The young man bent down and picked a fallen item off the ground. Pressed in between his forefinger and thumb was a long and immaculate white feather. Its surface was smooth, he observed. Its edges appeared to have a silvery outline, and he swore that it glowed. 

He blinked, and looked up to the far horizon. At the place where the clouds were supposed to appear as though they met the earth, there was an even brighter glow. The young man squinted and his jaw slackened at the outline hovering not too far above. 

The feather wasn’t from a bird.  

I am so close, and yet you are so far.

I am right here, you know? I sit here beside you on your worn-out couch, watching you fritter away from what has once been a very august disposition. Your head hangs from an almost tangible agony while I remain stiffly seated, still watching and fighting the urge to reach out.

My heart constricts as you break into a myriad of sobs, tears uncontrollably slipping from your eyes. I finally reach out to touch you and subsequently disappoint myself again as my hand goes right through you.

I’m forever your ghost.

Go and Google-search drabble and Wikipedia would say that it's basically a short fiction of around 100 words. The challenge: express a story in no more than a few words.

Back in college, I fell in love with writing 100-word-stories. It exercises my brain and refreshes my memory of words. Telling a story in no more or less than 100 words is so challenging that I looked at it as a game of sorts.

Writing drabbles makes you tell a lot when you literally told too little. Isn't that just beautiful?