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| Photo by The Toronto Star |
These are the first two of a series of flash fiction stories to be posted here. These are 100 word short stories. Not 99 words. Not 101 words. 100 words.
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Raised in staid Westmont, on the other side of Mont Royal, he preferred the bohemian life of Le Plateau, his townhouse in the rue Vaillièrres, a block off The Main, across from Parc du Portugal. There he sat on his stoop, watching the children play and the passers pass by, sketching poems, song lyrics, his secret chords that pleased the lord. This was his home although he died on the Left Coast, buried across Mont Royal before anyone knew he was gone from them. They came to his quiet stoop with flowers. It was “cold and it's a broken Hallelujah.”
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