| A Penny a Word | |
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I can't take credit for inventing this form; I have seen it on other sites under the unpleasant name of "drabble," along with its 50-word cousin known as "dribble." I don't care to think of my work as dribble or drabble (no offense, Margaret), and that's why I've given this genre my own label. |
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Meredy Amyx |
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If
these stories were bought for a penny a word, each of them would
cost exactly a dollar.
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Red |
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| In her fiftieth year, Hannah suddenly liked red. | |
| Always she had favored placid blue, accommodating green. Red was too vibrant and assertive for reticent Hannah. But now its cardinality spoke to her, as if her time had come to live. | |
| This occurrence coincided with her widowhood. | |
| Before the funeral, Hannah had her first manicure. "Indulge yourself, Mother," urged Sadie. For nail color she chose Certainly Crimson. And so began the changes. | |
| The pastor's wife embraced Hannah with eyes averted. | |
| Two weeks later, the burgundy wool dress; in six months, the scarlet Ferrari convertible. | |
| Frowns had lost their power over Hannah. | |
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Waiting |
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| Cynthia had perfected the art of waiting. In the restaurant she sustained an expectant air, gazed around on the verge of smiling, stretched a little to glimpse her friend's approach. | |
| "Would you like to go ahead and order, miss?" | |
| A sigh, a sweeping glance. No sign of him. She checked her watch. | |
| "May as well. I guess he's late." | |
| She felt their pitying looks: stood up, poor thing. Cynthia smiled inside. Much nicer, she thought, less lonesome. Much better than always having to say yes to "Just one for dinner, miss?" | |
| "Table for two, please." | |
| Maybe someday he would come. | |
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Peaches |
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| Alf halted his grocery cart with a jolt. Peaches were in season. In season, tawny, blushing pink. Ah, to taste another luscious peach. | |
| Alf studied the few items in his cart. What could he put back? Maybe the canned peas. | |
| The peach was heavy with ripeness. Its summer fragrance awakened a flood of gustatory memories. Bursting the velvety skin, sinking into tender, yielding golden flesh. The surge of sweet, sweet juice. | |
| The stone at the center, bitter death at its core. | |
| Better not to get all that started again. | |
| Alf put down the peach and picked up an apple. | |
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Famous |
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| "This cornbread is fabulous," said the guest at the church picnic. "Who made it?" | |
| "Tillie Blake, right over there." The woman nodded toward a stout, faded blonde in a blue calico dress who was pouring coffee. | |
| "Best I ever tasted!" declared the guest. | |
| "The cornbread?" said a man. "That's Tillie's. Everybody's crazy about it." | |
| "They love your cornbread, Tillie," someone called out. Tillie looked up and smiled. Others chimed in: "Great as usual!" "Best ever!" | |
| "Darlin', you're the most famous woman at this picnic," said Edgar Blake. | |
| Tillie beamed. She had always wanted to be famous when she grew up. | |
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Wet |
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| Everything I do involves something wet. | |
| I change him, nurse him, bathe him. He drools, he cries, he burps. Wet, always wet. | |
| How I yearned for a career with some juice in it. Years of study, arcane subject, master's thesis—couldn't wait to end it and get on with life. | |
| The truth about life is that life is wet. | |
| When he sleeps, I wash the dishes, laundry, floor. With luck I get to wash myself. Then I boil potatoes, scrub vegetables, rinse chicken. Pour water, milk, coffee, formula. | |
| Lord, send me a dissertation dry enough to stop my raining tears. | |
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Late |
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| Exhausted from working late, Sandy overslept and got up groggy. She burnt herself with the curling iron and dropped it reflexively. It fell on her glasses, popping out a lens. She couldn't find the repair kit, so she drove to work without glasses and missed her exit. | |
| Rushing onto the elevator, she fumbled her coffee. The woman she splashed swore at her, and Sandy burst into tears. The nice man who comforted her turned out to be a VP. They got married and lived happily ever after. | |
| What if Sandy's repair kit had been in the drawer where it belonged? | |
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Favorites |
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| Crystal awoke at 11:11, her favorite time. Great start for a great day! | |
| She put on her favorite purple outfit and amethyst earrings and took off to meet Eric at the Nautilus. Favorite boyfriend, favorite restaurant. What could go wrong? | |
| She ordered the lobster salad. Over champagne, Eric proposed. She said yes. | |
| Everything was perfect in Crystal's life! Outside on the street, Crystal danced in jubilation. The strap of her favorite shoe broke, and she stumbled off the curb just in time to be crushed by her favorite bus, the number eleven. | |
| Too bad. This had been her favorite lifetime. | |
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Halberd* |
