Her son vanished.
His car was discovered near a river, hours north. His shoes stuck in the shallows; his wallet trapped in mud.
She rented a motel room on the riverbank and unpacked her suitcase, pulling his baby photo out last. Her chest ached at his toothless smile.
Day faded to dusk outside her window.
She watched the river churn, its gleaming surface chewing moonlight into specks. She imagined it could swallow her whole.
A knock at her door startled the silence. Cold coursed through her.
The answer waited. She paused, hand on the knob, embracing uncertainty a moment longer.
The story above only has one hundred words.
Can you write one in pairs?
It is a great way to improve writing because you'll have to polish it and get rid of unnecessary words till you have the right number.
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