Final Tally
The letters were crude block capitals, searing ink poked into the skin on her thighs with a sewing needle wielded by her own hand. Beginning below the groin of each leg, scrolls of names were etched in her skin like notches carved in the handle of an old western revolver: Tom, Jim, William, Hank, Fred, Matthew, John. There were a lot of Johns. And, others. Unknown men answered the wanted poster tattooed above the cross straps of her sandals: let’s fuck. The newspaper obituary did not include these graphic details, only that her motorcycle crashed in a blinding August downpour.
Photo Credit: Beret Olsen
This was amazing, unexpected and a crucible for a much larger story. Brava!
Amazing how much story is told in those 100 words! ??
Rich and raw and unexpected. This story will linger in my memory for a long time to come.
Brilliant!
This blows the door down on polite propriety! 100 word obits of realness could become the new death notices – honed to the bone, so to speak.
I love this so much! Superb and rich and haunting…
Searing! Wow.
Still reeling from this one.
Keep that ink flowing.
Superb!
WOW. Those are some vivid and powerful 100 words. Will look forward to reading more from you.
Cathy, your concise and startling portrait of this young woman brings me up short, like running into a glass door that I thought was open. Wow! Keep up the writing, Cathy. You have so much to say and have found your voice.
Very poignant yet portrays the vitality and joie de vivre of the character. I loved it.