101 Words

Carmen was shy, unassuming. She never raised her voice above a whisper. She was a worrier, by nature.

Once, she spent hours thinking about whether she’d actually be able to scream in a life-or-death situation. The uncertainty weighed heavily on her mind.

Victor was loud, vulgar. He had no morals, no conscience, and never denied rumors that he’d buried some bodies in the woods south of town. After months of pent-up frustration, he decided it was time to add one more to his collection.

By sheer coincidence, they came across one another in the woods.

The whole town heard the scream.

My father always said “Expect the unexpected,” and I always thought it was a stupid thing to say.

And yet, here I am; sitting on the toilet seat, doing just that.

My test is positive, but my boyfriend and I don’t want kids, or marriage…so why am I happy that the plus sign appeared? I’m still glowing. Something has changed inside me, in more ways than one. It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t want to be a dad—I’m keeping the baby.

So, it turns out my father was right. And that might be the most unexpected thing of all.

Two years had passed. Every day I would sit under the old oak tree. It had been our place, our haven.

One night I lay there, looking up at the endless veil of darkness. I could see every star, scattered like moon-dust across that midnight canvas. I realized then that these heavenly flickering sparks were like little beacons of hope for lost souls like me, and a smile spread across my face. It was the first time I had genuinely smiled since my mother’s death, because in that moment, in that sky full of stars, I swore I could see her.

Seven times we drove to Des Moines. Your head would lean against the window while your breath clouded the glass, hazing out the empty roadside and the figured ghosts of silver maples poking up at the winter sky. Your cherry-red scarf was the only piece of color in that scene.

The eighth time I returned to Des Moines, I wore my black suit and tie. The clouds dulled the blond ribbon of the sun. My trembling hand clutched the crumpled scarf on the car seat next to me. If thinking things made them so, your hand would have been in mine.

‘Cathartia.com,’ the advert read. ‘Our little secret. Never again deny your hidden desires! Now you can indulge your darkest fantasies safely and legally. Use our fully interactive, confidential Virtual Reality service. Child-sized dolls half-price until April.’

Initial stats looked good. Cathartia won innovation awards for Child Protection and Anti-Violence Solutions. Self-denial—finally—rendered obsolete!

Why, then, did the ten year review show an upsurge in real world incidents? Could the world have become more dangerous for the vulnerable?

Too late, the psychiatrists warned. Close access now, and all chaos will break loose. This genie does not go back into the bottle.

“Where’s the condom?”

He only smiles, all boy-next-door dimples. “I don’t like the sensation of latex against skin.”

I’m a lady about it. I pull on my dress, sling my bra over one shoulder, fix my lipstick. He stands there, naked as a newborn rat, shriveled like a dried plum. On my way out I pause; he squirms under my stare.

His car is red and shiny: a cherry waiting to be popped. I key its side and ruin the paintwork. All the while looking like a lady.

If anyone asks, I’ll say I like the sensation of metal against chrome.