I blogged about twitterature last week. Here are a few more really short stories for anyone doing the MS Readathon.
Like one of those mystery bruises, she just appeared after some drunken night.
She stared at the ceiling searching for the answer and while clients often interrupted her contemplation with repeated cries of “YES”, she knew it wasn’t that simple.
They put his behaviour down to a chemical imbalance in his brain but the psychiatrist’s pills were never going to stop him from being a fuckwit.
The doctor told me to sit down and with that I knew everything was fucked.