After coastal waters stretched into our homes, our lives, our histories, days stretched into weeks. Mourning washed over us in hot waves of stillness, silence, and salt.
The twenty-six years since could have been twenty-four hours. Flooded memories know nothing of time.
Image credit: Post & Courier, 9/23/1989, File/Wade Spees/Staff
Like most teenagers today, Dylan breathed in the world through carefully selected Google search results, slanted news blogs, violent video games, and ignorant Twitter rants. Knowing nothing but a web of anger, that 19-year-old boy drove to Charleston with virtual hate in his heart. And real bullets in his gun.
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This piece was part of a creative writing challenge to write a complete story in 50 words or less.
Mema was just 22 when her dad died. The two were close; quite possibly, she was the favorite of his four children.
As my granddad, who we call Pepa, drove her home from the funeral, he warned, “You know, everything you see is going to make you think of him.” To which Mema responded, “You’re right; it will. And everything will be a beautiful memory.”
That’s the story as Pepa retold it to my sister and me 60 years later, as we drove him home from a new funeral. Now he was the one left with all the beautiful memories.
Infinitesitale: An extremely small story. 100 words or less. This was a second attempt.
Forever had always seemed impossible. But as they tore away from the chapel, high on champagne and confectioner’s sugar, he began to believe they could actually make it.
He admired her from the passenger seat, wishing it hadn’t taken him this long to figure it out. So many infidelities. So many lies. So much lost time.
A sudden acceleration followed by a sharp turn shocked him back to the present.
Crashing through the guard rail on the bridge, he looked at her with panic-stricken eyes: “Forever?” they pleaded.
Hers narrowed in response: “‘Til death do us part.”
Infinitesitale: An extremely small story. 100 words or less. This was a first attempt.
writeamuck 