mostly haikus by nick krefting

hundred word wednesdays

In Hundred Word Wednesdays on September 15, 2010 at 12:07 pm

In order to keep my aging mind active, and to have some fun, I’m going to be writing little 95- to 100-word stories every week. This is partly because I have all sorts of trouble writing longer things. Also partly because I like writing, and I’m not as good at it as I’d like to be.

You will read them, because they are short. I will be able to write them, because they are short.  The first story is below, and it is short. It is written from the perspective of a little kid who, I guess, has a really good vocabulary. Enjoy.

The glass crashed onto the tile floor, and immediately, Guillaume felt the urge to cry. This urge had rarely come on so strong.  His parents’ advice had always struck him as reasonable, but then again, it had never so literally applied to his precise situation. Trying to ignore the water welling up and clouding his vision, he idly wondered if there was some innate quality to milk that, when spilt, caused people to cry. During this thought, he lost focus and negligently let a single tear drip onto the floor and mix with the milk, and he felt shame.

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  1. Unasked for blog suggestion:

    It would be fun if you picked a topic (or a saying as above) and asked your readers to do 100 word stories about them as well.

  2. Reading this incited a really strong memory of when I was in first grade. Being a runty child, my only means of reaching the top shelf of the fridge was by pushing a very heavy chair over, or by climbing the lower shelves. So on one particular morning, I decided to climb. But the gallon of milk was pretty much full – putting it at roughly 25% of my body weight – and so when I eased it off the shelf, it was like my my arm was attached to an anvil. It pulled me down, exploding on impact. I was sobbing by the time my mother found me (sitting hopelessly in a whole-milk bath) because the ride down had been scary, but also because I knew the worst was yet to come. Needless to say, my mother and I did not part ways on good terms that morning. However, amid the ordeal, I’d forgotten my lunchbox so my mom had to drop it off later in the day…and in it was a note that read, “Dear Emily, I’m sorry I yelled at you for spilling the milk this morning. Love, Mommy.”

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