Graceful and flamboyant bat designs that are sure to appeal to Goths, Deathrockers, emo scene kids, and others of a dark and whimsical nature.

I would take out "that" in order to make it a complete sentence.

t been proofreading for hours now, documents not going away no matter how hard I wish...

A day off (100 words):

That day, I remember distinctly thinking, "I should appreciate this view and this office now, because I might not always have it."

And sure enough, by five o'clock, I didn't. Some part of me undoubtedly knew what was coming.

I had dinner that evening with my father and his wife, for the first time in five years. It was the most companionable, gentle, and even-tempered visit we have ever had together.

"Just as well," I said as he suggested a full day's excursion into the city. "I'd forgotten to request the day off tomorrow." Only then did it hit home.

Bruises (100 words):

Abusive relationships don't always leave bruises. My mother made sure I knew that much; the women she brought to our house from the shelter (in the days before our house /was/ the shelter) were largely unmarked, though by no means unscathed.

But I keep expecting to see welts — big, red, angry marks — every time I look at a copy of a sacred document, whether it be the Constitution, the Declaration of Independence, the Bible, the Torah, or the Koran.

The pages remain unmarked, unbruised. And now I understand a bit of Christian iconography a little better than I wanted to.

Lovely language, Karl. And poignant vignettes.

The second one killed me. I think I type well for a corpse, though.

My humble effort:

Before I start this story, I feel that I should tell you, I'm 19th century pale, like to read in bed, and am uncoordinated. Bruising is a part of my life. But it happens every few months or so...someone inspects some part of me...trying hard to sound friendly and jokey. "Oh, Erika...where'd you get that big bruise?"

Maybe I have no idea. Maybe I don't want to say that I sneezed hard and brought my keyboard clattering on my thigh. I consider saying "You should see what the other guy looked like," but people who spend so much time being concerned have no sense of humor.

I don't know what to think when so many people picture me getting beat up.

but people who spend so much time being concerned have no sense of humor

This makes my teeth itch. In a sympathetic sort of way.

Good stuff, you guys. I love seeing what comes out of everbody's heads. Spicy.

Good stuff, all. Karl, I especially liked your 2nd.

No new topic? How about ... haunted?

Haunted

I can see him sitting in the comfy chair. He’s got his legs hanging over one arm, back propped against the opposite arm. There’s a book held open with three fingers behind the spine while the thumb and little finger anchor the pages. His right hand is running over his hair: front to back, back to front, twirls a cowlick. He doesn’t look up as I enter the room. Our family is famous for our ability to tune the world out when in the throes of a word feeding frenzy. He’s tuned me out completely, for the past 21 years.