Scam

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

He answered his cell.

‘Mr. Pritchett?’

‘Yes?’

‘The IRS is bringing a case against you because you attempted to defraud the government.’

‘Nice try, buddy.’

‘This isn’t a scam. There are officers outside your building who will take you into custody unless you do what I say.’

‘Right. Ciao.’

‘Shit. Get out, Gerald!’ the gentleman yelled.

‘What?! Hello!’ The phone went dead. He hadn’t been called Gerald since youth. Something felt wrong. He grabbed his bag and walked to the back door.

He was about to exit when he heard, ‘Tommy!’ He turned to see a man pointing a pistol at him. He ducked in time to miss the first bullet.

Sacrifice

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

She grabbed him, slapped him. He stood, watching her.

‘You let our son die.’

There had been no other way, not if he wanted to remain the leader of the rebel faction.

‘You’re causing a scene,’ he spoke calmly.  ‘Let’s go home.’

‘I have no home, no comfort, no joy. Because of you!’

He moved closer and whispered, ‘It’s bigger than him, bigger than us. You know that.’

‘Maybe I don’t,’ she mumbled.

‘Please understand what you’re saying.’

She stared into his eyes, ‘I know exactly what I’m saying.’

He bowed his head; the argument was over.

‘I love you.’

‘I love you too.’

They hugged.

And he snapped her neck.

Showdown

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

The showdown had come.

He dismounted, left his horse, and rambled down the street. The town’s inhabitants cautiously followed, watching him intently. Not a word came from their respective mouths. Only the scuff of his boots could be heard.

He paused in front of the saloon and yelled, ‘Where is he?’ The tension was palpable, the silence a heavy fog.

‘Where is he?’ he shouted again.

A boy stepped forward and pointed. He clutched his belt and turned, thinking that his enemy was behind him. Instead, he saw an old woman pointing as well. One by one, the entire town pointed, showing him his adversary.

He pulled his gun and fired. 

New York City

I give to you a letter to NYC in eleventy-one words...

Howdy New York,

I’ll soon be departing but wanted to wax poetic about what I’ll miss most about you.

I’ll miss the twenty minute walk to work and my daily disbelief that I worked at World Trade Center. I’ll miss hearing ‘Tequila!’ from across the bar. I’ll miss walks to Whole Foods Bowery just before it closed. I’ll miss the Saturday ritual of Gotham and Gym Bar. I’ll miss that slice at Joe’s at three in the morning.

Most of all, I’ll miss all the wonderful people that you and the universe conspired to put in my life these past four years. I am a better man because of you.

Ciao

The Search

I give to you a true story in 2x eleventy-one words...

‘We have fifteen apartments to see today,’ said the broker.

The first was a third floor one-bedroom in SoMa. Sean, our guide, told us there was also one on the sixth. The price and location were right. But the broker reminded me that I had paid for a full day. I considered and conceded.

After the tenth stop the first option was still the best. The broker called Sean. The sixth floor apartment had been rented; the third floor apartment was still available. She asked if they could hold it. They couldn’t. We were in the Mission District during rush hour on a Friday. I had a bad feeling about it.

---

It took twenty minutes to return. I gave Sean the completed rental application, credit report, and proof of employment information.

He pointed to the offer letter. ‘It isn’t signed.’

‘It’s the front page.’

‘I need a signed copy.’

I rummaged through my phone, found it, showed it. ‘I signed.’

‘They didn’t.’ He paused.  ‘We’ll also take your last two paystubs.’

I printed the paystubs, handed them to him. But I was too late. A couple had secured the apartment just minutes before. I slumped, disappointed.

Sean excused himself. He returned moments later and said, ‘the guy’s credit fell through on the sixth floor apartment. Would you like it?’

Hello San Francisco!

Thank you

I give to you a note of sincere appreciation in eleventy-one words...

To you from Seattle to San Diego to Miami to NYC and everywhere between; to you texters and facebookers and callers; to you former Milkshakes and Thrusters and Iron Men and Buzz; to you teammates and coaches and opponents and cheerleaders; to you Blue Hens and Trojans; to you former B-Liners; to you current Moody’s mates; to you family – including a mother who sent me no fewer than six e-cards today; to you my best friends – you know who you are; to you who hold a special place in my heart; to each and every one of you who wished me a happy birthday in some way, I sincerely thank you.

The Wipe

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

‘My pastor recommended it, said it was a leadership conference.’ He shook his head, trying to navigate the memories. ‘They brought us here. Where is here?’ He surveyed the white windowless walls for some clue. A bed. A sink. A toilet. ‘I’ve been here… years, I think. I’m a language specialist. An operative of some kind.’

The doctor and general traded glances in the command center.

‘He remembers at precisely the same time each day before we activate “the wipe”. None of the others do,’ remarked the doctor.

‘He’s dangerous. If you can’t find a way to purge those memories, we will terminate him.’

‘But he’s our best.’

‘I don’t care.’