Lately the short story has become quite in vogue among artists in the West. The shortest has no more than a dozen lines. Would the piece I've come up with below be worthy of the name at all?
It was getting late. So he went downtown to purchase firewood.
On his way home, he looked up and saw the crescent moon in the sky. Wrapped in a pure, flimsy robe, as if having just stepped out of a fragrant bath, she flashed him a smile. Around her were many bright-eyed fairies, all smiling at him. He gazed up at them silently, in awe: Oh, Light! Love! How should I live my life to earn your favor? How lucky are those who have earned your favor! …
Hello, Mr. K! Where're you going?
It was Mr. N, one of his former classmates. K pulled his mantle to reveal a piece of firewood and said:
Hey, you always run into me purchasing firewood.
N smiled. He smiled, too. Then he asked N:
Where're you going?
Visiting Mr. Y. Why don't you come and join us for fun?
No, visiting with firewood in my arms!?
Really don't want to come and have fun?
No, I've got to go home.
They went separate ways at H Shrine. He went on home murmuring his own poems.