Days of Pork Belly & Roses.

When I was in high school, one of my teachers gave us a writing assignment she called a "55 word short story." The parameters are fantastically manageable. 55 words? I got that covered. On a good day, I type at 140 WPM. Thinly veiled innuendo not withstanding, I can pump out more than 2 of 'em in a minute. It's also the perfect amount for my generation's attention span (I probably could fit a 55 word short story in a tweet!). Without further ado, I present to you two 55 word short stories:

The Kiss

The two teens were more concerned with experimenting on the effects of exchanging saliva than they were with photosynthesis. Inexperienced passion filled the room. Hearing the call, they rushed to make it to dinner on time. They hastily put back on their clothes. She told him, “Thank God you’re adopted and not my real brother.”

The Argument

He rattled against the wood panel. “Can anyone hear me?” Furious, he kept pounding, his impotent rage matched only by the muddled cacophony he created. “They must be able to hear me,” he thought. He desperately needed to have a word with his wife. Unfortunately, six feet of dirt stood between the two of them.

Okay, I've decided that I'm going to take a temporary break from writing 55 word short stories until I can employ themes that aren't incest or death. I'll be back.