|Very Slight Stories | Like short stories, only shorter.||
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
There were hundreds of people rushing about backstage on the day of the show. Performers were trying to find their costumes, the fake snow was being tested. Vincent, the MC, was walking slowly through it all with a gin and tonic in his hand, a slice of lemon on the glass. Ruth looked up and her eyes met those of a stage hand. They smiled at each other, and when she was walking past him later he said to her, "I saw you rehearsing earlier. You were very good."
"Thanks... Do y' know the way I was eating crisps all the time?"
"I'm supposed to do that."
"I know. You did it very well."
"Do you want to go for a drink after the show?"
"I'd love to."
People continued to rush about all around them, as they smiled at each other. The fake snow stopped for a while, then it all came down at once.
In the evening, Vincent walked onto the stage to the applause of the audience. He took a quick look at his card and said, "And now it's time for Mrs. Frank Sinatra."
He looked down at the card again. The words 'Mrs. Frank Sinatra' had been added in with a blue pen, the old name crossed out. Billy and Tom had told him at least twenty times during the day that they were going to write 'Mrs. Frank Sinatra' on his card. Billy had poked him in the shoulder while saying, "We're going to write 'Mrs. Frank Sinatra' on your card."
Vincent didn't feel like laughing then, when he was standing on the stage. He'd been staring at the card in silence for over thirty seconds, and he thought it would look odd if he started laughing then.
The Tree and the Horse
A Walk in the Rain
The East Cork Patents Office
Words are my favourite noises
May 2005 June 2005 July 2005 August 2005 September 2005 October 2005 November 2005 December 2005 January 2006 February 2006 March 2006 April 2006 May 2006 June 2006 July 2006 August 2006 September 2006 October 2006 November 2006 December 2006 January 2007 February 2007 March 2007 April 2007 May 2007 June 2007 July 2007 August 2007 September 2007 October 2007 November 2007 December 2007 January 2008 February 2008 March 2008 April 2008 May 2008 June 2008 July 2008 August 2008 September 2008 October 2008 November 2008 December 2008 January 2009 February 2009 March 2009 April 2009 May 2009 June 2009 July 2009 August 2009 September 2009 October 2009 November 2009 December 2009 January 2010 February 2010 March 2010 April 2010 May 2010 June 2010 July 2010 August 2010 September 2010 October 2010 May 2013
|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.