|Very Slight Stories | Like short stories, only shorter.||
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
Out in the Fields
Some of the kids run in circles through the long grass and wild flowers; others look at the kite in the clear blue sky above. Their parents stand in the shade of a tree. Hugh stares at Carol as she walks around the field with a friend of hers.
"Do you think someone would be upset if they got a Valentine's card from a monkey?" Jason says to Hugh.
"I don't know," Hugh says, and he doesn't take his eyes off Carol.
"Jimmy was saying it'd probably depend on the monkey."
Carol looks over towards Hugh and he looks away.
Later in the afternoon, when they go back inside, he gets a chance to talk to her. He says he bought a carpet off his uncle and she says she found the key ring in someone's tree. The goldfish swim around in their bowl and a record plays goldfish music; goldfish sleeping in a something thing, Jack Frost nipping at your nose.
No, sorry. That's a different song. A different time of year.
In the evening, Isobel stares at a painting on the wall. Jason says to her, "What do you think of monkeys?"
"It doesn't even look like a boat," she says as she points at something in the painting.
Carol and Hugh slowly move towards each other, their eyes locked, mistletoe hanging above them.
Sorry about that. It's my fault. I got the wrong song earlier.
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.