Blame Prufrock, he’s the one who tagged me. The challenge is to write short stories at a length of exactly 55 words. He’s got some good ones over here, so why he’s tormenting a distinctly fiction-challenged writer like me, I don’t know. On the subject of tagging other bloggers–nope, not going to do that. Instead, here’s an open invitation. 55 words, Sibyl started the original tag, get yer creative juices flowing–and tell me about it.
Oh, yeah, here’s my three:
For centuries, the oldest ghost in the world lived undisturbed, in a green-slimed abandoned stepwell.
Then the tourists came and she had to move.
But the newer ghosts jostle too thick, there is no room for her. She is fading; she doesn’t know where ghosts go when they die, but she will find out soon.
“If I’d said, stay, that night?”
His stubble is grey. Age spots speckle her hands. They’ve exchanged pictures of the grandchildren, spoken of the spouses, sat in silence.
She had said “Good night,” not “Stay”; that changed everything.
It saddens him. Not that the moment came and went, but that he can’t remember it, now.
The first visit to the zoo: the boy dreams that the cages are open, that the heavy sound of paws outside and the fetid breath near his pillow are real.
The leopard doesn’t miss his forests tonight. He twitches contentedly; his yellow teeth are cleanly bared. It’s good to share dreams with a human, sometimes.