101 Words

Darcy glanced down at the string tied around her finger and smiled wistfully. It was a reminder to stop at the hardware store on the way home. She had always laughed at her mother for using this method to remember things, but now that Mom was gone, she did it to celebrate her memory. It worked surprisingly well.

As Darcy drove into the store’s parking lot, she struggled to remember what she needed. She walked up and down every aisle without a single theory, and left empty-handed.

When she arrived home, she saw her note on the refrigerator. Buy more string.

Kate circled the hallways of her high school endlessly during lunchtime. Like a ghost, she slipped by tables crammed with preoccupied athletes and theater kids. Silently, Kate prayed for the bell to ring, hastening her return to her post at the back of the classroom.

With her flaxen hair, wide-set eyes, and kind demeanor, they might have accepted her. However, the painful shyness in her face and uneasy strain in her voice exposed her anxiety and prevented her from finding out. Instead, Kate found solace only in the long, quiet hallway as she crawled through yet another day surrounded, but alone.

Every week, Tom promised Jess he’d change. This time. For good. “Starting Monday,” he’d say.

No more boozing and berating her for things he’d never remember. For a long time, she believed him. Like Mum used to believe Dad.

One Sunday after a hard two-day binge, Tom drained his glass and started for home. On the way, he picked a fight with a passing car and never came round.

When Jess heard the news, she broke down, weeping for the life she never thought possible. Starting Monday.

First thing she did was bring Mum shopping, trading in her beat-up ol’ car.

Jerry frolicked in the summer sun, poking and prodding the other red squirrels into a game of chase, while helping himself to nuts and seeds that the blue jays left behind.

Often he visited, arms stretched wide, nose and whiskers, tiny grin, pressed against the glass.

During a winter snowfall, Jerry appeared with a chewed-off ear and a limp. He lingered by the window, taking a few nuts before scampering away.

He did not return with Spring.

Little Jerry, our lifeline during the dark days of chemo, the moments between the pain and nausea that nourished us and kept us whole.

Rover knew he shouldn’t have sneaked into the shed. She’d always said “bad dog,” but he couldn’t resist the open door. Then it slammed shut and never opened again. His paws bled from frantic scratching but he couldn’t stop. He was certain she would come back. He had heard her calling his name, but she stopped a long time ago.

A low grumble escaped as his stomach cramped from lack of food. Worse was the grit that coated his tongue. Although rain battered the door, none of it trickled inside. He wedged his face in the crack beneath the door, panting.

The residents of Wilson, Wyoming, said Big Ray was no good, and he agreed.

“I’m no good,” he’d say while stomping a fellow citizen, or shooting a harmless animal. “Drunk or sober, I suck.”

The only thing the good folks of Wilson disagreed about was why Ray’s left pinky toe was bright blue. No one could miss it; he always went barefoot. (Not to mention shirtless.)

“Leave my goddamn toe alone,” Big Ray told anyone who asked just before he hit them—until an angry woman stomped on his toe and all that oozing evil drained away. He fell in love.

Nonstop meetings at work, and a dozen texts I need to send. I reach for my phone.

Headlights blind me, a head-on crash—screeching, metal on metal, penetrating pain. Blood trickles into my eyes, I can’t breathe, and when I swallow I taste rusting metal. I fight the pressure in my chest and pick glass from my face before grabbing my cell phone to make sure my text went through.

A tunnel of white light surrounds me and a voice says, “That was your last text. You can’t use social media ever again.”

Who knew Hell would be like this?