| back to Prose... |
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short stories of one hundred words or less...
© Dear Diary...
© Behind The Door...
© Red On White...
© Profession...
© The Lab...
© Life...
© Trex
© Verdict
© Oh, So Beautiful
© The Incredible Journey
© Three Times One Hundred Words Of Love
© Three Times One Hundred Words Of Love, Two
© Three Times One Hundred Words Of Love, Three
© Three Times One Hundred Words Of Love, Four
© Three Hundred Birthday Wishes
© Three Times One Hundred Words Of Woman
© Nothing To Do With Little Red Hood
© Barrier
© Three Times One Hundred Body (p)Art(s)
© Three Times One Hundred (Thousand) ‘I Love You’s
© Three Times One Hundred Words Of Pain And Beauty
© Three Times One Hundred Colors Of Life
© Three Times One Hundred Giggles
© The Lab, Three
© Three Times One Hundred Intimate Moments
© Those Fifty Word Legends Of Love... (Retold)
© Counting Three Times One Hundred Miracles Of Love
© Three Times One Hundred Statistical Love Declarations
© Three Times One Hundred Loving Bees
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Dear Diary...
I see the streak across the skies... a mushroom... * museum exhibit 312, year - approximately 2054 ac
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Behind The Door...
your white of breast Her white breast now cupped in his tanned hand. I took out the revolver from my pocket, pulled back the hammer... I don't remember the bullet cracking my skull...
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Red On White...
I heard voices, hardly penetrating through the bandages hugging my head. My wife's broken, sobbing. The other authoritative, soft. "...from the neck down, irreversible. Some movement left in his left hand." The door clicked shut, no one aware I woke up ten minutes ago. My left fingers moved slowly, hooking into the thin tube, pulling sharply. I watched fascinated the red fluid slowly crawling into a crack on the polished white floor...
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Profession...
So I waited patiently for the ceremony to end. "I do", said she. Smiling. "I do", said he. Beaming. They kissed. Then I shot them both through the heart. I don't believe in unnecessary cruelty. I did not shoot the priest, of course. They did not not pay me for this.
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The Lab...
I took my telescope and looked down again. Oh, my Me, what a mess... Guess it's time for a new cleanup. Pity, so much time lost. Let's see, what will I call him this time? Definitely NOT Adam...
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Life...
Wailing sirens, white corridors, white coats, the raised scythe hesitating in the black hooded creature's hand... * Three months. "Now you know. You decide." White coated personnel. Impassive. She looked at them, barely alive. The blue stains on her skin competing in beauty with the green of her eyes. The growling tiger waking inside her wounds. No hesitation. "Life", she said. * Scream. Delivery. Deliverance. A little black curly head suckling love from a soft pale white breast. Life, she said.
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Trex
Mom... my tail threshed one last time.
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Verdict
Of course it was split, I did not do it, it was all circumstantial. But I will not, she has a life, I have none. I entered the glass cage, chains clinking, the red sleeve going up, the first needle going in. I looked up at the witnesses’ window, she was there with her husband, crisp, crying. “I love you” I formed the words with my mouth, everybody thinking it was for my mom. I smiled satisfied, watching the plunger drive the yellowish liquid into my vein.
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Oh, So Beautiful
“...this is my dream...” ...and golden dust flew into my wound. I gasped... “...you gave me your eternity...” She smiled... “...for your mortal love...” Oh, so beautiful...
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The Incredible Journey
“Pregnant...” I wailed. OK, after everybody finished laughing, about three days later, I showed them the ultrasound. My father started screaming “I’ll kill the bastard...” (sorry papa...), my wife “I’ll gouge her eyes out...” (careful there...), my mother “get the doctor now...” (he hung himself...), my dog “woof...” (thanks buddy...). Finally everybody calmed enough to hear that it was not adultery, the incredible egg journey, the womb anomaly... Seven months later I delivered by C-section a sweet red headed baby girl... Oh, I forgot to present myself... John my name. Of course bottle feeding, what else?
