It’s not like I’m obsessed. I just like watching her. I look at her a lot—but that’s not a crime. It’s not hurting anyone—it’s not like I’m a weirdo. I work. I pay taxes. I buy Girl Scout cookies.

When I go out, I watch people, and honestly, I prefer being by myself; observing, and listening in on other people’s conversations. They’re so creepy and dishonest. Only saying things they think the other person wants to hear. They’re fakers.

But me, I’m sincere and extremely excited as I take a peek. I know she knows I’m watching. She flaunts her wet, naked body—she looks straight at me. If only my goldfish could talk, it would be perfect.

The teddy bear, like Switzerland, refused to take sides, it’s shoe-button eyes stared straight ahead with complete neutrality.

“It’s mine!” the boy wailed in vain.

“Noooo…let go! the girl screamed.

The 3-year-old twins were in a heated tug-a-war. The stuffed bear had become the single-minded object of their affection. At three, the little boy didn’t have the natural physical advantage that he would eventually develop. So for now, his sister, with pure tenacity, was kicking the crap out of him and winning the battle.

The boy gamely hung on to one fuzzy arm, as the girl, pulled him in twisting and flopping like a thirty-pound tuna. In desperation, the boy launched himself forward, sending everyone tumbling across the floor and into the base of the sofa with a thump.

From the kitchen, an ignored voice of authority called out, “Play nice!—You kids stop fighting or you’ll both be in timeout.”

On the floor, the struggle continued unabated with the toddlers wrestling for control. Suddenly the boy let out a shriek and screamed, “Sissy bit me!”

Mom rushed in and stood over the twins. The boy was laying on the floor with tears rolling down his cheeks.

His sister was sitting beside him. She clutched the teddy bear and looked up through her watery brown eyes and said “I didn’t.”

Picking up her son, she rocked him and kissed the rising red welt on his shoulder trying to make it all better. Mom then narrowed her eyes at the little girl, and scolded, “We don’t bite.”

***

With blood still glistening on its fangs, the spider thought, ‘but we do’, and scurried back to its babies under the sofa.

He was stooped with age. His dark eyes fit a familiar face. Someone from my childhood?

I caught his glance, we nodded… an old friend perhaps.

“Dinner’s ready,” a nurse says touching my shoulder. 

“May invite someone,” I ask.

”Of course, but who?” she wonders.

“Over there by that nurse,” I point. 

She looks…then squeezes my hand and tells me, “Sweetie, those are our reflections in the mirrored wall.” 

My confusion happens a lot they tell me. Memories slip away, mercifully forgotten before they’re missed. But for now, in this singular moment, I think, that at least in my heart—I still remember me.

(101words.org)

A five-year-old boy, wearing clothes too small—sits on a chair fidgeting, clutching a paper sack containing everything he owns.

With a mighty whoosh, a billowing cape fills the doorway. A superhero enters and a social worker shows him the child’s file…filled with documented betrayals and innocence lost.

Walking over to the chair, he knelt and put his hands on the boy’s shoulders. With a steely resolve he promised, “Son, no one will hurt you again. I’m your dad now.” Then he welcomed him into his arms with a kiss and a hug.

“Let’s go meet your mom, son—she’s a super woman,” he said with a wink. “She’s baking you some cookies.”

This is how I had always dreamed of finding a mom and dad.
Turns out, this time, it wasn’t just a dream.

(101words.org)

Fluffing his feathers as he took off, flakes swirled, soaring upward. His wings, following this well-traveled path, cut through the air with long, steady strokes.

Banking right, he flew due south, racing the gathering storm. Clusters of icy snowflakes slowed his pace.

He scanned the snow-patched ground, and there, in the distance, a familiar view.

Beyond the blue ribbon of river, just over the treetops…he was almost there.

Crouched beneath the trees, a camouflaged man heard a honking. A lone gander approached—tracking it, he sprang up, aimed and fired a ten-shot burst with his SLR.

It was beautiful.

(101words.org)