But first, a little foreword: I wrote this story earlier this year as an entry for a short story competition. Alas, I did not win and therefore was not published in print or online so I’ve put it here instead. The rules of the competition were that it was to be fewer than one hundred words long and given my frustrating tendency towards long-windedness, I thought it was worth having a go at. I can’t remember the original title I gave it, so I’ve given it a brand new one. The one thing I do remember that I was given ‘A Bottle’ as a prompt, which had to be included somewhere in the story. I hope you enjoy it.
The Fireplace Coppers
By A. Ferguson
Instead of a fire, my great uncle Carmichael used to keep an enormous glass bottle filled with coppers in the centre of his fireplace. It did nothing to warm the living room, which was always too cold, but instead radiated a subtle blend of Old and Stuffy all around the room.
‘How many?’ He would grunt, gesturing towards it with his stick whenever I visited with my parents.
Nine hundred billion! Eleven! Seventy-four thousand and twelve!
I was so consumed with guessing that I never realised that he didn’t know himself. It was only there to break the ice.