101 Words

Heavy boots broke the night’s silence, and Reuben knew it was time for him to fly with Isaak to safety. In darkness they ran for the Rabbi’s basement and a secret hatch that led to the river. Reuben knew: he’d designed this very ghetto. Soon black ice water held and lifted them aloft.

But the boy, unable to swim, thrashed hard.

“Let me hold you,” Reuben said.

Isaak, disregarding his father’s instructions, floundered.

“Don’t let go,” his father pleaded. Freedom was close enough to taste.

Isaak, ignoring his father, plummeted downwards into the depths, bearing with him his father’s last dream.

Loud music, boisterous laughter, and free flowing spirits. Indeed the party was in full swing.

“Have a drink today, baby. After all, it’s your 25th anniversary,” Mrs. Kapoor coaxed the hostess, Mrs. Madhu.

“I don’t drink,” Madhu replied, while gliding into her husband’s arms on the dance floor.

Madhu and Milind looked the perfect couple.

By the time the guests left, both were exhausted,

More than exhaustion, Madhu’s hitherto pleasant demeanour had given way to resentment.

Milind, groggy, fumbled with the car keys.

“Can’t leave that bitch even today, can you Milind?” she spat, downing her third glass, left all alone.

“I surrender,” she said. “Completely. Utterly.” She dropped most of her weapons, stumbled closer. “I know when I’m beaten. I mean, you can read minds! Or something, my emotions, intent, whatever. It’s too confusing.”

She shrugged, unhitching her limb extensions for a little extra reach—the better to apologise with—to piteously clutch at his garments with her carbide-knuckled hands. “I never should have—”

Embarrassed now, she tugged at her hair, tangled with secret blades. She couldn’t meet his eyes, looked humbly to his jugular instead.

“I’m just so sorry. For everything.”

Defeated, fumbling, overwhelmed, she coiled into a practiced crouch.

Ms. Tiburon had the only house on Fountain Road with a pristine green lawn, but it came at a cost.

From sunrise to sunset, she policed her lawn’s perimeter with a meticulous eye.

She chased away dog walkers, neighborhood kids, and any other daytime threats. Her aggressive tactics often began with harsh words and ended with violators receiving an unwanted sprinkler shower.

As other lawns became tainted with yellow spots and footprints, her landscaping and ego remained unspoiled.

When burglars arrived one night, they too recognized her yard’s exquisiteness.

“If this is just the exterior, what’s within the interior?” they wondered.

The bed was empty.

“He’s with that girl again!”

She called him. No answer.

She stomped into the kitchen for a strong coffee. The hot liquid splashed on her quivering hand.

After the steamy drink stoked her, she called again. No response.

“Fine,” she yelled to the air. “But don’t think you will get another chance.”

She stormed across the room, grabbed her purse, and crashed the door closed behind her.

At lunch, she wondered if he’d come back.

She drove home, chest fluttering.

At the door, he posed handsome and cocky. She could not resist him.

His tail wagged, woof.

I sped off like a getaway driver, ignoring the constantly buzzing phone and threat texts, continuing to press my foot down on the pedal. I’d been bestowed this spurt of courage and I’d use it while it lasted. Of course, the gas meter began dropping dangerously close to the red line. As a gas station slowly appeared, I felt dread—growing as I neared. I knew that once I stopped, this spurt of courage could be killed instantly by my enormous, inner coward:

Despite everything he has done he LOVES you. Drive back now and the punishment won’t be that painful.