So, there’s this week, right after you send the issue to print, when everyone is recovering from the all-nighters and the stress of the previous few days and we don’t really work. We usually take a couple of days off, then come back to the office and spend another couple days doing our nails. Or cleaning up our desks. Or going through the mountains of papers and notes and recyle most of them. And drink coffee. And gossip.
For the best part of my 3 years in Marie Claire, I was sitting next to Eleni, who’s the director now and she’s the one who introduced me to the best way to pass these lazy days: 6 word novels.
(yup, I know we’re geeks, now shut up).
After that came the 100 word novel and my life was complete.
This summer, after I moved to the States, I had lots of free time, so I entered a contest with my first 100 word story. I didn’t win–that would have been too much–but, I’m really proud of my first attempt. And I wanted to share it with you. So, here it is:
Postcard from Marija
Shift my weight from leg to leg.
By the time I reach the window I’ll have to file for my death certificate. Which form’s that? Volunteers mouthing words at me, as if being foreign means being deaf, typing out my answers slowly, suspiciously, poking with their index fingers. Reminds me of my grandfather, working at his typewriter.
There’s a line like this in every immigration office on the planet.
Too bad Europe fell apart so suddenly, in the middle of the night. Like a shanty town.
It’s the war, my grandfather tells me. It has happened before.
No, don’t be afraid, I won’t start posting stories here, it was an one-time thing.