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Three Times One Hundred Words Of Love
“I know,” she said, nonplusing me. “And it all ends up with me,” she added, opening her shirt, tearing away her brassiere and placing my palm over her breast. My mouth found hers with no additional help, moments before the flare escaping with her breath crawled its gigawatts of energy into my lungs crashing head-on with the one crawling through my fingertips, turning my insides into a blazing inferno. “By the way, what is a kilogram?...” * I rang her up... had to, mental... A sleepy voice answered. “Hello...” “Sorry, love, I know you are asleep, sorry to wake you up, have to tell you...” “It’s fine...” yawn... “...don’t worry...” “Oh, so sorry, really...” “That’s OK, wait, let me prop myself up...” “Are you sure?... I feel so bad...” “Stop making a fuss... I’m fully awake now...” “Fully?...” “If I say so...” “Thank God, I was afraid you’ll be upset, have to tell you...” Giggle. “So tell, finally...” Beep... Damn!... my battery ran out. Damn!... does she know what I wanted to say? I hope she does... * We picked at the bowl of nuts, talking, smiling. One hand holding, one hand blindly picking a nut. We knew it is the last one when our fingers met over it. “You take it.” “No, you take it.” “We split it, OK?” I popped it my mouth and cracked it. “Wait... what about my part?...” she yelled, stabbing a finger into my mouth. I almost bit it off, then carefully guided it inside my mouth and let her pull it out. You should have seen the smile on her face when she saw the round piece of metal around it...
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Three Times One Hundred Words Of Love, Two
I took the paper, adding several wriggles till all the text was connected, blew over slightly to dry it, then with infinite patience I started scrapping the ink off. Finally a one molecule thick complete text was lying on the table. She watched incredulously as next I took the sheet of paper, split it thickness wise in two, and placed these next to the text. “Nobody can do it...” she said, “...it is impossible.” “Nobody loves you as much,” I answered.” It is impossible.” * She was heavy, getting heavier the nearer we got to the bed. I lay her down and the mattress sank to the floor till it was cigarette paper thin. “What is that?” I asked, frightened. She took my palm and whispered into it, closed my fingers over the whisper and the mattress popped up like shot from hell. “What is that?” I asked again, still uncomprehending. “Listen to it,” she said. I brought my fist to the ear and opened it slowly. “Love...” I heard the whisper dissipating into the room, and my feet started sinking into the concrete floor. * The dry laundry piled up in a basket next to her feet, three feet high. She just finished folding the t-shirts, pants, now she was busy folding underwear. “You fold your underwear?” “I fold anything I like.” I did not like that look in her eyes. “Lie down,” she commanded. I obeyed. Her hands started folding me expertly – my ankles, my knees, my waist, chest, neck, then she smoothed the folding creases, kissed my flattened mouth and dropped me in her shirt’s pocket. Against her breast. Against her heart. “And also some things I love...” Oh, the softness, the music...
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Three Times One Hundred Words Of Love, Three
“Dear, Darling...” she chipped in. “Yes?...” I answered absent mindedly and continued my barrage... “Despair, Doom...” before her words sunk in and I skidded to an embarrassed halt. “Daisy, Dahlia, Daffodil...” she added, smiling. “Even in other languages,” I tried to insist, “in Romanian, Drac is satan.” “In Romanian, Dragoste is love,” she added suavely. “Death...” I tried feebly. “Devotion, Democracy, Delicious...” It was a losing trail, I had to stop my rampant Dementia fast. I stopped, wondering... does she still love me? “Does!...” she smiled... Devilishly. * Luckily... luckily?... it remembered our contract. The lamp post. I was sunk in dark thoughts till I saw it rushing towards me just yards down. Something pulled the steering wheel away. Not me. I regained control of the car, watching the diminishing yellow light blinking behind, a short-circuit?... short-long-short-short, pause, long-long-long, pause, short-short-short-long... I started getting it. Does not matter it remained off afterwards, after all you cannot expect a lamp post to spell correctly. The car-phone rang. “Short...” was all she said. Women, always taking the easy way out. I fell in love, madly. Life was never more beautiful. * “All I have is one hundred words” I told her across the table. “This is all which is needed,” she answered, taking control of my hand, “if they are the right words.” I prayed they were, and started voicing them. “Love, love, love...” “Wait, this is cheating,” she chimed. Were these disappointment tears in her green? “Love, love, love...” I continued adamantly, disregarding the tears. Finally I stopped. “I counted only ninety nine...” tears welled like a tidal wave. “I know. The one hundredth is... eternal.” They flooded my cheeks, giving that unending kiss the surrealistic salty tinge of... eternity.
