Aja on 27/6/2011 at 07:44
because they're too short. More like, vignettes, because that's easier to write.
ahem
once when David got home and was very tired he laid down on the couch and while the tv showed a kiwi talking about archeological finds, he fell asleep. And when he awoke he was somewhere else, from the blackness he could hear wind chimes and he could feel a cool breeze. As the black fog began to clear, david began to perceive vague shapes.
From Hong Kong there came a package. Inside the package was an iphone case. But when they tried to put the case on the phone, they found that it fit very loosely, with little satisfaction. It was then that they noticed a small piece of pale green paper buried in the styrofoam inside the box. On the paper was the signature of their postman. He had written nothing but his name, but they knew what it meant. It was the postman's revenge.
Triceratops and Santa, both of whom you already know, had always argued over money. No matter how much who owed whom or for how long, neither could admit the truth: that both had long since lost track of the actual amounts. Money was always the official pretense, but lately it was only the excuse for the fight. Observers speculated that materials were the source of the problem: did Ceramics have an inherent aversion to Plastics? Few were keen to talk about race, but that would've been a mistake, anyway. Speculation wasn't even necessary. But nobody seemed to understand that sometimes hatred is pure, irrational, and unfounded. Sometimes hatred simply exists, as was the case with old Santa and young Triceratops.
Chief wanted a french fry. They were spilled on the kitchen table, and Chief was on the table too. He reached for a fry, and David took a photo of him, reaching. But Kelcey said to the Chief: "no McDonalds!" and Chief had no choice but to move away, for he was enamoured with Kelcey, and would listen to everything she said.
At a soccer game, some other teams that were playing were given dairy queen hamburgers afterwards. As they walked by, his mom said she wanted one, but his dad dismissed her, "no, they're for the kids!" Later that afternoon he laid in bed in tears, thinking about the hamburgers, and repeating in his head, "they're for the kids!" How sorry he felt for her, how pitiful the situation had been, he couldn't think of it without feeling great sorrow. The more he remembered it the worse he felt. Eventually his dad came in and saw him crying, and asked him what was the matter. For a moment now I remembered the dad being dismissive again, saying "why would that bother you? Stop crying" but that isn't what actually happened. His dad came in, learned what was causing his son such grief, and with amused sympathy, he comforted his son until he felt better. But I am not certain he ever understood exactly why his son was crying, and now that so much time has passed, I'm not certain I understand either.
continue the stories, or write your own, or do whatever. It's Easy 'cause they're shorter than Short! Also I won't judge you if they suck, and as a token of that goodwill I submit the previous shorter-than-short stories. You can surely do better!
Koki on 27/6/2011 at 11:12
I like shorts
They're comfy and easy to wear
demagogue on 27/6/2011 at 12:51
Rodger walked into class wearing only a towel for pants, t-shirt, bathrobe, and a flyer's cap with the goggles pulled down.
I asked him if he noticed that he still had his goggles on, and he slowly turned to me and said "When you wear goggles, nobody fucks with you."
I didn't disagree with the man.
henke on 27/6/2011 at 15:36
I woke up late in the afternoon, my head spinning from the party of the previous night. My stomach turned and I rushed to the bathroom. I didn't know it yet but that was only to be the first or many long conversations I would have on the great porcelain telephone that day.
Sulphur on 27/6/2011 at 16:42
It rained and rained like all of heaven's gods decided to take a piss all at the same time. A man crossed the street, slipped, tumbled and slid towards the end of the world and, screaming, fell away into the inky black ocean beyond it. He would eventually reach and become part of the glittering ring of ice-encrusted debris that encircled the world, a lumpen jewel in the sky reflecting starlight to our eyes forever more.
I remember when that had almost happened to me, once... I traded my momentum as I skidded down the street with the fat lady and her chihuahua, by grabbing onto her ankle and flinging her away from me instead. The force of the throw stopped me in my course while she rocketed away into bedazzled night.
Good riddance, I say. I hate chihuahuas.
The way the light slants in from the windows, coating her skin with liquid gold, it's what I wake up for in the morning. She's sleeping, her arm wrapped around me, her lips against my cheek. There's a smile on her face as the light inches across, and for a moment she glows like an angel.
