He begins the search casually, with a measure of optimism, fully expecting it won’t be difficult to find, but with every crossed-out possibility his equanimity lessens, as he goes from pocket to pocket in all his jackets, even jackets that haven’t been worn in years just to be sure, and finally to the pockets of his man-purse–the one she always mocked him for–until he’s all out of pockets, and then it’s to his Range Rover, where he looks methodically from back to front so that he’s really beginning to panic because all he finds are stale fries and dog hair and a few drops of blood, which are all attributable to her and he needs to clean up soon, but there’ll be no point in cleaning if he can’t find it, and now he begins retracing every stop of the last six hours, first to the ATM that is supposed to be his alibi, but there’s nothing in the parking lot, and then to the dumpster in the industrial park that was a really stupid place to put her bag but it’s too late now, and in any case, it isn’t there either and now he’s driving to the waterfront and he’s nervous because it seems like those headlights in the rearview mirror are following him despite his driving so slow and steady because it would be really bad if he gets pulled over when he hasn’t washed the blood and he’s still wearing the same clothes and the car is speeding up and its lights are flashing and oh my God it’s the cops, so he thinks about speeding up too but that never works and he best play it cool and he’s just about to ask what seems to be the problem officer when the cop demands to know why there’s a handgun on the top of his car.

Today’s story is a deviation from the 100 word format. Instead, as you probably already noticed, this is a one sentence story, a concept first introduced to me by Matthew Bennardo. It turns out they are quite addictive, and the thrill comes in trying to make them as long as possible before they collapse in upon themselves, much like a house of cards (I was going to say a game of Jenga, but the analogy doesn’t really work.

I stumble down the street.

The man was dead.


The Daily Theme from Figment for April 3, 2012

Choose a significant incident in your life. The incident should be discreet, with a beginning, middle, and end (a date, a car accident, a major embarrassment). Tell the story of the incident by moving between two points of view–your perspective at the time of the incident and your perspective now. How are these two different? How does shifting between them affect the telling? Try to use these shifts in POV to show how your feelings about the event have changed over time.

Mr. Brand walked into the fast food joint just as it was closing. He could tell by the cashier’s defiant look they were going to exchange words.

“I know who you fucking are. It’s says Tony Brand on that stupid name tag they make you wear. It’s a fucking disgrace to your grandfather’s name.”

For today, revisit that story, but now set it during a different time of day and in a different type of restaurant. How does the change in time and place affect your telling?

They found her body–tattered, ripped open at the seams with the fluff bleeding out–in the middle of the sidewalk. The authorities labeled it accidental murder; she was the victim of circumstance.

Neither of the authorities wanted to hear about it. They refused to own the fact their institutional negligence had allowed Mrs. Cassidy to be chewed to death by Chocolate, the cocker spaniel. Her parents were always skirting the blame.