My brother, Bud, an author emailed me a short story he wrote the other day. It was great, around 900 words. It got me to thinking about writing a 100 word short story, or a short, short. What a challenge and an amazing exercise to learn the use of words sparingly.
I place a rose on the crumbling tombstone, Rollin Kennedy, Drowned, 1922. Whenever I visit my parent’s graves I visit his too.
As I approach my car I notice a woman, her face a wrinkled map, rummaging her purse. “Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for my keys. Finally made it to visit my brother’s grave. It was a sad day when he died. At least for my parents.” She cackles. “We were tossing a ball. Rollin missed. I pushed him into the river.” She smiles. “Ah!my keys.”
Stunned I watch her drive away.