Supposedly, Hemingway once wrote a story in six words: "For sale: baby shoes, never worn." I'm no Hemingway, but I dig the idea of writing ultra-short stories.
I'll write one a day. You might like some.
The planet was uninhabited. Its surface alternated between rivers of fire and giant rocks. And yet, it was cool enough for humans. The landing crew had hiked about three miles when the rocks started to explode.
He performed poorly at the plate. To drown his sorrows, he went to a bar where he drew no interest from the female patrons. Deflated, he walked home. As he walked, he worked himself into such a state that he punched a wall and broke his hand.