100 WORD DASH

We'd always made the mistake of thinking we were the center of the universe and life on other planets in other galaxies would reflect something recognizable. We wondered why none had come to contact us, without realizing it might be akin to a gnat feeling slighted by our failure to introduce ourselves. We didn't consider that the entirety of our existence might be a fraction of a moment within the lifetime of our makers. When they returned to see the results of their climate seeding, they didn't worry themselves with us. We were simply pests to be swatted away.

Things had been easier before the rings. Back before there was a way to see a visual representation of the spike in chemicals and brain signals caused by emotions of joy and sorrow, anger and shame. The science was solid but MoodRyngs would claim that their intent was nothing more than novelty, a futuristic update to their fickle predecessors. They claimed there was no way they could have anticipated the consequences of their invention. They claimed it would have been impossible to know how many relationships would be ruined while couples wore their tiny lie detectors. Relationships like we had.

The Doegin smiled and the children were proud. The old Doegin would the next of them to battle the desert. The elders being at peace with their battles brought the children comfort.

It wasn’t long before the building started to expel more filthy cars than clean ones, and Steve had to start making his dirty customers spray their cars down before he’d make an exchange. That summer, the car wash had its most profitable season ever and Steve was promoted to manager.

Nathan recorded the segment about the fire as a souvenir of his crime. He recorded the dog because it was cute.

There was something about the falling snow that stole sound from the air. She hadn’t needed to walk far from the house for the music from the party to fade into nothingness, the bass that had been rattling her rib cage finally relenting. The cold was invigorating and she could feel herself sobering up with each step and every cold kiss from a snowflake. She watched the house from a bus bench across the street, her eyes on the silhouettes that occupied each window, her heart laying broken at someone else’s feet, her breath rolling away into the silent night.

The old weather vane had rusted in such a way that its creak had attracted the attention of a smitten blue jay. The jay would sit in a nearby tree, bouncing with the branches as the wind brought its lover to life. The jay had learned quickly that the skinny iron bird would dance if he kept his distance, but she fell quiet and still whenever he landed upon her metal perch. Thus, the jay found himself content to court her from afar, twirling himself as she swayed, happy to hear her song, even after the leaves abandoned the trees.

As time went on, it became clear that the War could not be won and both sides, exhausted, had little interest in the Crossroads. The new city was a sanctuary for those who had lost everything, a place to start over in the shadows of the spires that had once symbolized a promise of peace.

They had been in the funeral business for hundreds of years. They were courteous, meticulous and above all else, they did not dawdle. They arrived at hospitals and care homes within an hour of being called, no matter the time or weather. They would arrive in undertaker’s garb, coats and gloves with a hat could hide their expressions as they went about their routine. Nobody would have guessed that they were vampires, or that their kin ran so much of the industry. Their broods rotating through towns nationwide before anyone learned what happened to the blood of their loved ones.

Browne nodded. “Sure, yeah.” A close by the party continued, spirited and loud, separate but welcoming and warm like fire.

The little black alter found its way into Morgan’s every dream and nightmare, its ominous presence demanding an offering. After weeks of being haunted by it, Morgan watched as a shifting shadow of a thing placed a single black rose upon its dark surface. It was at once harmless and horrifying in the way specific to dreams. When Morgan woke holding the rose, the purpose of the alter was clear. It was a gateway. Each night, Morgan would place something on the dream alter and awaken with it in real life, without asking what sacrifice it would seek in return.

The problem with being able to freeze time, was that he continued to age while everything else stood still. It wasn’t until puberty hit that stubble began to betray the truth of his situation. Stopping time so he could finish an essay for class hardly seemed worth it, and while wandering the world as it sat in stillness was peaceful, it wasn’t purposeful. He began to freeze time to save it, whipping his motorcycle between stationary cars on the highway, taking bedrest to heal from colds that might linger and making the most out of the mundane to save time.

We’ve been here before, you and I. Occupying opposite sides of the room our eyes do a daring dance across the curves our lips long to caress. Between us, like Legion, other bodies sway and swarm, swap secrets and scars, and steal glances not unlike our own. Every event we attend is like a reception of regrets, our unsaid words and unclasped hands echoing off of every wall. How long will we hold out hope that we will wake from this dream to find ourselves together? How often can we imagine holding hands over breakfast as we recount this nightmare?

It was tax evasion to start. Or perhaps the flaunting of labour laws that saw a teenage Sam getting paid cash under the table. Then there was the jobs themselves, petty theft of buying small electronics before wandering back into the store, picking up an identical device from the shelf and returning it for cash. That game was given up as soon as there was enough saved for college. It seemed fair since that was a kind of robbery all it’s own. Sure, there was the occasional itch that came from a lack of adrenaline. Which lead to light burglary.

The Spring took the hits hard but refused to falter, confident that it was only growing stronger.

Isaac had nothing to say to his father. His wrists and ankles burned, raw from the ropes that were used to bind him. His mind ached with the memory of sunlight bouncing from the blade of the knife and across his father’s face. Isaac had not heard the divine words that caused his father’s change of heart. Nor had he been able to hear the arrival of the new sacrifice that would be offered in his stead. Isaac’s own pleading for mercy had filled his ears. And though his father had ignored him, the something supernatural had answered his call. .

“I’m going to send him out the airlock after I watch him decompress,” Mary said.