101 Words

Georgia always did first. She never asked; she just did. There was never any doubt about whether I would follow. Whatever it was, I would follow. Thank God she was somewhat rational. But she was also the hero. And she was only five-foot-six.

Except today. Today, she didn’t go running.

Two men, one with a gun and the other with a knife, were robbing a college-aged male. I think Georgia realized we wouldn’t win this fight. So did I. But the college student wasn’t going to win it, either.

So I went running. For the first and last time, Georgia followed.

– Nick

“What’s your name?” you ask.

There was no reason for it. None at all. Even now, I don’t know why I did it. More so, I know I would have wondered why I didn’t do it, should I have chosen not to. All I know is, I got out of that city. That state. That country. I left everything behind. I swapped out my clothes in the next town, and shredded my card. Bought a knife off the third guy I met. I bought a scoop of ice cream and left a 172 dollar tip.

“I haven’t decided yet,” I reply.

– Nick

He is just a freshman, my son. Deciding to run Cross Country, he works harder than most of the young men on the team. His first race, he only runs in the middle of the pack, but I am proud.

I tell him, keep trying, and you will slowly improve. By the time you are a senior, you may be one of the best.

Six races later, at the district meet, a five minute improvement in time. He is sixth overall, and best on his team. He leads them to a berth at regionals! That’s my son, and I am proud.

– Proud Dad

So, I turns to him and he’s lookin’ all glum, so I says “Hey, you could cheer up a l’il. We are going to fucken’ Disneyworld.” I didn’t expect him to; I bought him some Mickey Mouse ears. He knew shit, and he’s givin’ me this look, this damned look like “We can just stop the car here.” But I couldn’t. We got to the drive in front of Magic Kingdom, and the tram. I let him out, and there’s the look. He got on the tram; I never saw him again, but I see those eyes every day, pleading: “Mister…”

– The Baron

The tallier sits at his desk and calculates. There is something magical about working with numbers and quantities. This one did this, that one did that. And he discovers that This One jumped from a window, and That One expired tragically under the wheel of a transfer truck. It’s a game that digits play: to hide their real meaning, what quantities they truly stand for, until the time is ripe. Numbers are tricky bastards, he thinks. He closes the spreadsheet, turns off the lights, and walks home, cherishing the night air, for he knows what he will eventually be: a digit.

– Wade Redfearn

Like a reed in the wind, he swayed on the spot for what seemed like an eternity. His arms were heavy, and his eyes sore. He was so very, very tired. It seemed as if nothing would prevent his slow descent, nothing could stop him from tumbling down like the steadfast statues of so many failed dictators. There was only one way to go, a voice chattered to him, it sounded like a thousand hyenas laughing at his fortune. He knew he couldn’t resist, he had barely hit the ground when he heard the ever soothing ring of the knockout bell.

– Deus