101 Words

Bullets rang like bells in infinity’s hall. The Holocaust’s breath traced my lips as the Tree of Life’s fruit flooded the floor.

We beat swords into plowshares and reap this harvest.

“Shalom is Shalom is Shalom,” my mother would say, but hatred laced the lead that traced my flesh.

In my final moment I remembered Messiah; I remembered how it rains differently in the spring; I remembered my brother’s birthday cake with the Star and the Pittsburgh Steelers. Funny the things.

The firing ceased with the pain. But Kristallnacht’s still broken glass, Auschwitz yet leaks its gas to Earth’s corners.

Shalom.

The party was out of control. I didn’t recognize everyone.

Mother would know if furniture was shifted.

I rolled the rug up, marking the corners on the floor with tape.

Cars went up the street the wrong way. Someone broke a dining chair. I collected empties in a garbage bag.

We put the rug back and superglued the leg.

Two months later at a birthday party, I told my friend Philip to sit in the chair and “break” it.

My parents didn’t find out about the party until my husband told them after I turned 40.

They still don’t believe him.

They say not to look at the clock when you work. It makes time go slower. But I’m fighting the urge real hard right now. I’m the one on piloting shift. The ship is going at light speed. Time is all relative and folded and Einsteined and shit, so for all I know centuries have passed. Tens of centuries. For eons I must have sat here, piloting the vessel to the new world.

I just can’t help myself. I quickly peek at the screen, just to see how long…

Five minutes! Only five?

This is going to be a long ride.

A bitterly cold wind unleashes its fury on those who venture outside. But it doesn’t deter Alessandro this Halloween. His tall frame is protected by a black wool cloak.

Shrouded in darkness, he is pleasantly surprised when he encounters a throng of costumed revelers visiting his cemetery. The exuberant adults compliment him on his unique appearance and offer him a treat from their bag of goodies.

“Help yourself,” they say.

Before he indulges in a guilty pleasure, Alessandro licks his sultry lips in gleeful anticipation. Then his bloodshot eyes adopt a steely glint as he proceeds on to his main course.

Easy Peasy. Halfway House. Complex.

“Which one do you fancy?” asks Julie.

Darren smirks. It is an easy call. Grabbing her hand, he strides towards the last sign and enters the maze. Inside, mirrors adorn the walls and lights flicker intermittently. Darren leads the way; Julie struggling to keep pace.

After many twists and turns, and not having seen a soul, Julie says, “Will we ever get to the end?”

“No sweat, babe.”

Presently, Darren stops for a breather.

“This place is a joke,” he grumbles. Looking in the mirror, he realizes he is all alone.

Then the lights go out.

“It’s not real,” Lucy whispered as she completed the last fold of the paper butterfly. Her fingers rode over the thin edge of the butterfly, admiring how a piece of paper can be transformed into a work of art. Ignoring its soulless body, she threw the paper masterpiece across the room, hoping it would come to life.

The two perfectly creased wings sliced through the air, fighting for existence. The glorious vision of the butterfly fluttering across the room sparked a certain sense of joy in Lucy. The delicate smile on her face shattered when the paper butterfly kissed the floor.