“Your sentences meander.”
He withdrew a red pen and slashed out a paragraph.
“But…”
“You are thriftless with your words.” He looked at her from over his reading
glasses. “You must learn to be precise.”
“I…”
He raised his eyebrows.
“For one so verbose on paper, you seem to have little to say now.”
“You’re fired.” She
snatched the manuscript from his desk; fled from his office.
Later, she picked up the phone; called her editor. “Look, I’m sorry.” She paused to light her cigarette.
“Concise,” he said.
“I like that. May I assume I’ve
been rehired?”
“Yes,” she replied.
I'm glad to see Velvet Verbosity's back! This week's 100 word challenge was: Thriftless.Labels: flash fiction, Velvet Verbosity