THIS IS ALLY’S ENTRY FOR THE 87-WORD SHORT STORY COMPETITION. SHE HOPES SHE WINS AND SHE POINTS OUT MY STORY ISN’T 87 WORDS.
When I worked at the rest home there was an woman who sat and sang to herself all day. The carers ignored her because she wasn’t actively dying. She sat in the dayroom for hours like a crappy piece of art. But if you took her for a walk she didn’t sing, she looked around and chattered to herself and smiled. So when I left I taught her the filthiest, most racist songs I know and now she gets to go for a walk almost every day.
(The End.)
It’s a bit shit but on the upside it is actually 87 words. Unlike YOURS. Tch tch tch.
Go on, whine about it.