Even when trying to go for gritty and realistic I can’t manage to keep all of my purpose prose out of the way. Perhaps that is my lot in life as both a person and an author, to bring complication to simplicity- interesting complication but complication nevertheless.
Word Count: 100
Genre: Realistic Fiction
Title: American Nightmare
I’m afraid of the dark. But tonight, God and the moon are lighting our way.
“Come on, mom,” I yell.
She’s stuck in the swampy underbrush, my little sister in her arms and littler sister still in her belly.
“They’re getting closer.” The words sound like a desperate prayer.
The men who chase us, their hats tall and white, sound like rabid dogs. Some of them have shovels, knives, and worse.
I pull my mom along by the wrist. It’s 1968, dammit. One-hundred years later and we still aren’t safe and free. All we can do is run. And dream.
You know, every time I post one of these, I have to run back to earlier posts to see how I arranged the whole “Genre, Word Count, Title” thing. After more than a year of doing this, you’d figure I would have memorized all of that already, but nope. Interestingly complicated indeed.
Good luck, you brave writer folk!