Here are six sentences from a short story I've been working on and off and on and off....
I will always be grateful to his eight year old niece; after all, she sort of introduced us.
I had gone to the Galleria early one Saturday morning in late April, looking for a mother’s day gift. After looking all over the mall, and finding nothing special enough for my mother, I was just about to give up and head back toward the exit closest to my car when I heard a small commotion. I turned in the direction of the disturbance and saw two mall security guards, one male and one female, talking with a young girl wearing a t-shirt, shorts and sandals. Her long blond hair hung straight down her back to just past her shoulders and her blue eyes were red and puffy from crying, but she was not making any sounds, and all the while seemed to be brushing something off her round, tear-stained face.
"What's your name?" asked the female guard, kneeling next to the little girl, and holding the girl's left hand in her own.