away tears, I empty the canister into the campfire. Tendrils of smoke slowly form a familiar-looking figure, her eyes sparkling.

“The camp’s haunted,” newcomers gasp as a lyrical breeze rustles the trees.

“No,” I laugh, catching a falling pinecone. “It’s alive.”

Jacob banged his elbow on the windowsill and the doves fluttered away. Rubbing his elbow, he watched them disappear behind an oak.

Just then, Henrietta yanked the keyboard from his desk.

It took him a moment to switch from green-and-serene to fight-or-flight mode.

He bolted towards her, navigating a labyrinth of furniture. As he reached for the keyboard, he tripped over a charging cable and fell.

A sharp bang reached his ears, followed by a peal of villainous laughter. He lifted his head to face the scene of disaster.

“Jenny,” he said to his wife, “what’s toddler for ‘Expensive, don’t break’?”