Jack forgot his hat. His gloves. His coat, too. Down the street to where he thought Betty was. She wasn’t. Across the park, if it was a park. Grass anyway. Big empty blue sky. Tired. Sat down on a bench.
So stone cold. Jack wanted to go home. Forgot where.
Paul Negri has twice won the Gold Medal for fiction in the William Faulkner-William Wisdom Writing Competition. His work has appeared in The Vestal Review, Bartleby Snopes, Piff Magazine, Jellyfish Review and other publications. He lives and writes in Clifton, New Jersey.
This piece paints a complete and devastating picture, and in so few words.
Thank you, Alex. The read and comment are much appreciated.
I liked this a lot. Powerful.
Thanks so much, Jennifer. And congratulations on winning 2016 story of the year. Aunt Peg is lovely and so true.
I was thinking of leaving a fifty-word comment but decided that would be silly. I’m not half the writer you are, Mr. Negri, even if I use twice the words. This little story is a fine demonstration of your ability to wring so much out of so few words. Wonderful.
Thanks much, Jim. Such comment from a poet of your caliber is high praise indeed.
I like the rapid staccato rhythm. Nice job.
Thanks, Bob. Glad to hear that from a master of the genre.