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100 words long. Not a word more, not a word less.
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New Year’s 2000 by William R Soldan
I’ve this habit: going to parties, leaving when the liquor’s gone. Walking, usually clear across town. Somewhere someone’s got something going on.
North Side to South Side—through the heart. Ball’s dropped and a lotta people freaking about planes falling from the sky. Y2K. Computers crashing. Chaos.
Nights like this, hard to tell fireworks from gunshots. One beer, overflowed in the cold. Breath like smoke, a frosted sleeve.
This guy’s got a bunker for the end times. Booze to last at least until he learns. Still, halfway, I’m ducking at sounds, looking up, waiting for it to all come down.
The SHORT TALE 100 – SEPTEMBER 2016