a blank white page and a swelling rage

This was not what I was planning on writing about today.. whatever. I’ll write the important stuff later, I guess.

Anyway. Do you know what’s awesome? Six word stories. They’re inspired by (naturally) Ernest Hemingway, who labeled his six word story as the best thing he ever wrote. He actually wrote it when his colleagues bet him he couldn’t. His story was “For sale: baby shoes, never used”.

I’ve been slightly obsessed with them for a little over a year now. I think they can be incredibly powerful. I was just reading some of them that are related to love, and I thought I’d try my hand at them:

He said no. Couldn’t blame him.

Too afraid; didn’t try. She won.

Came out in car. Long ride.

Took hands off wheel. Nobody died.

If you want to read more, there’s a collection of them here.

The ghost of herself still lingered there. She could see it; she could feel what she once was. Even then, she had been tired, broken down and lost. But every morning, she would get up. She’d sit on the edge of the bed, legs crossed and body folded into itself, trying to convince herself that today would be better (damn it!). She’d leave her bed unmade. When you felt like she did, you needed some concrete proof that you existed, that you had left some obscure impression on the world. Every morning, she would get up, and that’s how she had changed. She turned her head away from the ghost, burying her face in her pillow and admitting her defeat for the day.