This is an old one I wrote in 2012. It’s meant to be exactly 250 words. I believe it’s called a post card. I don’t think it’s very good and I’m only putting it here for posterity’s sake. As with everything tagged “Ancient” this isn’t one I’m particularly proud of.
We had just moved to a new house, I had just turned four and I hated it. I wanted to move back to my grandmother’s house and live with all of my cousins again. Angry little me decided to walk outside in order to survey my new habitat. It was a pretty wide street, with a corner store about 20 yards away. Candy whenever I want. Nice. Then a boy, roughly my age, waddles out of the store carrying milk. We lock eyes, he starts walking in my direction but we never break eye contact. He stops walking and shouts across the street, “WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT?!?” I’m angry as it is and suddenly, the red mist descends. It’s Africa, there’s debris everywhere. I scream the four year old’s equivalent of “FUCK YOU”, grab a broken brick off the ground and whip it with all my might. Headshot. He collapses without a sound, blood pooling at his head. “OH SHIT!” I run back inside and never mention it again. Fast forward one year. Kindergarten. The two of us are best friends, he has no recollection of what I did. The bell rings. “Race you back inside!”. We start running. Oh no, he’s beating me! I shove him, he falls towards the doorframe. Headshot. He crumples to the floor. Blood pooling at the top of the motionless heap that is his body. “Fuck, not this again”. I turn, planning on lying about tripping into him accidentally. “Oh fuck. Witnesses.”