101 Words

The nondescript man sat in a back corner of the busy cafe, shifting uncomfortably; his beady eyes scanned the room. Icy winter rain lashed against the window.

Removing a newspaper from his bag, he pretended to read, disguising the fact that he was expertly scanning the room.

A tall blond woman wearing a dark suit approached. “It is you, oui?” she whispered. He peered around him then nodded. She slid a large brown envelope into his bag, turned abruptly, then left.

“You won’t believe what just happened to me…” he said laughing to his wife as she returned from the toilet.

In the Princess Fairyland theme park, Bocaracá, a young girl in a bright yellow dress, runs up to have her picture taken with a beautiful fairy princess. As Bocaracá’s mother fiddles with the camera, the fairy princess looks at the child, her eyes turn red, and her malevolent grin reveals wolf-like fangs. Bocaracá is unfazed.

The princess turns towards the camera with an innocent smile. But Bocaracá reveals her viper fangs, loaded with venom strikes. Turning pale and sweating, the fairy princess begins to die. Before she keels over, the mother shouts,

“Got it. Great picture! Let’s find another princess, sweetie!”

I carried twenty pounds of jumbo russets through the streets. When I passed our house, Momma whirled her finger to signal another lap, punishment for a missing necklace I didn’t take.

Mrs. Pernicek slowed her Volkswagen, her mouth like she’d sucked a lemon.

“What in heavens?” she said. “I’m calling the authorities.”

But I knew Momma was already in charge.

“It’s ok,” I said. “I’m reminded of why Jesus carried his cross.” I shifted the potatoes and smelled earth. “And being shown what it’s like to have a disobedient child who’s a burden.”

Authorities never came. They’d probably heard about Momma.

The skeleton that lives inside me is quite patient. Occasionally, it tests the flesh that shrouds it, and it grins.

In the bedroom mirror, in those long, sore hours between midnight and waking, sleepless, restive, I begin to think my flesh hangs looser than it did when I went to my bed some hours before. My posture slumps. My limbs resemble rubber, soft and pliable.

I shake the feeling, leave the bedroom, open up the bathroom door.

Inside, the gleam of ivory bones is just a pallid glimmer in the dark. A dry and brittle voice says, “Now we can begin.”

Even now, after almost five years, Emma could not put her finger on what she found so attractive about her lover. She gazed at his unremarkable sleeping face, painfully average, just like the rest of him. He was married, too, with no plans of ever divorcing, as he had bluntly pointed out at the beginning of their affair.

Emma pushed the checkered pillowcase aside, revealing the pure fluff of the case. She reverently placed her freshly rouged lips against the cotton fabric, leaving behind an imprint of her plump lips. The smile was still on her face long after falling asleep.

It was always a fierce competition between the twins. Not an academic one. Or intellectual. Or sporty. But, they competed to bestow happiness on one another.

Hasini woke up to a birthday surprise—0:1

Suhasini’s wardrobe was filled with her favorite blue-colored clothes—38:34

Hasini got a pass to meet her favorite author—68:79

Suhasini was booked for an All India tour—86:83

Hasini had the best night in the lake with her sister—99:99

Suhasini woke up after her heart transplantation surgery. There was a rose bouquet, and a note.

I Win!

A winter storm sweeps south, blankets us with snow and ice, downs our power grid. Sub-freezing temperatures seep through walls, penetrate glass, creep under doors.

Huddling in layers, my wife and I can hardly move. We fight the constant chill wearing hats, scarves, and gloves, but our feet are like ice no matter how many socks we wear. Our living room is a shrine of burning candles and prayers for our survival.

At night, our bed feels like a frozen casket. Our only refuge—blast the car’s heater, recline the seats, and melt. Luckily, my wife already filled the gas tank.