I met an old man who had it and who never stopped complaining. People stopped listening and moved away but his thin reedy voice went on and on. He irritated me. Of course, for a writer, irritation is excellent fuel, so it became a flash fiction story and the Journal of Microliterature published it today, 3 March.
“It was Anil’s turn to drop his daughter at school. He handed her the pink lunchbox, straightened the hem of her skirt, and watched her run across to join the other children. He smiled, lingering, until she climbed the steps into the school. He was in no hurry. It was the one bright spot in his stressful day.
“Daughters,” said the old man standing next to him……”
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