101 Words

The audience was enjoying every minute.

As a stand-up comedian, you dream about nights like these. I’d felt for some time that the decision to quit my job had been the right one.

It had been risky, but after getting more and more gigs, I’d finally taken the plunge and resigned. Redundancies had been mentioned, anyway. Like many places these days, the warehouse became totally automated.

So that’s why I had to laugh. Every joke was original and brilliantly constructed; all the punchlines were perfectly timed.

And I was forced to admit that Dave, the world’s first Comedybot, was very funny.

I’ve always dreamed of going 100 mph. Most like me do. Right now, I’m going 95 at 2,600 RPMs. Not bad, but I have a feeling I’ll never get another shot at 100.

A resounding crack strengthens my conviction for a split second. But I’m going in a different direction now, picking up speed.

I’m cruising at well over 100 now, just not the way I’d pictured. It’s more glorious than I ever could’ve imagined.

People cheer as I rush overhead. But physics predictably take over. The ground rushes up. I splat against the earth.

The pitcher should’ve thrown a curve.

“What’s that?” I ask, pointing to the metal cylinder in her hand.

“It’s a moral compass,” she replies. “Here, look.”

The needle wobbles when she moves, settling to always aim at her.

“See, pointing at me. Means I am telling the truth.”

“And what’s that?” I point to a small metal bar, nestling between the compass and her hand.

“Ah,” she says, glancing away, her voice quiet. “That’s the…calibrator.”

She fumbles, the calibrator dropping, needle swinging in circles.

“I always tell the truth,” she says, resolute, face unwavering. She replaces the calibrator and the compass points back to her. “See?”

I was pleaded with until I promised to try and be civil with the man I detest. Not for his sake, but for my daughter’s, the children’s, and the holiday.

I start off well, offering a handshake and small talk about football and cars. Still, I listen and watch everything.

His stupid motorcycle t-shirt (his idea of dressing nice?). His piggish eating. His loud voice and his annoying stories. His ignoring my wife. His rough tone and unfair treatment of my grandchildren. His hateful attitude towards my daughter. My clenched fist raising…

I tried, he didn’t. A good day for me.

He helped her up. Her nose, knees, and pride were bloodied and bruised. Forcing a smile, she realized her lip was swollen.

“Use these poles. They’ll help with your balance,” her new boyfriend suggested.

She had been trying to show interest in his passion for hiking but had fallen flat on her face, losing her footing on the pesky pebbles littering the trail. She felt her face with her aching hand. Teeth were all present; no jagged edges. Glasses twisted but not broken. Her nose throbbed. Still a mile hike to the parking lot.

She pondered, “Is this relationship worth it?”

You look out the plane’s window. You see sunny lush green St. Augustine, Florida, below. You de-plane, retrieve your suitcase, sign the rental contract, and ask the agent for help finding the Fountain of Youth.

He looks at you wide-eyed. “Lady, it’s a myth. It doesn’t exist.”

“But I read it in this Florida brochure. Here. See.”

“You didn’t read the fine print.”

“Can’t believe I’ve been duped.”

It’s so disappointing! What to do now? Flee to the beach. Here you’re floating on your back in the billowy blue waters of the Atlantic Ocean. No chance for restoring your youth here.