March of Microanalysis Day 24

Microfiction Entry Day 24:

The infant cried. The child played. The youth fucked. The man loved. The father worried. The grandfather doted. The elder ranted. The human died.

---

A full 33% of this story is wasted on fucking definite articles. Inefficient!, chastises my inner German engineer. 66% is a terrible capture rate for meaning. Just imagine if you had a conversation with someone who only understood you 2/3 of the time. Oh, wait. That’s what having a conversation with Siri is like.

I don’t feel good about this story at all, but I kept it just to demonstrate the ickyness of the “The”. Eight whole words wasted! I told you about Timmy and the black hole in eight words. I could definitely spice this story up with eight better words.

I could argue that I was doing some Elizabethan “seven ages of man” crap, but it’s just this one dude’s unremarkable life. And guess what? He dies at the end! Just because a story follows a structure doesn’t make it good. As you can see, this one is bad.

---

Through March, I'm posting a breakdown/analysis of the microfiction I posted on the corresponding day in February. This is probably only interesting to you if you care about the mechanics of writing, or if you know me personally.