Bob was an accountant, though he counted things besides numbers. Sheep on sleepless nights and calories when he grew fat. Summers—fireflies. Autumn—red, orange and yellow leaves, raked into color-coded piles. Winters—days until spring. Spring (his busy season)—days until tax-filing deadlines. His shrink called him OCD, but Bob just really liked to count.
Lisa H. Owens
Created for a 53-Word Press August 2022 Short Story Prompt:
A lot gets negotiated in August. We might get bids on inside projects. Laminate or granite? We might negotiate extra time at our favorite diner or bar. We might negotiate belt loops. We might get a negotiating headache and take non-prescription pharmaceuticals for relief. All just possibilities—perhaps you have a better proposal? Write a 53-word story about a counter.
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["Do you like me?" art by Lisa]
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