|Very Slight Stories | Like short stories, only shorter.||
Tuesday, May 24, 2005
Joan stood in the garden and looked down at the ground. She noticed an ant in the grass, but she didn't pay much attention to it. She was wondering why Tommy ate so many ham sandwiches.
In the ant colony, an ant with a white beard stood up in front of all the other ants and said, "My name is Karl Marx. Fellow workers, we don't have to settle for the, ah... the current order, capitalism and... ahm... the dialectic movement of history, it's... if we unite we'll, ah..." His beard fell off. He stood down and went back to work, but his place was taken by an ant with a tennis racket who said, "My name is Stefan Edberg. Fellow workers, we no longer have to be crushed beneath the capitalist order, dominated by the bourgeoisie. In the dialectic movement of history the capitalist system will inevitably be overthrown and replaced an era of proletarian rule before the, ah... damn!"
Joan heard a sound behind her. She turned around and saw a wolf dragging a bag of potatoes across the ground. She laughed and said, "That wasn't Tommy at all."
The Tree and the Horse
A Walk in the Rain
The East Cork Patents Office
Words are my favourite noises
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|very slight stories||
They Met a Bear
They stopped in a small seaside town and they went for a walk. They met a bear.
This is one version of the story. In another version, they met a sailor, and in this one they ended up being held at gunpoint on a speedboat and becoming unwilling participants in a diamond robbery while disguised as a cow, and sharing in the proceeds of that crime.
So when they tell the story they just say, "We met a bear. He waved at us."
The Story of the Fortune Teller and the Alarm Clock
A fortune teller threw an alarm clock at me. This story is deliberately lacking in details to mock the predictions of the fortune teller. Although she was right when she said she'd throw an alarm clock at me.
One. Two. Three, the study. Four, a candle stick. Five. Six...
Seven is missing, presumed dead. One has taken up the case, and two is helping him in his investigations. They both suspect six. Seven was last seen next to six in the garden.
But seven isn't really dead. He's consumed half a bottle of whiskey and he's currently in the orchard, talking to a rabbit. "One of us is as boring as a gate post," he says, "and it's not..." He stops to count on his fingers. "No, actually it is me."
Eight nine ten.
Debbie and his dog
Debbie was sick of people mistaking her for a man.
"Is your dog my parole officer?"
She was sick of people asking her that too.
More blogs about Storytelling.