Have you ever written something then read it later and thought, damn, who wrote that? It’s good!

I just had that moment. I was going through my writings folder, looking for a 30-year-old story to use as an example in a class when I came across something that I apparently wrote 4 years ago.

Reading it, I have no memory of writing it. But it’s in my writing folder – I don’t put others works there, and there’s another clue. It’s exactly 100 words long, suggesting that I wrote it for one of Janet Reid’s flash fiction contests. But I googled a whole line of it and got no hits, so I guess I never submitted it?

Anyway, here it is in its entirety:

I learned a lot from the man in black.

Black hats don’t run.
Either meaning of the word – you don’t run from danger when you wear a black hat, and the colour doesn’t run when it gets wet.

Black boots don’t show dirt.
You dig a lot when you’re the man in black. Well, if you want to be the mysterious man in black anyway. Can’t let them find the bodies.

Black thoughts don’t acknowledge the bodies.
What bodies? Did I say bodies?

Mostly I learned that black vests don’t reveal bloodstains. And his clothes are my size, too.

I’ve added this story to my page of 100-word drabbles.