There's 58 words in this story
And that's why it's called a Fiction in 58. Sort of a literary "amuse-bouche."
Feast
She unfurls the linen napkin, smoothes it across her lap.
The wine is robust, a Chilean red that’s scored well; it breathes in a glass carafe.
The meal is presentation-exquisite, edible sculpture on square bone China.
“Why yes, there’s Tabasco in the remoulade,” she whispers to the emptiness.
And frees the empty pill bottle from her grasp.
Feast
She unfurls the linen napkin, smoothes it across her lap.
The wine is robust, a Chilean red that’s scored well; it breathes in a glass carafe.
The meal is presentation-exquisite, edible sculpture on square bone China.
“Why yes, there’s Tabasco in the remoulade,” she whispers to the emptiness.
And frees the empty pill bottle from her grasp.
Comments
I loved it.