101 Words

The flowers arrived. A sensational arrangement of all her favourites; perfumed roses, delicate freesias, sky-blue cornflowers, striking irises, and sun-bright yellow tulips, interwoven with a background of statice and subtle greenery. The perfect anniversary gift.

She knew every flower name, in English and Latin. This used to stir mild annoyance in him as she’d reel them off in garden centres, at friends’ places, and whenever there were flowers on TV. He wouldn’t feign interest now.

He read the note attached. His name only.

Later, alone at her graveside, he wished he’d bought these for her, just once, when she was here.

Just home from school, the boy walks into his mom’s room, where she’s on her bed, texting.

“Mom, I made a girl laugh today,” he says.

Not looking up, she says, “You didn’t say anything nasty, did you? Am I gonna get a call from the school?”

He chuckles. “No, Mama, just being silly.”

Still looking down, she says, “Well, you’re a funny kid. Maybe you’re finally making some friends.”

“Maybe,” he says.

He did make a girl laugh. Several of them, when two boys pulled his pants down and punched his stomach. They laughed even harder when he started crying.

Cindy cooed when the parcel arrived, sure that Mephistopheles, her cat, would love his new sunglasses.

The instructions fluttered to the floor, unread.

Catacles: Domestic Demon Detectors!

“Here, kitty!” Cindy called.

Lens Colours Explained:

-Smoked grey—Felis catus.
-Sulphurous yellow—Minor Demon—IMMEDIATE appeasing behaviour recommended.
-Sooty Red—Major Demon—Run away or recite last rites (see overleaf).

“Adorable! A quick selfie, then I’ll fuss you.”

“Ooh, yellow lenses, cute, one more photo, then you can have some treats.”

“Red lenses? Must get them on Instagram. Oh you’re hissing…Aaaargh!”

Disclaimer: Manufacturer takes no responsibility for injuries sustained during demon detection.

I’ve always told you dear Rupert that you shouldn’t smoke the way you did and you didn’t even go see Doctor Vasquez because you thought that doctors are glorified mechanics and plumbers that fix you for a fee and I told you at least to wear a face mask because of the pandemic of this treacherous Chinese virus and you didn’t listen to me because you are a stubborn old man and you told me dear Maggie we all have to die someday and then I started to cough and now I am talking to you from this lonely dark casket.

At first, no one wanted to wear one. Masks were a nuisance. They were ugly, and you couldn’t make out people’s facial expressions. It was like living in a world of strangers.

But as the pandemic dragged on, people got used to wearing them. They even began to seek out masks with certain colors, shapes, and designs. Masks became fashionable. They made personal statements.

People grew attached to their masks. They were no longer an accessory. Masks had become part of people’s identity.

When the pandemic finally passed, few took off their masks for fear of not recognizing anyone, including themselves.

The waves continue to wash ashore. I see them crashing against a sea-side rocky cliff, splashing white foam. Now, they’re nearing. Mist-like droplets strike me, peeling away the harsh sunray’s damage before receding. Looking up, I see seagulls flying in an indigo sky. I hear them talking. But I don’t understand their melodic cadences. In the evening, pinkish crabs nibble at my feet, looking for sustenance. The waves come again. I feel small fish tickle my sides.

The ocean announces, “It’s time.”

As I wait, one final wave engulfs me. I begin to disintegrate into nothingness, one grain at a time.