Still Fishing

I give to you the continuation of the linked story in eleventy-one words... http://eleventy1.blogspot.com/2008/09/prompt-five-senses-theme.html

A gumball of a raindrop plops just ahead; ripples ease out from the epicenter. She eyes the concentric circles, forgetting, for the moment that she has no more bait. Countless additional plunks like African drumming set the laughing fish aflutter. She retreats to shore, her pole waving like a spell spent wand. Her tired eyes search for a worm, an insect, the rotting corpse of some gutted beast. Twilight mocks her with its opacity; the now steady rain pummels her with its little lavender fists, offering the illusion that it will cleanse her. It is the weight of darkness, her final surrender. She sits cross-legged and empty handed on the sand.

Sweater

I give to you a story in eleventy-one words...

I happened upon the cream hued woolen sweater at the flea market.  After minimal haggling with a diminutive Irishman, I took home my prize and resolved to wear it that evening. Having slept only five hours the night before, I changed into pajamas and fell fast asleep in my bed.

A few hours later, I slowly gained consciousness. I felt the moist pillow first, then noticed I was sweating. I stretched, felt fabric on my arms. My eyes opened wide; I sat up. The woolen sweater – the only clothing on my body – clung to my torso, buttoned perfectly from neck to waist. I unbuttoned it, threw it down, stared at it.

Tattoos

I give to you a story in eleventy-one words...

He inched his hand up her blouse; his fingers fumbled and failed to unclasp the bra strap. Her nimble hand unfastened and yanked the undergarment out through her sleeve before he could blink. She turned and smiled. Then her blouse flew into the air and landed on the floor, leaving him to stare at her bare back. Well, not exactly bare. On the left was the countenance of a gaunt, slack-jawed man. On the right was a fat bearded face.

‘Who are they?’

‘My two dead husbands. They both died within the week after they turned 51. How old are you?’

‘I just turned 47.’

‘Well, we have a few years…’

No Place Like Home

I give to you a story in eleventy-one words...

He walked into the storage unit licking his chapped lips and clapping his sawdust covered cotton gloves. ‘What do we got in here?’ he asked as he slapped the backside of a life-sized Santa lawn ornament. A ruby glow caught his eye. ‘What the hell is that?’ he asked Santa. Clawing his way through the detritus, he flung poorly written books and crappy plastic knick-knacks about. In the corner sat a duffle bag, partially open. The crimson glow persisted. His hands dove into the aperture and yanked a pair of sparkling slippers, the mother lode, his best ever find. Until he discovered the severed feet clinging lifelessly to the shoes’ interiors.

The Couple

I give to you a story in eleventy-one words...

Cabs whizzed past on sixth honking at one another with reckless abandon. I sipped whiskey from a white wine glass. No ice, just lapping liquid against crystal. Across the way were buildings of multivariate height, old brick factories remade into expensive spaces. I spied into empty offices with their fluorescent sheen, into apartments where holiday lights twinkled.  Unexpected movement caught my eye in an apartment I knew all too well. The couple stood toe to toe miming angry insults. I reached for my phone, searched frantically for her number. A dial tone. I glanced up, saw her tremble, waiver, fall. The scream erupted from me, waking my wife from heavy slumber.

Restart

The hardest thing is not to start. It’s to restart. There’s no longer that newness, just the dread that comes with thinking that you’ll never be as good as you were. Or as good as you thought you were. It paralyzes, pulls you back into its demon clutches, bludgeons you with stale French bread until your eyes bleed.

Yet I must. Restart. It’s the only way not to sink into oblivion. Picking myself up by the proverbial bootstraps. Forging ahead like Washington on the Delaware. Fearlessly sallying forth into the world righting all wrongs. No. Windmills would eat me alive.

It’s time, methinks, for whatever’s next. That’s nothing I ever expected.

Before and After

I give to you an experience in three times eleventy-one words...

I woke, showered, ate cereal. The office, closed. Precautionary, I thought. The apartment, powerless with no service. I had contingencies. I’d walk uptown and hunker down in one of the hundreds of coffee shops. This would pass in a blink of an eye, I thought.

I dressed, packed my bag, and began the trek. Past Houston. No cars, lights. Past the park where trees lay strewn about. Up 6^th, a few passersby. I ventured further. No Starbucks, McDonalds, Dunkin Donuts. No sounds of trains or planes or buses. Past 23^rd, I got a signal, and more texts than I could count. I had gone missing through no fault of my own.

 

Yes, I’m okay. I’m looking for somewhere to go to work. Are you crazy, they asked. I didn’t think so. Other texts told of the flooded tunnels, the 13-foot waves, the disaster-movie scenario of a submerged city. A misty rain obscured my sight.

A smattering of power past 34^th. Stranded tourists trying to catch cabs off a closed island. Some open delis, bodegas, their owners selling wares to the unprepared populace. They survived war and famine to open their shops, a friend said; a hurricane won’t stop them.

I made it to 57^th. The roads, closed, with cops ambling about. I saw the crane swinging in the wind atop a building.

 

I traipsed about for the day surveying the damage, made my way to a friend’s around dinner time to recharge my dying electronics. Please stay, he offered. No, I want to be in my own bed. I departed after dark and walked down 7^th.

Below 34^th, darkness descended. With rain covered glasses, I barely made out some figures until they were upon me. I imagined them to be zombies eying me angrily. I thought myself the proud idiot, murdered early in a B movie; I walked faster.

Just before descending into the abyss below 23^rd, a friend texted me, now you know what it’s like to be there before and after.