Last week, I entered a microfiction challenge. If you don't know what that is, no worries, I didn't either until I signed up for it. Microfiction is a story written in 100 words. Let me tell you, it was not easy. I must have started and abandoned a dozen stories. Finally, one came to me. Here is my entry! Feel free to let me know what you think.
The Palm
The night moves on, seemingly without her—gunfire in the distance. A whetstone and her knife are all the company she has. She's been at it a while, pushing the blade flush against the rock, and hopes it will be sharp enough.
"Hello, Amara."
The knife slips and cuts her palm. She turns to see an older woman in the center of the room. "Who are you?"
The woman raises her hand to show a scar. "We survive." With a flash, she is gone.
Amara is alone. "This is not the end." She smiles. Hope moves her to fight another day.