Writing exactly one hundred words, is harder than you might think. There has been considerable editing which I’ve tried to keep to a minimum. I want the essence of what I write to be fluid; like a stream of thought. As you edit the one hundred words it becomes more precious and less resemblant of a whisper plucked from the air. I suppose one could argue that more editing could accomplished that goal to more satisfaction. I could even agree, but then the 100 words might take weeks to write. Perfection married to time, often ends in divorce.
“He looked out the window. She was there on the street, her blonde hair streaming in the sunlight. She was kissing him. It took him too long to look away; the moment of disconnection too removed to find it readily. He picked things up and put them down again, in the hope of engaging his thoughts elsewhere. It didn’t work. His eyes kept returning the street scene. Was it all in his head? Was it a memory? He didn’t remember, he could only see it. A faerie thought; elusive as the light dancing over the golden streaks in her hair.”