Siphiwe and Haroon couldn't wait. Mother was making chocolate cake today. They had never eaten chocolate cake before; all they ever ate was dry corn bread sometimes.
The cake came tumbling out of the smoky fire, dark brown and crumbly.
The BBC reporter watched them as her photographer clicked away. Her article was on African families eating cakes made of mud, to stave off starvation.
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In a galaxy far, far away
some people
wanted to be more useful to society than they now were
Food
They thought.
But they couldn't cook
So they wrote
And That
Was That
A New Hope
some people
wanted to be more useful to society
Food
They thought.
But they couldn't cook
So they wrote
And That
Was That
The Empire Strikes Back
Unhindered by the restrictions of form and flow, they began to write on themes that they themselves chose. Carefree and unrestricted, they wrote prose poetry, drama, and genres never dreamt of. But there was a rule. One rule, that couldn't be undone. Sixty nine words or less.
Phantom Menace
Why sixty nine? some asked.
Well, 55 was already taken up. And 42 is just too small. So they picked the next coolest number: 69.
Well, 55 was already taken up. And 42 is just too small. So they picked the next coolest number: 69.
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