|Very Slight Stories | Like short stories, only shorter.||
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
A Garden Party
Grace looks towards the horizon where the sun has just set. The garden around her disappears in the fading light, but the ground and her feet are still there below, her knees falling asleep. She's holding a drink, with ice in the glass, a glint in her eye that says hello. Colin says hello, and asks for her name and number. She takes a black pen from her bag and writes a name and number on his forehead, but she writes the name of her penguin instead of her own.
On the following day she goes to the kitchen to look for her glasses. She lies to her knees about how much she values their opinion when they suggest looking in the garden. There are empty bottles in a box near the table, jars of honey lined up all along a shelf, but only one of them has a moustache. As she looks in a cupboard beneath the sink, one of the honey jars behind her says, "You probably left them on your head."
She turns around and says, "Now which one of ye said that?" Silence from the honey jars.
Colin is having a picnic in the country. He says, "You know, ever since I first saw you I knew we had to spend time together like this."
The penguin looks around, but there's no one else there.
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.
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