“I hope Ralston was right,” he thought, as he pushed a small button on his sleeve. Drawing a deep breath he froze, just as two sentry droids rolled into the room, their scanners humming.
When I turned 34, I decided to write a series of short stories. The only catch? Each story had to be 34 words. 34 years, 34 words. No more, no less. These are the fruits.