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Three Times One Hundred Words Of Love, Four
or Graduation
We were still at clay modelling stage. After living three years with humans, each was requested to design a perfected version of “his” human. I watched my colleagues, puffing up male torsos, trimming down female waists, crude yet meaningful interpretations. I trimmed down my female’s breasts, puffed up her waistline... “What are you doing?” asked my instructor, eyebrow up. “Creating perfection,” I answered. “You are just copying reality.” “Sometimes reality is perfect,” I challenged back, knowing I failed the exams. Well, I passed. Seems that He gave the order. I wondered why, looking at my silent piece of unformed clay. * The second year was a toughie. Luckily I had a she-instructor who seemed to be more understanding. Everybody else was experimenting with other improved humans, I chose to stay with mine. This time the year end assignment was with real flesh, lifeless, real. I peeked at the others, all creating variations on the Schwarzie theme, Barbie, mine looked like... her. Almost complete, I was desperately looking for the final detail... “Is this what you are looking for?” the instructor smiled, pulling a single reddish hair from her pocket. I stuck it on my human. Complete. I passed with flying colors. * Third year. Final graduation. Toughest. Lifeless Schwarzie’s and Barbie’s side by side and then... my mold. We lined up each in front of our creation waiting for a sign from Him. It came. Everyone placed a finger on their model’s mouth, the torsos shot up for a moment, then fell lifelessly back to sounds of clapping and applause. I waited, then bent and placed my mouth against hers. Gasps. Uproar. Disgusted shouts... artist... imperfect... All except... Him. “You are condemned to an eternity of memories, you know...” “Better than an eternity of regrets,” I answered, and kissed life into wife.
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Three Hundred Birthday Wishes
“Of course. Twelve thousand four hundred nineteen.” “Sorry?... do I look that old?” Frown. “Twelve thousand four hundred nineteen... days.” Smile. “You count birthdays in days?” “Birth-days, isn’t it? And it gives me more occasions to celebrate.” The smile grows. “Then you should have counted in hours.” “I actually do. Better still... I do it in minutes.” I should have said seconds. I now get a kiss every single minute... for the rest of my life. * You get into the game. “And how old are you?” Easy. “Zero.” This puzzles you. “Not as old as time?” “Sorry?... do I look that old?” I smile. “No, as old as time is next story. Zero.” You touch my forehead with your lips, not kissing, just checking my temperature. “You are not sick. Explain?” “Simple, every time you kiss me it’s my first breath ever, you reset my age counter to reborn. And since you kiss me every minute... Actually, babyhood has advantages – I can talk gibberish, drool, burp...” You blush deep scarlet before adding... “... suckle my breast...” * “Your hundred worders have always three stories. One is still missing,” you say between two kisses. “No, this is the third. And you know the answer already – as old as time. All you have to do is find the question and the story is complete,” I interrupt my suckling to say, then return to it. Stalemate. For a few hours we change roles then return to the original ones, better. Please understand, we don’t sleep too much with all this activity going on. Suddenly, around 2am you smile... finally... (and about time, I think suavely). “How old is our love?”
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Three Times One Hundred Words Of Woman
Pageantry “Let’s see,” said the judge, “anorexia class zero, no plastic nose or breast or butt, hmmm... liposuction?... I see, neither, just birth stretch marks...” he scratched his head. “Anything... else you may want to show to the panel?” You showed him your scrub eroded palms, your flowers planting dirt encrusted fingernails, your shopping with the kids sun burns, sleepless red eyes, no-label gown, feminist pamphlets... You did not stand a chance. He inspected the others, young, firm, shining, he reached his decision. “Woman,” he said, “beautiful.” You did not wear your crown, you donated it to an animal shelter organization. * “If you insist...” she smiled, passing in front of me through the door I opened. “If you insist...” she smiled, sitting on the chair I pulled out for her and sticking in her hair the flower I bought for her outside the restaurant. “If you insist...” she winked allowing me to lead the dance, to undress her, to paint her body the colors of caress and kiss and passion... “Don’t insist...” she said as I bent to carry her suitcase. She picked it up and carried it to the car. “Some things I do myself.” So beautiful, feminine. So woman. * We drove in silence through the sleeping streets. “I am taking you to a very special place, not far away,” she said about half an hour ago, and she was still driving. “Are we there yet?” I asked one additional half hour later, enjoying the drive, curious. “Patience,” she admonished, intent on avoiding the potholes. Patience I had infinite, as long as she was there... She parked in the absolute darkness, mid of nowhere, I looked around, a bit scared... “Here?...” “Get out of the car,” she advised, out of breath. “Look up.” She almost cried. I gasped... my goodness, the billion blinking lights on the pitch blank canvas. I watched her for a moment, I swear I could see the glow in her face, the reflections in her tears, the glint in her smile. “And you thought you could catch all this beauty in just one hundred words? Very presuming of you.” “OK, what about two hundred and an apology?” “Apology accepted,” she snuggled into me, her lips a big round O like the Orion her big round eyes were glued to. I looked up at her, my own sky. “A kid,” I thought, “a woman absolute. So beautiful.”
