The following little stories all have 30 words exactly, nothing more and nothing less. As well as a short title.
A distant shuffling.
“They're waiting. We have to go now.”
“I'm sorry. About earlier.”
A door slams.
“I'm coming in.”
The room is empty.
The Shortest Day
Home, a car park, a Chevrolet, no option other than peeing in a cup. Neighbours, a Ford, a Buick, a family in a trailer. My bed, blankets on freezing metal.
Thirty heroes wondering, seeking thirty stories to tell. Searching for thirty foes to fight, thirty beautiful maidens to rescue. Unfortunately they have been through this many times, many, many times.
Granddad was snoring again. The windows rattled, the doors shook and nobody could hear the telly. I hid quietly in the corner. Waiting to emerge when the arguing had stopped.