Archives for posts with tag: Fiction 101

(Word Count: 101)

Melissa wanted us to “eat our truth” at Wednesday’s potluck supper club.

Darlene brought hand-milled oat bread, churned butter and garden-grown kumquat jam. Self taught skills acquired as a new wife because her mother was never around.

Annie brought pints of butter pecan, chain brand ice cream. Growing up poor, she walked two miles to sample the thirty-one flavors. Free birthday cone every year.

I brought soup: oil slicked dishwater combined with a crumbling granola bar found at the bottom of my bag, yesterday’s coffee grounds and tears of exhaustion sprinkled throughout. Who knew my truth tasted so much like Mom’s?

(Word count: 100)

He shuffled past my bumper. The shopping bag handles bloodied his swollen fingers, an entire life in plastic at the ends of his sleeves.

I first saw him under the overpass at Sanjon two weeks ago. Backpack on clearance gave me the idea.

“Excuse me? This is for you.” I held out my gift. Same bag as mine: pockets for iPhone, sunglasses. Waited for a smile.

“Why?” he stuttered.

My head swam. Who was I? Savior? No. Shithead.

“Please. For you.”

He took the bag, managed a smile that hurt him to make.

“What can I do for you?” he said.