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Nothing To Do With Little Red Hood
“Why did you dye your hair black?” he asked me. Later. I lighted two cigarettes, one for him... Hey, wait a moment, what did you think?... Your imagination, my friends... oh-la-la...
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Barrier
I started snoozing... a jab awoke me. Seems you scooted over. I moved further giving you space. Then further when your elbow hit me. Then... Finally I found myself on half a foot mattress, the rest of the bed yours, but so proud for not disturbing your sleep. Morning. Your eyes swollen, a leg hooking over me. “Where were you all night, wanted to cuddle and make love?...” Well, my butt is still blue from kicking myself the rest of the day. Speaking about “language barrier” between species...
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Three Times One Hundred Body (p)Art(s)
Small Holes First she smiled at me. Then she tried to calm me. Then had to sit on me as I was about to tear those inch wide horse straps binding me to the chair while a female de Sade kept drilling her needle into my skin. “Color?” “No color!” I screamed, and my sweet redhead had no choice but to feed me her breast. I fell asleep, sweet buzzing music lulling me... I woke up to sights of this beautiful tattoo... “Color?” asked my redhead. “More...” I pouted my lips evocatively. They didn’t even have to strap me down this time... * “Just one small piercing?” This time I did tear through the straps, crashed through the window and smashed sideways into a nuns touring bus. Three hundred fourteen bucks worth of damage, and a pending lawsuit for indecent exposure of my... what the hell?... well, it was my ear if you insist. “Whoosey...” she hiccupped when her laughter finally ended, “...this hurts more...” and she bit my ear. Wild lovemaking followed with some real indecencies embedded. “Hey, when the hell?...” my razor hand froze mid motion as I watched the earring dangling insolently from my ear. She hiccups to this day. * I kicked in the door to the GayPride bar and entered, proudly flexing a stamp size tattoo on a pale bicep and trying to look confident.. The Persian rug human monsters with full body designs ranging from Disney to Dali choked on their beers, as I proudly downed a double Pepsi and started on my way back out. Someone slapped my butt. Nobody, but I mean NOBODY (except for her) slaps my butt. I broke his nose. “Colors... finally...” she delighted smiling tenderly, and tending to the red and blue and black bruises beautifully decorating my body head to toe.
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Three Times One Hundred (Thousand) ‘I Love You’s
but who’s counting? I reached thousand seventy I love you’s when she started fidgeting. “Are you bored?” I asked. Meanwhile she finished three rounds of laundry, drove twice to Thrifty’s, finished “Anna Karenina” and was getting ready to pick her nose... no, she did NOT! “No...” she yawned, pouted insulted and disappeared pompously into the bathroom. After fifty minutes I fell asleep at four thousand eighteen. I had a nightmare... someone shaking me... I woke up, she was shaking me. “Four thousand nineteen!...” she threatened me with the shampoo. How the hell?... “I love you...” I obliged, “I love you, I love you...” * “You’re annoying, just like the kids... Mom... Mom...” I stopped the I love you’s flow, stuck a mental tongue her way and continued out of earsight. Only the dog looked at me strangely, couldn’t get out of his earsight. I kept thinking it while eating, making love, repeating it loudly as she fell asleep... I fell asleep. I woke up frightened to sounds of choking. Her face blue, her mouth gasping for air... I panicked. “I love you, I love you...” I started calling. Her breast rose, then fell... thank God... Guess what I did the rest of the night... * She did not keep count. I did. “The number of times I said I love you is fourteen thousand three hundred fifteen.” “Wrong...” she stated nonchalantly. This pissed me for real. I picked up my piles of notes, recordings, time and hour... “See? Irrefutable proof.” She dismissed it with a lazy sigh. “Bet?” I challenged. “Bet,” She agreed. “If I win then... once more?...” I was dead, but... hell, I was a winner, I agreed. “Fourteen thousand three hundred sixteen,” she smiled angelically. “You forgot the one in your statement.” Dead or not, I had to do it once more.
