250 Words

Love Depends

Even now, looking into the mirror was a shock. The bald streak where she parted her chin-length bob. The droop of her left eyelid. Below that, the triangular shaped age spot on her cheek. Jean barely glanced at her reflection on her way to the door, just to make sure her lipstick wasn’t smeared.

At 6:40 p.m. every evening Harry crossed the wide carpeted hallway from his unit to hers, to share a half bottle of Bogle wine and watch Tonight Show reruns on Retro TV. Jean loved Johnny Carson with his rakish smile and twinkling eyes. Harry’s eyes had that same sparkle. Impish was the word.

But this evening, Jean would have to lie and say she was too tired, or that she was expecting an important call. In truth, her son Mack had once again failed to bring by her products from Hartig Drug. Jean had used her last pullup that morning. She could manage the soiled under garments and folded towels, but couldn’t risk going down to dinner, let alone sitting on a loveseat next to Harry.

When she opened the door, he could see the burning shame in her luminous gray eyes. He shushed her as he handed a plastic bag over his walker, watching her cheeks blush like a young girl when she peeked inside.

“C’mon Missy, it’s a Men’s medium, but surely you can handle that.” Laugh or cry? She saw the Carson twinkle in his eyes and turned to get the wine.

Avigayle Young 2025

Leo

“I died in a fire,” Leo said wistfully.

Leo was 2 years old. He could barely string the words ‘wanna’ and ‘milky’ together, let alone complex sentences.

My gasp was so epic that I inhaled ash from the fire I was building at the cabin, triggering a massive sneezing fit. I’d just been thinking this would be Leo’s first time even seeing a fire.

He sat looking glum while I recovered my voice. I squatted to his level.

“Hey buddy. What’s up?”

“I died,” he said tearfully. “I want Doortje. She loves tulips.”

Despite the fire, the room felt icy cold.

No lie, I was freaked out. It would take months of googling to discover that ‘Doortje’ was a Dutch girl’s name. He’d pronounced it perfectly, with a child’s lisp. There was no way he could have heard these things before. We’d banned TV.

Over the next months, Leo would sometimes grow sad and say something about dying and Doortje. My wife thought it was just a morbid imaginary friend. Eventually he stopped as new memories crowded in: Ryan’s red bike, the cat that hissed, water slides.  

When Leo was older I casually asked what he thought about fire, and he said he hated smoke. I asked about Doortje, and he didn’t know what I was talking about.

Now, he’s an indifferent, uncommunicative 14-year-old. My wife put a vase of red tulips on the table this morning. I saw him reach and touch a petal, his lips silently mouthing ‘Doortje’.

Avigayle Young 2025

A Shocking Death

Hidden in the dark basement stairway, Molly watched through the cracked-open door as the detective stepped into the bathroom opposite her. He hit record on his phone.

“Victim in bathtub. Head above water. Female. Mid-50s – possibly older. No signs of trauma.” He turned to the officer standing by the toilet. “Is that … is that a radio?”

The officer, nearing retirement, tsked. “A cassette player. It was up there.” He pointed to the shelf above the tub. “Looks like it took out a few candles when it fell off.”

The detective let out an involuntary snort and continued his dictation. “Cassette player in water. Still plugged into outlet. Apparent cause of death - electrocution.”

“Anyone else in the house?” he asked.

The officer shook his head. “Nope. She lived alone and all doors were bolted from the inside. Her book club ladies called us when she didn’t show.”

The detective resumed recording. “Accidental.”

Behind the door, Molly contemplated her next moves. Rubbing the detective’s shin perhaps, while purring. She might accept some head skritches. Then, a casual stroll out the open door.

Finally, she’d reach the birds at the feeder that had long been denied to her. This time her female captor wouldn’t run after to haul her back inside. When Molly had leapt to the bathroom floor last night, batting one last candle for good measure, the captor was motionless on her back, just like the mouse Molly had once caught behind the refrigerator. She was free at last.  

Avigayle Young 20225

Shrouded

The Cardinale in Pectore had originally thought to send the mother and baby to Egypt, where the Christ child had hidden, but the Consulente had insisted that the great state of Texas in America was the better choice. A town called Waco - dry and vast and easy for a small family of three to go unnoticed.

Rising from his wheelchair, the cardinale struggled to catch one last glimpse of the baby clutched in his mother’s arms. As usual, Aeroporto di Torino was complete chaos. But there she was, about to pass through the metal detector!

She glanced back at the prelate, a wave of dark hair shadowing her face. He remembered when she first came as a novice nun, so young and pure, eyes downcast, soft lips barely touching his ring. Now, she met his gaze coolly before turning to disappear through the metal arch. Her husband, the doltish seminarian they had found for her, followed dutifully behind.  

He groaned as he maneuvered back into his chair, wishing for a cigarette. His stiff black cassock was too warm for April and he would never live to see the precious child grow up. He had been able to look deeply into the babe’s unfathomable brown eyes and that was enough.

The job was done. The shroud had been returned to the darkness of its bulletproof case. The laboratory burned. The arrogant scientist silenced.  He mouthed silently the words that had always filled his heart with wonder: “Eccolo, He is born.”  Rinascere.

Avigayle Young 2025