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May 13, 2005

Volume 1, Issue 1

Welcome to the first issue of 100 Words. Today's theme is a photo; we will all be writing our 100 words based on this. I picked this photo quite by accident. We were all supposed to come up with a random word (in a mad-lib kind of way) and then I would do a Google Image Search on that word and voila, we'd have our photo. Except when I plugged the combined words into the GIS nothing came up. So I did a text search, came up with a site in which the words second, green and pleasant were highlighted, plugged that into GIS and this is what we got. Click for bigger.

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Michele: Untitled

When Evan was done, there was remorse. It lasted long enough for him to drag her body down to the lake; to cleanse the blood from her face and her hair; to dry her hair in the sun and comb the flecks of blood from it; for him to bury her in the dirt, whispering memorized lines about dust to dust.

By the time some wandering kid carved his own initials into the stone marker months later, Evan had forgotten what he did or who Elizabeth was or why there was a silk, white slip slung over his bedroom chair.

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The Eschatologist : A Cheery Bit

Felsic lattices lanced through his igneous creation. As he turns it over in his hands, shaping it, the intruding spars relent to his will. Apropos of panegyrizing his clients, the granite molds slowly into a fitting homage while Hades, not without some irony, gifts it with temporary life. Sighing, he then casts his breath at the stone, burning upon it the name of the newly interred. Silently, he thrusts the headmarker upward through the vents, vessels, and bones of the world, until the hand of Hades wrenches open the wet earth and lovingly rests the marker with the newly called.

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Stacy : Dysfunction

"Your shadow's in the shot," she said.

He shoved his hands deeper in his pockets, moved silently to the left.

She glared at him then turned back to the camera.

He eyed her surreptitiously, wishing they'd hurry the hell up before he froze his nuts off.

She heaved a great sigh, stepped dramatically back from the tripod, flipped her hair.

He hunched his shoulders tighter, waiting for the inevitable criticism, surely his very aura was now impinging on her framing of the shot.

She glared at him again, then stepped back to the tripod.

He moved silently to the right.

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Ted: Our Honored Dead

They told me that he was acting in the highest traditions of the Corps.


I found out later that he was high as a kite in the South Carolina swamps on a three day furlough.

The still he was tending got a little too hot and a little too ripe from the dead possum.

The story the news got was that he was on a training exercise and tried to pull some innocent campers out of a fire.

Cheers to my brother, the fucking hero. Dickhead.

When Memorial Day comes, I don't know which story to tell my nephew.

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