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Three Times One Hundred Words Of Pain And Beauty
One day I pulled the chair to his table, and sat across from him. Mister, you are wasting your time. You are a nice guy but I am married. Is your wish?... I did not finish my sentence. He got up, smiling, leaving the usual tip... one day, maybe, I will tell you... He never returned. * He was drunk. I hit him and left him bleeding, dropping the note I received yesterday... your husband lost thousand bucks... pay immediately or your kid... I wore my best dress, shoes, almost new nylons, paid my entrance fee... are you crazy, woman, maximum ever auctioned was hundred... I glared at him ...my problem, punk... I went on stage, whoring like human cattle, asking a start price of one thousand to sounds of drunken laughter. Five thousand... I heard a voice, choking all laughter, all counter bids. I went over, crying. He counted them into my palm. Then... he left. * I divorced the garbage who fathered my kid. I worked in the same café, from time to time looking sadly at that empty table. I was surprised one day being summoned to a local lawyer, who handed me a key and a bank address. The other key is with the bank, all fees paid. He named you as his beneficiary. He? Who he? I went to the bank, intrigued, curious, opened the small safe box. There was a thick envelope, heavy with hundred dollars bills. On top, there was a note: sorry, guess that now I will never tell you.
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Three Times One Hundred Colors Of Life
red, the color of anger I saw red. I was suffused by it, impregnated by it, my retinae on fire, my mind a bleeding leprechaun, my muscles taut violin wire. It took me hours to regain my vision. Actually, I was not completely sure I wanted to. “My goddess...” “You mean – my goodness.” “I mean... I always thought red was the color of anger.” A nightingale laughed, then a nightingale sang, then... well, you know what I mean. “Red is the color of my hair, silly,“ she laughed, she sang... “oh, and the color of love,” she added. Then she proved it to me. * I was running out of metaphors. “...green, like stomach ache, like a caiman’s belly...” “...in a green stinking swamp, rotten weeds hanging down...” she laughed. “You’re not very complimentary today, huh?” I wasn’t probably listening, so she continued... “...green like the princess’ countenance waking up to the toad... so it was a legend after all...” she squirmed, turning a laughing mess. Finally my mind clicked in. “Green,” I said “like the grains of sand growing into these pearls hiding behind the blinking shells hiding your eyes.” She ran out of laughter, probably. Else, why did she start suddenly kissing me? * “...like unpicked cotton bleached by intolerant suns and crawling with unidentified brown beetles...” “Freckles...” she objected, watching me trace a pink, strangely rugged path radiating away from her nipple. “And these are milk valleys,” she said, “when the milk dried out the skin kept its memory.” I traced my way back, my finger resting on the nipple. “...like a wolf’s tired trace in the freshness of snow, like irregularly nibbled holes in the whiteness of a daisy’s petal... Like life.” “Like love.” Well, as long as she was the color in my life, she could call it anything she wanted...
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Three Times One Hundred Giggles
The voice, usually a drop of mercury on a wobbly well polished marble top, now rather a pot of honey settled and thick with fatigue and sleep. “Shit...” I screamed in the mouthpiece, not having intended to wake you up, now waking you even more. Frustrated, I searched for a tree to bang my head against, there was none as I was in the car. I banged my head instead on the steering wheel, three times. For the rest of the day I walked around proudly wearing this huge lump on my forehead, minding not the perched pigeon. * My colleague looked insolently at my lump, uninterested in the poop on my shoe. “Rhinoceros?” he snickered. “Yes,” I answered, “in mating season...” and sent a hand to my belt. He shrieked and rushed away locking himself in the toilets. I followed him, dialed the number on my cell phone, waited patiently for the sleepy hello on the other side and then knocked three times on the door whispering – I love you. I heard a tired giggle at the other end of the world. And the thud of inert matter hitting the floor behind the door in front of me. * HP has regulations for anything, inclusive decent toilet usage. I was charged with indecent use of Morse code on a flat surfaced company property. The judge looked askance at the company lawyer, who fidgeted uneasily in his chair. Then moved his attention to me. “So you knocked three times. Long or short?” “Short, your honor, for S. I wanted to whish him Shit in peace. He fainted too early.” The judge hit his gavel three times. “Three long ones for O, Out of here...” Then he threw the gavel at the lawyer and fell off his chair convulsing in laughter.
