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At age six, we are wiser than at any other age. We know things nobody could have told us and we keep them to ourselves. Before I forget everything forever, shall I tell you what it was like for me that day? You know what it did to my sisters. Mother had taken me shopping for clothes for school—just me!—and the prettiest pair of patent leather shoes. For half an hour, I’ve never owned anything I loved more. I remember them like yesterday. When I look at the toes, my big fat baby face is smiling back. We’re almost home from shopping. Mother is smiling at the wheel of the big new Pontiac. Here comes Daddy, walking down the hill from the house to meet us. He has never done this. Something is wrong. He looks me back into my seat. I’m scared. I want to be the girl at school with the prettiest shoes. Daddy opens the driver’s door and leads Mother up to the house. I wait behind in the big hot car and swing my feet and look at my shoes, but the sun has died and all I see are clouds. Mother screams from the parlor, not an angry scream. They send my sisters, not my brother, to fetch me. Something is wrong. We walk along the dirt lane to the house and they tell me. I don’t cry. My shoes are nothing but dust. I see his body on the loveseat under a towel, but I don’t cry. I haven’t cried since, at anything. They’ll make a fuss of me at school, I thought. I’ll be the girl whose brother was shot and killed. I couldn’t say any of this until you asked me. I’m not wise enough anymore to know why.
Copyright © August 05, 2007
He wanders past the boarded-up businesses in town with a look of guilty surprise, as if he’d been tapped on the shoulder while spying on something he shouldn’t have seen, startled behind binoculars, and never bounced back from the shock. We’re sitting on a wooden bench in the creaky hallway of the county courthouse during a recess, on the dustiest afternoon of a country summer, my sister and I, trying not to touch each other while Dad is in the chambers renting a judge. He only needs him for an hour. Dust like gnats, gnats like yellowjackets, swirl through the sword blades of sunlight from the transom, that stab the floor beneath our feet. Our feet don’t reach, as I recall. It doesn’t stop people from thinking we’re all grown up. The bailiff, standing, leans against the wall and snores, hat down over his eyes. We could run, and hop a train to Mexico, and play at husband and wife. I scrape a sticky century of furniture wax and dirt from the seat of the bench between my thighs and draw initials in a heart down to the wood with my fingernail. I look at her and tilt my head to show her what I’ve done. She looks between my legs and claps her hand over her mouth. If we’re not careful. Dad may never convince the judge. He didn’t scrape together much. His Honor emerges first in a tattered vest. He stands in front of the bench and talks about me, uses my name, but only looks at her. I watch Dad come from the chambers, seeming stricken. He looks at us and sees my upside-down heart. I’m destined for some lonely time at the state correctional, I do believe. My sister gets a job at the courthouse.
Copyright © March 28, 2007
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Very Short Novels 
Thank you so much, anhinga, but I wouldn't want to try it without the other 199. —David
Why, thank you, brother. It's wonderful to see you here. :) —David
All you need is 100 words to make an emotional impact. Touching.
Brilliant, brother. Just simply brilliant.
This Very Short Novel has a strong resemblance to Simple Lessons of War from almost 20 years ago, but is…