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| A suit of armor stood in Sir William's library, halberd honed and battle-ready, just as it had for six centuries. | |
| "Can I touch it?" The young woman set her champagne glass on the ivory-inlaid table. | |
| Sir William released the shaft of the weapon from the steel gauntlet and tilted its glinting blade toward his companion of the evening. She shrieked playfully, reaching to test its edge. Sir William's hand twitched, and blood spurted from her creamy fingertip. She recoiled with a cry and sucked her finger. | |
| "I'd forgotten how easily you people bleed," said Sir William, "but the halberd remembers." | |
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| *halberd: A weapon of the 15th and 16th centuries having an axlike blade and a steel spike mounted on the end of a long shaft. |
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Toilet |
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| No one could be sentimental about a toilet, thought Virgil. They'll think I'm nuts. | |
| It was weird enough to hang onto Grandma's claw-footed bathtub. What happy hours he'd spent in that tub with his wooden fleet, the carved sailors, the floating Ivory. How Grandma had scrubbed his hair, scoured his neck! | |
| He'd let the parlor furniture go without a pang. The spooled mahogany bedstead. The oak dining table. But not the bathtub! | |
| And the toilet? There she had sat, telling him stories. | |
| Virgil was a grown man, a successful attorney. He didn't have to explain. | |
| "The toilet stays," he said. | |
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Loofah |
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| Madeline thinks she's the only person who was ever courted with a loofah. | |
| Across a continent he mailed her things: a tea bag. A pocket knife. A bay leaf. | |
| And letters. Oh, the letters. He was quirky, funny, sweet. He lavished words on her, told her stories, confessed secrets. She felt herself falling. | |
| Then came the padded envelope containing a webby, flat organic cylinder. "I grow one weird plant a year. Just wanted to see how loofah squashes dry into sponges." Madeline was charmed out of her wits. | |
| She still has the loofah. Someday she'll show it to their grandchildren. | |
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Car |
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| It was beautiful, the car—the most beautiful thing he owned. A rich, iridescent emerald, molded in sleek aerodynamic lines. Beautiful—and powerful. Its deep, leonine purr thrilled him beyond anything. And how it roared when Simon revved the engine! He felt the vibration to his very core. He and the car were as one. | |
| Simon drove the car all over the world, the wind singing through his hair, motion filling his mind, freedom raging in his soul. He drove it across the floor, up the wall, under the bed. | |
| He drove it until his mother called him for dinner. | |
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Rabbit |
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| Thomas saw the rabbit whenever he went to the bathroom, the only quiet place in the house. Viewed from where he sat, the abstract pattern in one floor tile clearly resembled a rabbit looking back at him with sympathetic curiosity. |  |
| At first he just stared at the rabbit while he thought about things. Later on he gave it a name: "Bunnaly." | |
| "Who are you talking to in there?" demanded Jane from outside the door. | |
| "No one," he said, feeling like a traitor. | |
| When Thomas finally moved out, he took the rabbit tile with him, but it was never the same. | |
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Cat |
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| Out of nowhere the cat showed up and sauntered into the cabin as if he belonged there. | |
| "I don't want a cat," Melanie told him. Melanie had built the cabin in the woods for herself. "I came here to be alone." | |
| The cat pretended to be deaf. He rubbed her ankles and pestered her for food. He napped on her braided rug. Soon enough he brazenly slept on her bed. He insisted on being let out and then back in again. | |
| In time Melanie got used to him. He knew she would. A benign annoying presence is a genuine blessing. | |
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Tennis Racquet |
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| Sheldon ordered the gear online using an account that Liz didn't know about: trim shorts and tee, $79; cool footwear, $109; powerhouse racquet, $209. Rush delivery, $84.92. Palms sweating, he called the pro shop and made a date with Caitlin. | |
| He'd show that little gal what kind of juice he still had in him, you bet. That swinging blond ponytail, those muscular thighs: he felt the juice surge. | |
| Sheldon donned the outfit. Set the timer on his camera. Posed, grinning. | |
| Oh, dear. | |
| Stuffed it in a Goodwill bag, tennis racquet and all. | |
| Homeless guys could probably use a good workout. | |
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Salt (1) |
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| I know you're shocked that I broke up with Billy. He was so sweet, wasn't he? | |
| You remember how prettily he romanced me—the April-scented pillowcases, the dinner candles even with macaroni and cheese. The way he fussed over me with chicken soup when I was sick. I think you envied all those earnest Hallmark sentiments, a bouquet on paper for every conceivable occasion. So sweet! I can't deny it. | |
| You don't even like Vic, I can tell. No cards, no fingertip towels, no fabric softener. He's got an edge. He's no cupcake, he's Doritos. | |
| You prefer sugar? Billy's available. | |
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