101 Words

Tomas sat in front of his delicious repast: perfectly cooked rib-eye steak, garlic mashed potatoes, fresh green beans, and a glass of adequate Merlot.

He wrinkled his brow below his perfectly shaved head and tried to cut his meat with a plastic knife.

He had drunk a marvelous Cabernet that night, the night he put an end to his wife’s name-calling a little too thoroughly, his hands and the wine equally red. He barely remembered it.

He finished his meal, patted his lips, and sighed.

The warden stuck his head in the cell and asked, “Ready for your last walk, Tomas?”

If the carving wasn’t so fun, I’d skip it all and stay home. The pumpkins make me sweat. I have to surprise ’em, or else they are hard to carry.

~

I stare at their pretty costumes for a while. One wakes up and tries to run.

It is first. That pumpkin bites me several times, but I don’t let go until we are in the basement.

I start at the top. Have to slant the knife inward so the lid fits back right—by then they go into shock, so it makes it easy.

Eventually, they’re all smiling.

Time for candy.

Asleep on the sofa, she turns over, unperturbed. The dog hair explodes in the sunbeam.

I can’t, I won’t, you can’t expect me to wake her. I’m not much for coffee or goodbyes. I disappear.

Later I come home, is she gone? Did I think about her all day? Do I even remember her name?

Olivia…

The bed is made. The apartment is mine. Rover and I both stare out of the window. The sun bleeds through neighboring walls. I think we both dream… We dream of Olivia…if that is her name. But it doesn’t matter.

She is already gone.

Clarence walked his dog on a different route each night, stopping at Christmas displays as bright and loud as a Super Bowl halftime. He watched families through their window—imagining the presents they bought their children, where they bought them, when they retired for the evening.

When he’d thoroughly observed each route and figured his quickest way out, he collared the old mutt one last time, and returned him to the shelter where he’d rescued him.

He then waited until dark in the alley, marking time with a smoke, before returning to the first street and visiting the houses once more.

You knew before the ultrasound tech’s face betrayed her concern. She couldn’t bring herself to make eye contact with your wife. The familiar fluttering had ceased. There was nothing but silence, an achingly hollow stillness.

The doctor’s mentions of “Anomaly” and “Blessing in disguise” were white noise in the sterile room. Your wife would be induced; your dead baby would be delivered.

After the doctor left the room, after your wife was escorted to admitting, you remained for a moment, steeling yourself. You dried your eyes with your sleeve and opened the door. Your wife needed you, and you needed her.

Callum tiptoed towards the edge. Clammy palms clutching the rusty railing, he peered cautiously down into the murky water. Unrecognisable objects were torn apart in the angry rapids. He would fare no better.

He teetered on the edge, heart thumping. The relentless drudgery of empty days and sleepless nights would soon end. With relief, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath…

and jumped.

Just before he struck the water, he shot upwards bullet-like, feet first, as if the heavens were yanking him back from death.

Climbing back onto the bungee platform, he laughed in exhilaration, feeling more alive than ever.