101 Words

After thirty minutes, Jack had already caught everyone’s attention during the meeting. He was incredible. He knew the data, every chart and every number.

“Impressive, Jack. This report was really good. I believe we have a new director of sales.”

He was about to finish when someone entered the room:

“Excuse me, the blue van outside belongs to someone here? Because the firemen are checking inside.”

Jack felt his world collapse as the coldest shiver he ever experienced ran down his spine. At that same moment, the firemen were taking out his daughter from the back seat of his blue van.

A chubby boy with rosy cheeks and freckles roller skated to Jean. He looked Rockwellian.

“Which ya doin’?” he asked.

“Looking at a house I might buy,” Jean answered.

“Which one?” he continued. “I know all about deez houses.”

Jean pointed to a rowhouse with a boarded storefront.

“It’s got roaches,” he said. “Don’t buy it.”

Before she moved in, her friends helped her scrub the panelled walls. Then, they sat on the worn carpet to eat.

Roaches crept from wall trenches and marched down the painted panels. “Oh, brother,” Sue moaned through a mouthful of pizza.

Jean should have listened.

“Tony, pay attention, please.”

Tony sighed and looked up. The lessons were illuminating, but the teacher spoke more about Astrophysics than Earth History, and he had some important questions. He raised a hand.

“Yes, Tony?”

“Why did The Ancient stop writing poetry?”

A few students groaned, irritated. The Girl eyed him curiously.

“Well…we believe that scientific advance made them realize that rhymes are impractical and formulas can describe anything.”

“Even…love?”

She nodded. “We’ll discuss this one next year.”

Tony frowned. Feeling The Girl study him, he quickly closed the text file. He would try with the formula next time.

In the kitchen, Raymond sipped espresso and watched Tucker point a make-believe gun at his schoolmate, Paul. He smiled at their innocent backyard play.

To escape Tucker’s crosshairs, Paul dropped and started digging. Freshly packed dirt flew.

Raymond’s smile splintered. The cup slipped from his fingers, bone china shattering in the sink.

“Boys!”

They froze and turned.

“Nutella sandwich?”

The boys ditched their game for the promise of chocolate and hazelnut.

And none too soon. If Paul had continued digging, he would have met Tucker’s mother for the first time. And that was a reality Raymond was not ready to explain.

Miss Rohrabacher had eighteen cats. Mr. Daniels had none, and was standoffish.

Miss Rohrabacher sent the first message, thinking Mr. Daniels’ picture looked regal. He was bald, with wire glasses and a calico shirt.

On their first date, Miss Rohrabacher had salad. Mr. Daniels had undercooked cod. She was always cold. He preferred warm places. She preferred showers. He only took spit baths. Mr. Daniels slept curled in a ball, but Miss Rohrabacher didn’t mind—she liked the extra bed space.

Eventually, the cats went from hissing to treating Mr. Daniels with mild indifference. Overall, you could say things were purrrfect.

We found his lifeless body tucked peacefully into his sleeping bag in the wooded section of the park he called home. A few hours before, ‘The Prophet’ had marched proudly up and down the sidewalk, his small brown body clothed in traditional Ethiopian robes too warm for our humid DC summers. He warned of the dangers from Russia and Syria, Biblical retribution, and the end of the world. Now his world had ended.

The sudden supernova of light and the screaming air raid sirens stunned us. From the culvert, we could see Capitol Hill was burning. Perhaps our world was next.