45

 Zion Press -- For as long as she could remember, Marissa had loved the number 45. Everyone had a favorite number and she was no exception. Most people picked 7, or 13, but Marissa loved 45. They were next to each other in order, it sounded smooth rolling off the tongue, she often won when someone told her to pick a number between one and one hundred, it was a multiple of nine, really, all in all, a good number. She played competitive soccer and it had been her number for nine years. See, there it was again! Part of 45.

Now, ever since November 9, 2016, Marissa couldn’t even say it. Her favorite number, ruined. She couldn’t say what it stood for, and she couldn’t even say the number. Soccer jerseys saved for a blanket or a other memory, gone. Her personalized tumbler, with her number? Destroyed. She barely held onto the pictures of her various teams because she wanted some time to the great friendships. But her own jersey? How could she ever like this number again?

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

It's pot easy being me

  Taking a long pull of his ever present whiskey, Skyler Steelin coughed as the alcohol burned his throat, then followed it with a drag on his cigarette. As a world traveler, he had been introduced to both at a young age, but now, appreciated them for what they gave him. He didn't realize it when he started smoking, but the cigarette gave him space (more than one person had suggested they didn't want to sit next to an ashtray) and time to think about the spin on whatever question some nosy reporter was asking. The vice also allowed him to bond with his friends half-way around the world. As the reporter, Rob, continued with his pesky questions, Skyler blew a smoke ring at him. The reporter blinked twice, but kept asking impertinent questions, like "How much of your income was actually derived by selling state secrets?" and "I understand you're not going to give me a number, but can we shoot for a percentage?" Skyler took another sip and winked at the repo...
Read more

Wait, what?

  Kelly looked at the scene in front of her, not quite horrified, a bit perplexed, but mainly shocked. Having grown up on an apple orchard, which meant picking, packing, cleaning, making cider, peeling, and generally having more knowledge about apples than any one person really needed, she determined as an adult, and as a mother, she wouldn't subject her kids to apples. It's not like she hated them, just more like they held no interest. However , she also knew that many people did like apples, and that, in general, they were a pretty good source of nourishment. They didn't provide the entire meal, but could certainly add to it. When her kids were younger, she simply avoided them, choosing to serve other fruit instead, including grapes, oranges, strawberries, watermelon, raspberries, blueberries, and cantaloupe. Whenever her children asked, she simply told them she didn't care for apples, but they were free to choose when they were older. Figuring the day of reck...
Read more

Skinnyjohn

  Zion Press -- Chaz straightened his tie, checked the mirror again, and went out for the press conference. This time, his mask matched his pocket square, and he was pleased to see the masks on everyone who had come to hear the pearls of wisdom drop from his unBotoxed lips. (He didn’t use Botox or go to a plastic surgeon. He didn’t!) This whole lockdown had been so beneficial to him. Although he didn’t plan it – that would have been plain evil, and he wasn’t bad, he was just drawn that way – it worked in his favor. Parties were fighting, the mask had become a political football and he looked like a hero to most for wearing it and clamping down on those ingrates he called constituents. He gave the bad news, shutting down the state again. Why couldn’t they just listen to him? He obviously knew best! Now he had to ground them all. No salons, no gyms, no hair dressers, no bars, no restaurants. It would hurt, he thought. People had told him, so he had at least heard the words. Good th...
Read more