Wednesday, August 03, 2005

100 word epic

The Sunday sun gleamed on the corridor of his late father’s three-room apartment. Richard, sloppily slurping his lunch of miso, dropped his chopsticks when he spotted her coming out of her apartment, bags in tow. Through his grilled enclosure, he saw her walk away, from her life, from his. In ten years, only their eyes met except for that rainy night. Wet, he brought her home and broke their silence. And then she left, never said anything. Today, her eyes did not meet his and he looked down to see his bowl of miso and chopsticks, broken like his heart.