Having just finished a very long piece, novel-length in fact, I find myself wanting to write shorter things. So I’m returning to the shortest form I know of, the six-word story. Think of it as a pallet cleanser, like an Andes mint. Please enjoy. As always, apologies to Mr. Hemingway.
One year later, still at home
Bulletproof skin. Still hurts like hell.
Hoagie or hero. No super hoagies.
Not an errand, it’s a quest.
When evil sounds reasonable, watch out.
Missing my friends. Eating cookies instead.
When silence falls, then it begins.
Footprints in snow, dare you follow?
Unfinished business. Lost love or laundry.
Joy is found in a sunny spot.
Never met, but still were friends.
Sadness fades, at that gentle purr.