Spark

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

He answered the door; their eyes met. They exchanged a sad, silent greeting. He opened his mouth to speak; a passing siren stopped him short. She responded with a melancholy grin. He motioned for her to enter; she shook her head. A tear fell down the inside of her cheek. He moved to wipe it away; he couldn’t stop the droplet from falling into the corner of her mouth. She licked her lips. His finger lingered in midair; she took his hand in hers. The spark remained. He tried to speak again; she moved her index finger perpendicular to her lips. She looked into his eyes once more, turned, and departed.

Smile

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

He was meandering down the main path when he came upon a whirling white creature in the meadow’s midst, an adolescent girl. Seeing no one in the vicinity, he traversed the field.

‘Are you okay?’

She stared at him.

‘Where are your parents?’

She shrugged.

A young couple came into view. No sooner had they appeared than the girl began to scream. The couple raced to them.

‘Are you okay?’ they asked the girl.

‘He tried to hurt me.’

At that the young man restrained the older man and the woman hurried away with the child. As they fled, the old man caught on the little girl’s face a sardonic smile. 

The Weapon

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

She raised the bullhorn. ‘You are not welcome! You will not build! We will endure!’ The ragtag protesters echoed her cries like a destitute flock of deformed geese.

On the other side of the flimsy wooden wall, a rat faced man named Henderson and a gigantic bear of a man named Little plotted.

‘They think we’re building.’

‘How wrrrrong they arrrrre,’ purred Henderson. ‘Do you have the weapon?’

‘Yes. Trust me, it’ll do the job.’

‘It betterrrr; I want complete destrrrrruction.’

Little entered the massive trailer and returned with a container. Henderson took the cylinder with his left hand and deftly slit Little’s throat with the dagger in his right.

‘Purrrrfect…’

Contrition

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

‘Your transfer is complete.’ He shifted uncomfortably.

‘Thank you, Eminence.’

‘I have heard your confession and trust your contrition.’ He paused. ‘ You know you can never return to that parish.’

‘I understand, Eminence.’

‘I encourage you to condemn your actions but forgive yourself.’

‘I shall, Eminence.’

‘Your path will be brutal; you must never again succumb to those appetites.’

‘I know, Eminence. I will not allow it to happen again.’

‘You are a young man, Father Nash, with a promising future. I see in you much of myself.’

The young man groped for words. ‘You are too kind, Eminence.’

‘Every man deserves a second chance, Father. Good luck with yours.’

Prayer

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

Thanks for nothing. How can I believe in a God that will let this happen? It’s a disgrace. And you say it’s all because you want us to learn to love you of our own free will. Bullshit. What are you, some kind of narcissist? Some self-aggrandizing egotist who lords his love for power over people who don’t know any better? I know what really happens with those second set of footsteps; you leave. I know what the dark night of the soul is; you abandon us. I know what you are; you’re a fraud. I doubt you; I doubt everything about you. And yet, I can’t stop talking to you...

Chastity

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

He genuflected, signed himself, and exited the chapel observing those holy men whose countenances stared blankly into the darkness. Back in his room, he removed the collar and poured whiskey into a snifter tinted with past libation. He sipped, felt the flames of hell tickle at his parched throat. A wistful knock came softly at the wooden door.

‘Come.’

His friend, a fellow seminarian, entered almost reluctantly. They exchanged no glance, just undressed until naught but their underclothing clung to their damp bodies. They pulled back the sheets, arranged themselves on the bed, and held each other tightly.

‘Is this chaste?’

‘I don’t know.’

They fell into deep and restful sleep.

Toothpaste

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

‘Stella!’

‘Huh?’

‘Stella, c’mere!’

‘I’m downstairs. Whaddya want?’

‘C’mere!’

She climbs the stairs slowly.

Her husband waits at the apex holding a tube of toothpaste in his hands. ‘Why don’t you squeeze from the bottom?’ He moves his hands to demonstrate.

‘Really, George?? You interrupted me for a tube of toothpaste?’

‘I been telling you for thirty years.’

‘So.’

‘Well, you obviously ain’t listening.’

‘Obviously.’

‘It’s real simple, Stella. All ya gotta do is work from this end,’ he points to the flat end of the tube.

‘I’m going back downstairs.’

‘You gonna listen to me this time, Stella?’

‘No, George, I ain’t.’ She turns and ventures back to the laundry.