Aja on 27/6/2011 at 18:41
Quote Posted by Sulphur
It rained and rained like all of heaven's gods decided to take a piss all at the same time. A man crossed the street, slipped, tumbled and slid towards the end of the world and, screaming, fell away into the inky black ocean beyond it. He would eventually reach and become part of the glittering ring of ice-encrusted debris that encircled the world, a lumpen jewel in the sky reflecting starlight to our eyes forever more.
I really like this paragraph as a short story unto itself :)
Sulphur on 27/6/2011 at 20:10
Thanks! I was sort of trying to go with the same vibes that you started off with. Love the postman's revenge one. :D I'll try for something different later, when I haven't just had a huge domestic spat with a flatmate and feel oddly liberated about articulating years of resentment without flying into a rage.
st.patrick on 27/6/2011 at 20:34
I picked up my clothes from the drycleaners, and the shoes, too; they were still dancing. I heard the echoes of last night from afar, I heard my steps again clicking through the lifeless city. An unnamed street, the air felt like rain. My thoughts materialized from the darkness of my memory and all of a sudden, I was there again. Somehow as if yesterday was born again and today never came. When the darkness went away, something was left lying in between the puddles. What was it...
Just seeing something lying doesn't mean I check it out, but when it's a cellphone, I pick it up, especially if it's mine. It keeps ringing, it must be the guys, they went outside to call me a cab when I was paying. And just as I was leaving, horns blaring, sirens, blue lights and a man dressed in red pushed me into the alley. Shouts, panic, wild gestures - it's the city talking. Well, back to the cellphone that's buzzing and whirring on the floor, and just like always, when I reach for it - shit, the battery's down.
Birds, daylight and that's about it. I'm still outside and my head's twirling like cheap coffee in a paper cup. If I could call my pals I would, but my phone's dead. The first respectable citizens emerge and I'm trying to get some help from them but they all pass me without even making eye contact. Am I invisible or am I just a bad sight after the last night? That could be it, so it's off to the drycleaners, take off all my clothes and shoes as well. I find a spot to sit and something to leaf through. I grab an issue of Yesterday's World.
I lick my thumb and browse through the newspaper, I skip politics and I skip war as well. I'm trying not to doze off, eyeing the washing machine. It's not in a hurry so I read in, by chance opening the page with obituaries. But then I see the laundry lady, she's laying down my clothes like a funeral wreath and I feel like being my own audience. I'm all out of words, there's nothing to say anyway. I don't really know, I'm just staring, staring at myself in the newspaper. I don't understand, I try to touch myself but I'm immaterial. Something tells me, hey, admit it. I'm outside this story and I'm outside this world 'cause I'm dead.
I watch my lifeless bloody body laying on the counter. The laundry lady just nods her head and puts a bill in my hand. But I know this is no laundry lady and that I'm not really there, either. It was me what lay between the puddles yesterday. It was because of me that the ambulance woke up the sleeping city, and the steps I heard belonged to my killers. And so I stand here, silent and amazed, crumpling the bill in my hand, hoping that in my time outside there I managed to make enough to pay off this last debt.
Tocky on 28/6/2011 at 05:34
Rick had been friends with Eugene since that first day of Junior high when they had accidently worn matching flannel shirts though, as it turned out, neither liked Curt Cobain. They got to know each other so well that Rick was at a loss to answer Eugenes question about how a friend was like a tree. Then he noticed the axe in Eugenes hand.
You would think there would be a truck heading into town for supplies with the spring thaw. Not everyone had been greenhorn enough to leave thier vehical uncranked in backwoods Alaska until the battery died and even if they had the more seasoned would have a charger. Damn having to hoof it 20 miles into town through progressively grayer snow that froze toes through three layers of socks and waterproof boots. There wasn't even a track on the road to give any hope of a ride. If the electricity hadn't gone out with the earthquake last week it might have been worth waiting for warmer weather. Even the goading about city boys in man country would have been worth swapping for a ride if he could have gotten anyone on the phone. These things kept turning over in Jims mind until he crested the rise and nearly stepped into the crater where the edge of town used to be. He thought of other things on the way back to the cabin.
nicked on 28/6/2011 at 06:40
I awoke to pain and cold. She was long gone, but the hurt she had left throbbed in my head and my side. I blinked my eyes open in the ice-filled bath and wished I had had a kidney to spare.