100 Words - Afterlife

Late, AGAIN. This is why I'm not President. I bet Obama is never late. What a jerk, making me look bad like that.

I don't have that much of an excuse except that one of my best friends came in from out of town and threw me a surprise birthday party, and then my sister showed up the next day, and by the time I recovered from all of that there were chores to be done and next thing I know my pillow came up and hit me in the face and was all, "I WANT SOME ATTENTION!".  I had to oblige.

Anyway, can we just call it "fashionably late" and move on?

After reading through all the 100 Word entries it is clear that "rotten" is universally associated with dead people, souls, and food gone bad. My pick of the week is Tinfoil Magnolia's piece. I could see it so clearly.


The coffee maker struggles. Sputtering and wheezing it slowly spits out the steaming black elixir. She waits, cup in hand, shoulders slumped. Regrets are strong, like the coffee.

She looks around the kitchen. Sunlight floods through the back windows, the tomatoes in the basket are rotten, the garbage already stinks. She feels humiliated and defeated, like the tomatoes. Past the shiny, pretty part of life. The young, ripe flesh decaying a little each day until nothing desirable remains. So much to give, yet left to waste away. Then, an unceremonious landing in the garbage.

“Is there coffee?”

She cringes.

That reminds me.  Though I'm loose on the rules (who the heck do I think I am?), technically all pieces are supposed to be exactly 100 words (not including title).  I don't count, I leave that up to you, but I could just tell that a few pieces coming in were well under 100. I mean, I'm not going to call the word police or show up at your door with a warrant looking for the two dozen or so missing words, but I don't feel it's fair to pick a piece that's far off the mark.

The new word is again from The Children's Book by A.S. Byatt.