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101 Word Short Stories

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Girl

April 3, 2016

Girl
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When I was five, I asked my mom for a sister.

My brother looked up from our dinosaur battle.

“What for?”

“Sister things.”

He scoffed, attacked my brontosaurus.

At seven, I asked again. “I have nobody to play with.”

“Your cousins?”

“Not every day.”

At nine, I locked myself away, befriended Hermione, Matilda, brunettes with wild thoughts, piles of books.

When I was ten, my sister was born. I was too old to play.

When I was eight, my mother cried in the bathroom, soaking blood with towels, crying because she’d ruined two and failed to give me what I asked.

— Daniela Chamorro Mantica

Filed Under: All Stories, Writing Contest - Issue 14

Reader Interactions

Comments

  1. Grady Manus says

    April 3, 2016 at 11:11 am

    Interesting.

  2. Bobby Warner says

    April 3, 2016 at 7:09 pm

    Sounds like something that could really happen–and I’m sure it does. Depressing, but a good story.

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