|Very Slight Stories | Like short stories, only shorter.||
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
The White Line
Emma's phone rings. "Hello... I'll be there."
She rides down the street on her moped, moving very slowly, whistling as she goes.
She sits at a table on the pavement outside a cafe and drinks coffee with her friends.
They go to look at the ducks in the pond behind Clare's house. Joe draws a white line on the concrete at the edge of his life, only then realising that Miriam is at the other side of the white line with the ducks.
Emma, Miriam and Clare wait for a duck to say something, looking down at him, but he just looks back. Miriam closes her eyes and grows. Her hands go deeper into her coat pockets as she rises slowly into the pale blue sky, a breeze on her face. A smile grows as the world below moves further away. She sees Joe behind his line, looking up at her. "Hello," she says and waves.
When she opens her eyes she's waving at the ground in front of her. She looks up. They're all looking at her. "Sorry, I just thought I was taller than I actually was."
They still stare at her. She hopes the duck will say something to distract their attention, but the duck has gone to Joe's line. It stops at the line and looks up at Joe. He shakes his head and mouths the word 'no', but the duck steps over the line. Joe slowly shakes his head. Miriam nods.
Duck: I don't react well under pressure.
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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