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.