This week I decided to write a very short story where I used 99-words. No more, no less.
I stood every night on the edge of the precipice. My tears had stopped flowing, but the valley hadn’t stopped burning. Everything I’d known was gone. Only my father heeded the signs and prepared our escape. Unfortunately, he could only take my baby brother and sisters. He sent mother and me to the mountain, promising to return. Mother never left the cave but kept our fire going. I caught fish and lugged our water from the icy stream. She insisted we were the only ones alive, but I believed. Tonight, my dreams were answered as my father’s balloon appeared.