Sighs

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

He entered the den, closed the door, sat in the recliner, and sighed. His wife and children knew better than to approach him. At best, he’d ignore them; at worst, he’d scowl and yell.

He wanted to eat with his family. He wanted to listen to his children recount their days. He wanted to play Scrabble with them until bedtime. He wanted to retire to the bedroom with his wife. He wanted to explain to her how he felt stuck and needed to find another job.

But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

Instead, he reached for the remote, turned on the television, and stared at the screen until he drifted into oblivion.

Worthy

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

The priest leaned forward.

She sat with arms folded and stared out the window.

He spoke softly, ‘You are worthy of love and forgiveness.’

She sneered.

He didn’t react, then repeated, ‘You are worthy of love and forgiveness.’

She glanced at him, rolled her eyes.

‘You are worthy of love and forgiveness.’

She turned her head and glared at him.

‘You are…’

‘No, I ain’t. Get the fuck outta here!’

He bowed his head briefly, then spoke, ‘You are worthy…’

‘I killed my kids. I ain’t worthy of shit!’

He looked into her eyes. ‘You are worthy of love and forgiveness.’

She averted her eyes; a tear streamed down her cheek.

Grand Finale

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

“He grabbed the cat by its neck. ‘Behold! I shall toss this feline from the balcony. For she is magical with astonishing levitative powers. Drum roll, please!’ They pounded their thighs in unison as they gaped in awed glee. He swung the hissing cat back and forth. Then simply let go. We went silent as she plummeted; we waited in rapt anticipation. Then a bird floated up above an adjacent building and vanished. He turned a cat into a bird!“

“Sir, she is definitely under the influence.”

“Of what?”

“We don’t know.”

“Then he brought out his baby daughter. So cute! ‘And now for the grand finale,’ he said.”

“Oh no.”

Necessity

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

My grandmother finished her rosary. After the final bead, she smiled – signaling she was ready to chat – and asked me about school.  I told her I was writing about the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and then railed against their barbarity. My grandmother listened quietly. In a rare adolescent moment of clarity, I asked her opinion.

‘You have to remember that we were going to invade Japan and probably lose a million men.’ She paused. ‘I’m not saying it was right, but it was necessary. Plus, your grandfather was in the Pacific; I don’t think he would have come back. So, if they didn’t drop them, you probably wouldn’t be here.’

Mowing

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

He woke, sat up, coughed, fell back against his pillow. He was tired. Of being angry, useless, old. He rang the cow bell; his son entered.  

‘How you feelin, dad?’

‘I wanna mow.’

‘Is that a good idea?’

‘Yes’

His son didn’t argue.

He slowly washed, dressed, hobbled – all with help – to the shed. His son deposited him on the mower and set it in first gear.

Halfway across the lawn, he coughed violently. When the fit ceased, he slumped onto the steering wheel. His son ran over, cut the engine, and put him on the ground. There was no pulse.

His son smiled; a single tear streamed down his cheek.

Pride

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

When did you know?

When I got spanked for finding that magazine.

When I disavowed everything I’d told her and learned to trust no one.

When he said he’d show me his if I showed him mine.

When I heard the word faggot and seethed.

When I saw them dressing in the locker room.

When I connected in those green chat rooms.

When I met him in the library.

When I lied to him.

When I knelt in the chapel and begged God’s absolution.

When I asked him where George, Washington is.

When he asked on Father’s Day.

Before these events;

And after.

When did I know?

The answer is

Always.

Waking

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

He woke to ‘Time Warp’ from Rocky Horror, rose from bed, sat cross-legged on his meditation pillow, and set the timer. He tapped the Tibetan singing bowl, then guided a wooden mallet circularly around it. At first, the bowl resonated monotonically. Then, the tone changed subtly, differently. He ceased moving the mallet; it still sang. He tried to lift the bowl from his hand; it didn’t move. Instead, the vibration encompassed his hand, arm, and body until his entire being became an epic organic symphony. He lost consciousness.

He woke, an infant just born. He took seven steps and said, ‘I alone am the world-honored one.’ His mother named him Siddhartha.