Jimmy sighed. He could stare at the equation until next Thursday and he still wouldn’t understand. If Einstein or Hawking were to explain it to him, it would remain a mystery. He just wasn’t cut out for maths. Yet he dreamed of being an engineer. Of building bridges like Brunel and Telford. Forging great spans of elegant steel and concrete. Or burrowing long, snaking tunnels through mountainsides. He had notebooks full of grand, intricate designs, shelves of balsa models, but no notion as to whether any would be structurally sound. He stared at the page, prayed for insight, and doodled.
A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words.
1 comment:
I like the way you've captured that wishful thinking and dreaming here, Rob. I can relate, too, as maths was never my forte.
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