Legend has it that Hemmingway was in a bar (where else, amirite?) and he was bet that he couldn't make a short story with only ten words. His retort was that he could do it in six. A few seconds and ten bucks on the table later, he said to his drinking companion "For Sale: Baby's shoes. Never worn."
Which just gets creepier and more heartbreaking the more you think about it.
So this week on Short Story Sunday, I try my hand at a super short story. I hope you don't hate it. I hope it's not too much of a tease. I hope no one ever learns how long I spent trying to make it.
Welcome to Short Story Sunday: Hemingway edition!
The coffee’s cold.
The cake is old. It doesn’t
matter. She said yes!
Also, Dallas, if you're still reading my tripe, this one's for you. I finally managed to write something that's not depressing! Huzzah!
I read all your tripe, haha, also, you'll laugh when you read my post about Cuba as I mention Hemingway several times. Also, while there's nothing wrong with depressing reading, there is something to be said for variety :)
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