|Very Slight Stories | Like short stories, only shorter.||
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
A Coin on the Carpet
The light fades in the late afternoon. There's a coin on the carpet near the fireplace. The head is facing up. The tail of the coin says, "Where am I?"
"Well I know where I am," the head says. "I don't know where you are."
"Shh. I'm trying to figure out where I am."
"I don't even know who you are."
The head stares up at the room around him. There's no one there. A painting of a mountain hangs on the wall over the fireplace. "Do you know who Dirk Bogard is?" the head says to the tail.
"Yes. So it looks like another afternoon of nothing at all. Absolutely nothing again. They write poems about it. 'Poor me, I'm nothing at all.' But that's nothing compared to this. This is nothing. You need to know something before you can understand nothing. They know next to nothing. Their nothing is just a small step from everything in their minds. They step down into nothingness and it's two inches below everything, and they ask themselves, 'Am I a little bit smaller than I was two seconds ago?' Our nothing is a chasm beneath us, always there."
"So who is he?"
"Who's Dirk Bogard?"
"We're nothing at all, and they think they're everything but they're less than us. We're like sheep to them, or furniture. How could they ever cope with this. The blackness would be bearable if I didn't have the light in my mind. In my mind I see a room. I'm standing at the door, looking back into the room, and I say, 'I am going there now... I'm gone... I said "I'm gone".' While I'm still waiting at the door, I'm over in the other room, sitting on the sofa, chatting with Irene. 'I'm gone, you know.' She nods, but I get the impression that she doesn't know what I'm talking about. 'I said "I'm gone".' She just stares blankly back, but in fairness, I wasn't entirely sure who I was talking to when I said that. And I don't know who I'm talking to now. No one, I suppose. Myself. No one."
The head smiles. He had never thought he was as important as furniture before.
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.