ST100: Oblate by Clyde Liffey

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Welcome to The SHORT TALE 100

100 words long. Not a word more, not a word less.



Oblate by Clyde Liffey

I was born with an oblate head thrust from the womb to the bottom of the room.  Father picked me up, fondled my head tentatively.  It was too late to reshape:  I was too advanced or, more likely, too stubborn.  Mother groaned.  They couldn’t afford the surgery to ablate a decent crown or chin on me.  An imperfect sphere, structurally unfit to mix with my peers, I hankered for monkish life.  Father whimpered as I performed the final ablutions to join the order.  Late that night I shivered on a stone bench, already a failure, gazing at cold distant bodies.

The SHORT TALE 100 – AUGUST 2016

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