Short Story

Yesterday I received a rather rambunctious guest at home. It was unexpected. I whined and complained, because in the midst of all this chaos, I didn’t want to serve a new person.

Five year old Pierre sits on his front porch, holding a fresh glass of warm milk. Acres of expansive and lush green farmland lay sprawled in front of him.

The mosaic corridors of our building were smooth from being used for many centuries. Eight five. That’s eighty five years.

I had been preparing for this, for ages. I spent hours watching videos about writing the right cover letter.