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The Lab, Three
It was time for the final test. I picked the prototype marked Adamtwo from the shelf and said, “Love...” It teared. I tweaked a bit the heart, listening carefully... “...love...” I said again, and it teared again. I frowned and tweaked some more, this was not going as well as I planned. “Love.” Nothing. Thank me. Satisfied, I returned it to the shelf and after some hesitation – I removed the w from its name. Adamto. I did not want anyone to ever suspect there was an earlier failed model. After all, I had my pride. Then, I unleashed the fire. * Time for the final test, prototype Adamtwo. “Love...” It teared. Some tweaking... “...love...” I said again, teared again. I tweaked some more. “Love.” Nothing. I returned it to the shelf and removed the w. Adamto. Did not want anyone to suspect the earlier failed model. Then, I unleashed the fire. * Prototype Adamtwo, final test. “Love...” it teared. Tweaked some... “...love.” Nothing. Erased the w, Adamto, no witnesses to my previous failure. Then, unleashed the fire.
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Three Times One Hundred Intimate Moments
“Ouch... why did you do that?” I complained, indignation filling my voice. “It was too cold.” “And now, is it warm?” “Not really...” I heard and felt the smack of a kiss. “But now you are branded with my mark.” I rebelled, without actually pulling away. “What am I, cattle?” my indignation tone rose one notch higher, but I was talking to the wall as you were already snoring softly into dreamland. * We sat on both sides of the table, naked, breakfasting. I was just about to dip my teaspoon into my yoghurt when you snatched it away. “Hey, this is mine,” I wailed. You lay both yoghurts in front of you, then rose slightly and dipped your breasts into them. “They are both yours now,” you smirked mischievously. I looked questioningly at the teaspoon in my hand. “You can do better than that,” you goaded my intellect. I guess I could and did. And if you don’t know what I’m talking about, I guess you better not be reading this story. * “What color are my eyes?” you asked. “I don’t know, it’s dark.” You turned on the bedside lamp. “And now?” I moved my head from the comfortable position between your breasts to the muscle stressing position of carrying it on my neck. The reflection blinded me. “Looks like there is a lamp in them...” I hated to see that big tear bubble rolling. “Try again...” I shifted my viewing angle till I saw my own reflection. “Looks like I am in them.” This time you smiled, letting me return to the safety of your bosom. Women... sometimes acting so weird.
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Those Fifty Word Legends Of Love... (Retold)
Of Frogs? Poor frog, hopping alongside me, competing for that kingdom frog-elders tell their children about. Doesn’t it know that’s a legend? I lower it into the pond, turning around right into your kiss... mmmmm... Damn!... I must control my reflexes, my coiled tongue almost shooting out to that fly buzzing by... * “Hansel?...” “Yes, Gretel.” “Are you sure we will find our way back?” “Yes,” I say confidently, strewing the breadcrumbs behind us. “Hansel... the breadcrumbs are gone...” “Don’t worry, Gretel,” I calm your fears, “look back,” I say, pointing to the tiny daisies popping up wherever your foot left the ground. * “Hey, Pinocchio!...” you smiled, blowing kisses my way. I knew I was not supposed to fall in love, after all I was made of wood. But then... you kissed me. “I love you,” I hardly had the time to say before the flames escaped my heart and invaded my body.
