101 Words

Coffee at dawn. Wesley’s favourite. He stirred his coffee as he walked from his kitchen into the garden. He paused as, to his utter amazement, the carcass of a water buffalo lay on the lawn. His jaw and his cup dropped. Then the beast’s body split open and a man stepped out, gun in hand, and shot Wesley, killing him instantly.

Tony’s work bored him. He’d been in a course Increase Your Job Satisfaction. Tony’s fresh and innovative streak had begun with this painfully easy assignment. He wasn’t keen on the stickiness and blood from hiding in the water buffalo, though.

At the weapon’s appearance, Jeremy freezes.

“Get that shit up out the drawer,” snarls the gunman. Jeremy understands the gunman knows his business. The unrelenting rile will disorient the cashier, shake him.

“Hurry, get the bills from under the drawer.” The pressure demonstrates professionalism.

“Yes, sir, right away.” The cashier plays his role well, too, moving fast, head down, not looking at the gunman.

Jeremy draws his knife, opening it behind his back. “Asshole,” he bawls and drives his blade into the gunman’s hand. The piece bounces. The gunman bursts through the door, squalling.

All have played their parts with élan.

The early Atlantic crossings were brutal. Beyond the horizon there was opportunity. On the ships there was disease, starvation, and death.

The young mother, small boy in hand, stood in line for broth and biscuit. When she got to the front, she begged.

“Enough for me and my little one,” she whispered. The cook filled two bowls, risking a brutal lashing. Small children were to share their parents’ single meal. The cook winked at the boy.

That evening, the boy ate both rations, as he had since the ship sailed. He landed in the new world healthy and strong, an orphan.

Bianca killed people. Six. So far.

She stood at the cliff’s edge, her toes curled over the rock, hair whipping in the wind. The sea crashed below as the sun set.

“Don’t do it!” her brother pleaded from behind.

“I know you found the bodies, turned me in.”

“I had no choice.”

Why couldn’t he also possess the gift? To notice evil shining from the worst of humanity? She could have trained him, fought together to kill the monsters.

But as her skin glowed in the growing darkness, her shoulders sagged.

“You did the right thing.”

Bianca breathed deeply and jumped.

The footsteps were closing in. Ipah squeezed herself into the tiny space, cowering behind the water jug.

“Come out, pretty girl.” The foreign soldier grabbed her shoulders. “Show your face!”

Ipah crawled out. She slowly looked up, eyes wide with fear. The soldier scrunched his forehead.

Suddenly, Ipah grinned widely and started humming random songs. Her eyes drifted somewhere. The soldier cursed, and shoved her away.

“Let’s go! She’s a lunatic.”

The footsteps faded, and Ipah slumped against the wall in relief. She wiped the soot and ash from her face, and tidied her unkempt hair. She was safe for today.

Jaime was not a normal seven year old, playing with American Girl dolls. She wanted to build her own.

She sat in the basement, humming and singing, gluing together pieces of porcelain. The smashed toilet, vase, and home decor were spread around her as she glued together arms and legs with surprising craftsmanship. It was something she’d always wanted to do.

Jaime turned the face in her hands. It had the plain smile of a traditional doll, yet was sturdy enough to hide the horrified expression of the tied up woman. Her mother, the first doll, was powerless to stop her.