What reminds them of childhood, becomes an obsession.

Piping hot tea was placed on his table. The barista, who knew him by name, smiled before returning to the counter.

The mint smell reminds him of his mother. Sandy blonde hair pulled back. He wished for that chance to see her again, watching her make tea for her little boy.

People around the café talked. Mostly on current events. Stories about women who have gone missing. They talked about their safety.

“Thank god for my dark brown hair,” they sigh in relief.

He ignored the noise and stared back at his barista, whose sandy blonde hair was pulled back.

I enjoy writing these 100-word microfiction stories. It gives me the chance to come up with an idea, and in such a short amount of words, write a story where people can read in just a couple of minutes. While I enjoy reading fantasy as a genre to consume, I gravitate towards thrillers and horror when writing stories.