wee fiction

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One of the more curious trends these days is called something along the lines of very short fiction. It reduces a story down to only a couple hundred words, maybe between 150 and 250. It’s a paragraph basically meant to encompass a story. I think it a fine thing, and fun. So, I’m going to have a regular go at it. Things I send off don’t get posted on this website, so I don’t have any expectation other than my own curious enjoyment of writing with this stuff.

So here you go, my first “very short fiction” post:

Where do I begin?
With the accident? With the beautiful sunrise? With that delectable chicken romanov and strawberry tart I had for dessert?

Or maybe I should go ahead and start with the apocalypse. That seems to be what everyone else is talking about.

It didn’t go as expected. I should rephrase that. No one really expected it to begin with, so it couldn’t have gone as expected.

It didn’t go like people would have expected it, if they had expected it, which of course would have prevented it to begin with.

This is why I would rather talk about the chicken. It was very tasty, perfectly cooked, only the slightest taste of lemon to highlight the flavor. I hate it when there are too many spices, overwhelming the taste. Why make chicken or steak if you are going to drown it in spices?

Oh. The apocalypse, that’s right.

I have some friends, well had some friends, who talked about these kinds of things. I was never convinced. Turns out they were wrong, it wasn’t like what they said, it wasn’t like what was in the books. More beautiful, much more beautiful. Except for the fire, of course, and the screams.

Somehow even those became like a dance, a terrible dance at times.

They were wrong in the details. Only they were right enough about the reality of it.

Ah, well. Good riddance. No one wants to hear “I told you so.”

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