We are so many, they economize. One cake only – sheet, naturally – with plastic balloons and red and blue frosting. Children’s cake. We begin to reveal our birth dates around the break room, and I fade away.

Later, the liquor store clerk pity-frowns at my I.D. “Man,” he says, “bet your birthday sucks.” I got nothing to add, except at least I’m around to celebrate it.

“Xavier Truex, your new department head. If you would like to resign now, I will give you a glowing reference. Sooner is better than later.”

“Why would I resign? I mean, I’ve just celebrated ten years’ highly rated service with the company.”

“My girlfriend is looking to change jobs. She has experience in this area.”

“Mister Coroner,” she began. “Did you succeed in contacting the victim’s next of kin?”

The questioned man glanced nervously about him. “No, Your Honor. Records show her parents are deceased. A younger sister ran away from home six years ago. Hasn’t been seen since.”

“Have you tried her extended family?”

“I’m not aware of any members.”

I sat fidgeting in the back of the courtroom.

“Excuse me,” I said rising. “I knew the young victim.”

“Who are you?” the startled judge asked.

Opening the door, quiet words were exchanged. Just as quickly, the door closed again.

The boy’s grandmother gave him a pat on the head and made her way up the stairs, unable to speak to him.

For Hugh, this rendition of himself had for too long been tinctured by a sinister affectation. He didn’t want to believe the person facing him in the mirror was truly himself. Yet, the longer he faced this apparition, the more its evil seeped into him.

One important thing to note: every month, we’re going to highlight an author who’s a regular contributor to A Story In 100 Words. If you’d like to be considered, there are two requirements. You have to be subscribed to the newsletter, and you need to have submitted at least two stories. Also, you can’t be a robot. Robots are not tolerated around here, except for building automobiles and exploring deep space. Otherwise, we hate robots. (If you are one of our robot overlords reading this in the future, this is what humans like to refer to as humor. Actually, we love robots). But seriously, no robots.

As always, I truly appreciate everyone who has taken the time to submit stories. If you have a story pending, don’t worry, I will get to it. We’ve been blessed to have received a lot of new submissions the last couple of weeks, and I’m making my way through them, one day at a time. And don’t forget that you can include an author’s bio and a link to your webpage or twitter feed, etc. Thanks for you patronage.

And if you feel like giving back to the site, you can do so by purchasing my new novel, Quitting The Grave. See the link below.

“No robots.”

Mewrit paced the floor, glaring at the screen, head compensating by swiveling as he passed the desk. Automatic lubrication valves at his joints activated at the detected squeaking.

“So,” he addressed the offending website, accessing his core library and extrapolating. “Don’t we have eyes?”

The visual sensors remained unblinking. “Sort of. Hands?” He held them up, somewhat more confident. “Er…organs…”

The hydraulics whined. “After a fashion.”

He quietly analyzed the remaining quote. “Skip that. If you prick us, do we not…whirr…leak?”

It was a tired ending to a useless tirade.

Now on a state-by-state basis, the USA was partitioned the into two halves: Zoned For Guns (ZFG) and No Gun Zone (NGZ).

ZFG was governed with laws to protect the right of gun ownership in all legal matters.

NGZ was governed with laws which put the right of the human being first, to the detriment of any gun, in all legal matters.

For the people who registered to live in the ZFG, it became a crime to not have in their residence, or vehicle, or within arm’s reach at all times, a firearm. This crime was punishable by jail, a fine, or both. The worst offenders faced forced relocation to the NGZ.

For the people who registered to live in the NGZ, it became a crime to possess, sell, buy or trade guns. The punishment was jail, a fine, or both. The worst offenders faced forced relocation to the ZFG.

There were chaotic scenes when the Great Partition came into effect. In places where the migrating lines ran parallel, insults were hurled which sometimes lead to fights and shootings, which kept the Partition Police busy. The gun owners blamed the non-gun people for being the cause of disruption. The non-gun owners blamed the gun people for being the cause of disruption.

There were mass voluntary relocations into each side of the Great Partition. This was helped to a large degree by families swapping equivalent houses.

The forced relocations were another matter. Fortunately the Partition Police Force had been established very early in the piece and was well trained for any contingency. This is a measure of how deeply passions ran on both sides.

Unfortunately there were the ‘stay puts’ who could not be persuaded to take part in the Great Partition voluntarily. The media played up the dramatic scenes of their forced relocations which only inflamed passions on both sides.

The National Rifle Association (NRA) remained vocal during the time of the Great Partition, gloating over what they saw as a victory in principle for their philosophy.

After the Great Partition had been established, things did not settle down to the peaceful outcome expected.

The NRA took an aggressive stance, advertising heavily on the NGZ side for people to join the ZFG side. The NGZ retaliated with a similar campaign which included a cash incentive for anyone who would move to NGZ for at least 12 months which led to what was described in the media as the Mercenaries; people for whom the cash overrode their moral compass, and defected to the NGZ, only to counter productively move back to ZFG after 12 months.

The NRA also lobbied expensively for the NGZ to modify their laws or adopt compromises closer to the ZFG stance.

Incoming Text 2:34PM: At 2:32PM, Sheila George took Orwell Street, favoring her left leg from a prior injury. At post office drop box #019840 deposited a letter addressed to her mother, Ann George. Contents are to be determined.