I recently wrote a piece for a contest, and then never got round to submitting it. The story had to be 100 words; no more, no less and it had to have a bit of a twist. Here’s my feeble attempt. What do you think?
The verdant expanse of lawn was quickly filling with people hoping for a glimpse of the great man. Nathuram strode purposely through the crowd, his features set in an expression of determination. The old man, supported by his daughter and a pupil, walked unsteadily toward the throng. Nathuram clasped his hands together in supplication and knelt at the old man’s feet. The daughter attempted to push him away, “Brother, Bapu is already late for prayers”. As he rose, a pistol appeared in his hand. A scream pierced the warm, summer air. From beneath his dhoti, Gandhi’s bullet found Nathuram’s heart.
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