101 Words

Yesterday—Thursday, October 10, 2019
8:31 PM how to deal with vagrants loitering in backyard
9:05 PM best methods of barricading doors windows
9:49 PM what to do if 911 dispatch doesn’t answer
10:30 PM how to treat and wrap a bite on thigh
11:24 PM pros cons of various body disposal techniques

Today—Friday, October 11, 2019
12:53 AM gangrene pics
12:55 AM how does gangrene smell
12:59 AM how quickly does gangrene develop? spread?
1:30 AM self-amputation techniques
2:33 AM hu man body temperature, how cold is too cold
3:13 AM hlp i wan t t o eat hmanflesh

“I must look like a psychopath,” she thought, with no phone in hand on the train. She perused the scene. Men hung on the handles to steady themselves, staring at their phones, their bodies swaying with the motion of the train. Women sat similarly unaware of others, only diving deeper into their life online. A child held his own device, larger than his head, completely absorbed in a game. The train settled quickly into a station, and she succumbed to the boredom of life offline. She scrolled down, over, up—unaware, as they all were, that a pregnant woman stood, crying.

The auditorium hushed on the word, “Go.” Both finalists lit their pre-cut cigars which glowed, ash growing.

As the large clock counted the seconds, the silent audience used finger gestures to make bets on whose ash would collapse first.

When smoke curled into the expectant air, each combatant laid their cigar in the groove of the crystal ashtray.

The ash lengthened; the clock ticked.

Gazes fixed on the smouldering cigar. The aroma of tobacco leaf gave way to a mix of liquorice, vanilla, and a hint of dark rum. Ralph pursed his lips around the damp end.

CRASH.

He jerked.

£10,000 lost.

For months, they’d been sending messages back and forth.

He knew every little detail, save one. He’d yet to hear the sound of her voice.

Every night, she spoke to him in dreams. Once, she was the sound of a stream as it flowed softly across smooth pebbles. Later, the soulful song of a distant nightingale.

Now, his dreams were about to come true. He stood on the platform, sign in hand, waiting.

And then he saw her approaching, each step a waltz of grace and beauty.

She lightly touched his arm and held up a sign of her own…

‘Laryngitis.’

“Gift wrap, ma’am?”

“Yes, for the Yorkie figurine,” answered Cheryl. “It’s for my boss.”

“And the aphrodisiac lotion?”

“Why not? My husband will enjoy opening it.”

Back at work, Ms. Nakamura, Cheryl’s friendly and helpful boss, was not in her office. Smiling, Cheryl jotted ‘Merry Christmas from Cheryl’ on the gift tag and left the package on her desk.

When she arrived home, Rick was reading the newspaper.

“I brought you—us—a present, darling.” Cheryl winked. “Here, open it now.” She licked her lips and began unbuttoning her blouse.

Then she heard Rick say, “Oh, what a cute little dog.”

Big sister Nancy and I put up three pumpkins.

Neighbors admire our assiduousness, watching with starched smiles.

Halloween will be good medicine after her.  Yet, they offer no relief.

We adhere to verisimilitude, carving with precision. A pumpkin family.

First, brother and sister pumpkins.

Brother and sister have wide eyes, weary, upturned mouths.

Third the mother.

We place brother and sister pumpkins together, mother a few feet apart. A few more.

She stares at us, faceless. We can’t figure out what expression she’d wear.

Unhappy? Relieved to be away from children?

We pretend the mother pumpkin is coming back.

It’s easier.