Bullets

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

The men walked into the building, extracted their semi-automatic weapons, fired.

People scrambled, fell, bled.

The men advanced.

A young girl emerged from her hiding spot; she nonchalantly approached the leader. ‘Why do you do this?’

The men’s leader chuckled. ‘For glory, little girl. Now go hide before I shoot you too.’

‘I am not afraid.’

He pointed his gun at her forehead. ‘You are a stupid little girl.’

‘You are an angry little boy.’

She touched the gun as he attempted to pull the trigger. The gun shattered as if made of glass.

She smiled.

The leader stepped behind his men. ‘You cannot stop their bullets.’

‘Maybe not.’

They fired. 

James

I give to you the latest snippet in the Reincarnated (click the link for previous entries) story in eleventy-one words...

Charlotte seemed to reconsider saying anything, then settled on a grimace.

Olivia, annoyed at the reaction – though unconvinced that Charlotte would provide any suggestion of value – rolled her eyes and plunked back into her chair.

Charlotte sighed.

‘Oh my God, just say it. I’m not expecting much. Just…’

‘James,’ Charlotte blurted.

‘James who? Wait, James? As in the kid who…’

‘Yeah,’ Charlotte winced as if anticipating an imminent attack.

‘Runs around like a lunatic and tries to punch girls?’ finished Olivia. The thought processed a moment more. ‘Wait, how would you know?’

Charlotte hoped – but knew it impossible that – Olivia wouldn’t arrive at that question so quickly.

‘How do you know?’

Realistic

I give to you the latest snippet in the Reincarnated (click the link for previous entries) story in eleventy-one words...

‘Umm, okay…’ Charlotte replied skeptically.

‘What?!’ Olivia snapped.

Charlotte shrunk back into her chair. ‘I don’t know. I was just… It seems… Are you being realistic?’

Olivia backed off. ‘I don’t know. But I can’t stay here. I can’t take another ten years of this.’

Charlotte remained quiet, thoughtful.

‘Oh my God! It’s a freaking worldwide phenomenon. And my bitch of a mother won’t even acknowledge it.’

‘Sorry.’

‘Not your fault.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘No idea.’

Charlotte stared past her, thinking.

‘What are you looking at?’

‘Hmm… Do you still want to find your kids?’ she asked.

‘I guess. Why?’

‘I may know someone who can help.’

‘Who?’

Forbidden

I give to you the latest snippet picking up from Olivia in eleventy-one words...

(See Reincarnated for other posts in the series.)

‘What were you talking about?’ Olivia’s mother interrogated.

‘Nothing important,’ Olivia answered airily.

‘It sounded important.’

‘It wasn’t.’

‘Nothing about reincarnation?’

‘That’s a forbidden topic, mother,’ her words dripped with sarcasm.

‘Hasn’t stopped you in the past.’

‘Well, I guess I’ve learned my lesson.’

‘I don’t appreciate your tone.’

‘Right back atcha, mother.’

‘So… you won’t be going to Charlotte’s tonight.’

Olivia forgot her current self momentarily, ‘I’m a grown-ass woman, bitch.’

Her mother smirked. ‘No, you’re not.’ At that, she returned to the house.

‘Wow,’ Charlotte exclaimed, ‘Are you okay?’

‘Perfect,’ she answered through gritted teeth.

‘Really?’

‘I’m going to find them.’

‘What? Who?’

‘I’m going to find my kids.’

Olivia

I give to you the latest snippet picking up from The Reincarnated in eleventy-one words...

(See Reincarnated for other posts in the series.)

A precocious eight-year-old took the first leap of faith. Dissected and haphazardly reconstructed with interwoven threads of myriad anecdotes, research might reveal the true narrative, but it wouldn’t compete with the titillating tall tale.

It begins in a Connecticut town on a blistering August day. Eleven-year-old Olivia and her best friend, Charlotte, were sunning themselves on the patio. Olivia whispered, ‘Do you remember anything from before?’

‘Mostly just shadows, feelings.’

‘I remember.’ Olivia spoke earnestly. ‘I died young, had two boys; I can see their faces. But my “parents” forbid me to talk about it.’

Olivia’s mother walked in on queue. ‘Hi Charlotte,’ she said as she eyed her daughter knowingly.

Wheel of Fortune

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

On weekday evenings, my grandparents watched Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune. Obvious questions caused them to critique contestants with gently inconsolable superiority whilst the more challenging trivia relegated them to docility.

Only sporting events disrupted this nightly ritual. Then, Grandpa – and often my jokester uncle – raucously rooted for their team whilst Grandma watched television in the bedroom.

On one of those exceptional nights, Grandma inadvertently uttered a legendary line in the annals of Murray history. As my uncle exited the bathroom, Grandma squawked, ‘You shoulda took a P’ at the ignorant Wheel of Fortune contestant. Without missing a beat, my uncle retorted, ‘I just did!’

Happy Birthday, Grandma. I miss you.

Perception and Intention

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

What do you perceive?

What do you intend?

What’s your story?

I mark my life with questions. These interrogations have, at times, persisted for years. What is my greatest fear? What do I want? What are my principles? The point has not been so much to answer them as to become comfortable with them.

What do I perceive?

What do I intend?

What’s my story?

I’ve no answer, yet. That said, I’ve recognized a relationship I’ve not intimately explored, namely the one between perception and intention. Perception is interpersonal reality; intention is intrapersonal reality. Perception swaddles intention; intention inspires perception.

What do we perceive?

What do we intend?

What’s our story?