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Counting Three Times One Hundred Miracles Of Love
oddly even “Something’s wrong,” I said, “there are two moons.” “Yes, and this morning there were two suns,” she laughed, “you should get your eyes checked. Or your brains...” she added after a smacking kiss. “Oops, two falling stars,” I started incredulously. “Anything four of?” “I don’t know about four, but it’s so odd that everything is even... two’s and four’s and eight’s...” She smiled knowingly and kissed me again. I guess she knew something I didn’t, and now was playing coy with me. I gave up trying to understand the miracle and finally gave up also looking into her eyes. Hey!... * “And now maybe you can explain to me my miracle?” She kept counting and recounting her fingers and her toes and it always came up to nineteen. Yet all the usual fingers were there when she looked for them hard enough. She wasn’t a great believer in the worlds beyond, but the facts were so oddly odd... “Shall we call in the missing fingers department?...” she giggled uneasily. I was as baffled as she was, though I could not fully concentrate on her miracle, busy as I was sucking her fingers and toes in my mouth, one after the other. * “Even odd numbers divide by two.” “But then the result is a fraction.” “Not necessarily. Divide one apple by two and you get two half apples, each one a complete half apple, not a fraction. An entity.” “That’s philosophy, not math.” “OK, then take us, we are one pair of lovers. But divide us by two and we become two lovers.” “That would be a miracle. Divide us by two and we become nothing.” She had a point there, I hated to admit. No, not really hated, rather... loved to admit. Miracles don’t exist. Math is after all a science.
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Three Times One Hundred Statistical Love Declarations
statistics I picked a fistful of pebbles and threw them up in the air, watching them fall. Some raking passing cars windshields, some exploding into the deep dust. Some landed back into my hand. I looked at them disinterestedly. “Statistics,” I said. “Fate,” you said. Then you took them from my hand and stuffed them inside your shirt’s pocket. “Why do you do that?” I asked, wondering. “Next time you will not be able to pick these anymore.” “So?” I insisted. “No more statistics,” and seeing my rising eyebrow you smiled impishly. “Fact,” you said. “Absolute,” you said. “Love,” you said. * “All those trillions of missed human beings - wasted ova, wasted sperm, coincidental encounters resulting in incidental individuals growing in conjunctural environments...” “My goodness, you really know all these long words?” “...multiplied by the probability of brain paths and intonational quality of consonants mixed with an enormous selection of vowels to create words and mix these into expressions... our chance of existing and meeting are zero,” I concluded triumphantly. “I love you.” I blinked, lost in this simplicity countering all my complexity. And had to admit once your hand reached a certain anatomical evidence that... gulp... we very much existed. * I pulled the first leaf, playing statistics and probabilities in my head, fearing to lose, certain to lose... and yet choosing to say... “Loves me not,” sweating my fear through constricted airways. Whence your confidence as you dared looking for the next leaf, smiling... “Loves me.” Clover, three leaves, the chances for... I rolled it knowing there is a third leaf... “Loves me not,” and I pulled it off. We did not know, the odds infinitesimal, your smile unabating. We rolled it further... “Loves me!” you shrieked your delight, pulling the fourth showing leaf and biting me to bleeding love.
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Three Times One Hundred Loving Bees
package I signed the receipt, tipped generously... poor postman, it was huge. Then dragged it into the house, there was a buzzing, no, no bomb, maybe a practical joke? There was no from, only to, my name with a smiley inside the o. I dropped it in the hallway, showered (it WAS heavy...) then picked up the scissors. It was still buzzing. I cut a hole and an angry bee zoomed by me, loaded with pollen. I cut it completely... there was a letter inside: a bed of petals, for you lover. I hope the poor bee made it back home. * I woke up early, soft music enchanting my ears. The more I opened my eyes the more the music changed to buzz. Finally it WAS buzz, the bee having decided to take a nap before flying away. I opened a window and it kissed me, then flew out. Who uses yellow lipstick, you asked, and why is your top lip swollen? you added jealously. It was a bee, I answered oozing sincerety. Yeah, you sneered, disbelieving and smearing red lipstick all over my body and biting my bottom lip, my ear, and some other very sensitive parts of my body. * We rolled inside the bed, petals sticking shamelessly to various humid parts of our bodies, my nose being just one of them. We kept swapping humidity, then petals, then humidity... sometimes sharing, sometimes fighting insanely over those wet spots each wished conquered... Aaaiii... you screamed out of sync with the music. Told you, I said, watching the swarm getting comfortable on its side of bed, noisily gossiping our secret. I guess they all arrived while we were busy making OUR noises. We buzzed, they talked, finally we reached equilibrium: they making honey, we making love. Together - making beauty. Aaaiii...
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