101 Words

He didn’t know how he died. He didn’t know much about anything. All he knew was that he woke up from a long nap.

He didn’t know why people ignored him. It could be his clumsy nature of bumping into people and shelves, or that his gaze wouldn’t meet your eyes but instead go through you. He was the embodiment of radio static, nothing.

A shadow, out at night and destroyed by the light. The only light he found was sitting on the other end of a lonely kid’s seesaw and hearing him giggle as he launched him in the air.

Boomerang, cracked

The Roxy’s matchbox containing fingernail clippings, snapped steel string

England’s Dreaming: dog-eared; copious underlining; margins scored by slashed exclamation marks; last page’s orange marker redaction reveals scattered-letter anthem, ‘a second birth’

Fender guitar pick, Zebra print, melted tip

Shattered 80’s One-Hit-Wonders mixtape

A moldy/latte/ciggy-butt takeout cup: Carly doodled three hearts; begged in curly cursive, ‘Call Me!’

Winston Furchill: Bulldog tripod, chronic flatulence, rabid chewer, your precious ‘rescue’

Twenty-pound bag of specialty kibble atop unpaid vet bill, three eviction notices, and one court summons

Sheet music for incomplete comeback song

Replica Grecian urn, bloody and vomit-caked

Singed tweezers

Daughter: me

The waiter delivered their drinks, then left.

Jack put the divorce papers next to Cassie’s silverware; she averted her gaze from them.

“I wish…” she began, her words disappearing with the carbonation of her soda.

He just took a gulp of his wine.

Her gaze returned, begging forgiveness.

Jack wavered. A glance at the documents reminded him. Her choice; her body. She never mentioned it, never gave him a chance to support her.

He hardened his gaze. She signed and pushed back from the table, leaving her drink untouched. He sipped his wine, and his hand trembled.

Her soda went flat.

“Careful, careful,” Mama used to say. “Do not spill his coffee.” She would hand me the mug, soft and steamy, and my little nose would wrinkle at the bitter scent. But I knew not to drop it. He would be so upset if I didn’t come with his coffee. So I walked slowly into the den each morning. And Grandpa would drink as I sat on his lap, his wrinkled hands caressing my small body here and there, his sour breath tickling my ear. It was what he liked best.

I don’t drink coffee as an adult. It left a stain.

Standing in the steamy shower, her soapy hands roam the contours of her body the way his once did.

She read once that human skin cells are replaced every three weeks. It’s been twenty-seven days since her husband unexpectedly died: heart attack. She no longer has skin that he touched.

When wounded, the body produces a tangle of collagen fibers. The result is a scar to mark the tragedy. New skin grows, but the scar remains forever.

She also read that only fetal collagen can heal a wound without a scar.

Her hands settle on the small swell of her abdomen.

The scarlet-scaled dragon snored as Agnes tiptoed through the cave, her slippered feet silent on the cold stone floor. Her heart raced, but he didn’t stir. Such an easy escape surprised her, but not as much as the figure, sword in hand, awaiting her in the bright sunlight.

Agnes ran to her arms. “Mother? Where’s Prince Oscet?”

Rolling her eyes, her mother said, “Faffing. As usual. I won’t wait for him when my daughter’s in danger.”

Agnes grinned. “What happened to the dragon?”

“I fed him the town drunk,” her mother chuckled. “Even dragons can’t see straight after that much moonshine!”