Very Slight Stories | Like short stories, only shorter.

'Darcy and O'Mara' is a novel by Arthur Cronin.
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Tuesday, May 09, 2006


Graham's Arms

   Karen and her husband bought an old mansion in the country. They hired Graham and Sean to paint the rooms. Karen often called in to see them while they worked, just to have a chat.
   One evening, just as they were getting ready to go home, she was getting ready to go out to a ball. She came in to see them in the drawing room. She sighed and said, "No one says anything anymore," as she slowly descended to the ground, her dress coming to rest around her.
   She sat on the carpet. Graham was just about to put his arm around her when Sean coughed to attract his attention, and he shook his head, which was intended to remind Graham of the time he put his arm in that place where all the rats were when he was trying to get his chewing gum back. Graham looked at his arm as he held it out. He'd washed his hands since then, so he patted her on the head.
   At the weekend they took her to the seaside to cheer her up. They bought ice creams and looked out over the sea. "The sea looks so lonely," she said, "so very, very lonely."
   Graham wondered if he should pat her on the head again.
   Back at the house, she told him about some of the paintings in the hall. He said, "Now this arm, this arm here has been painted by no less a person than Boris The Basket."
   "Oh right," she said. "I don't think I've heard of him."
   "He broke my kettle. On purpose, I think. And this arm... You don't want to know about this arm."
   Graham won a pig in the lottery, and the pig had a top hat. Graham just wanted the top hat, but the pig wouldn't give it to him. Karen came up with a plan to get it. She suggested they distract the pig with a toy cow, and take the hat then. She came along to see it too. Sean held the toy cow in front of the pig. He moved the cow around and said 'moo' a lot. Graham slowly crept up behind the pig, but he stopped when he got within reach of the hat. He didn't know whether to use his 'good' arm or his 'bad' arm. He'd surely use the good arm for a top hat, but his bad arm would be ideal for taking something off a pig.
   He paused for too long, and the pig figured out what was going on. Graham chased the pig around the field, but he couldn't get the hat. He gave up when he fell in the mud.
   When they took Karen home she said she had a great time. Graham thought that if she could enjoy watching him chase a pig, then she wouldn't be put off by his arm, so he told her about the chewing gum and the rats, and she said, "That's really, really interesting." Then she kissed them both on the cheek and said goodnight.
   "She didn't care less about my arm," Graham said to Sean, "and she kissed me on the cheek, the one that was attracting all those stray dogs."
   "She didn't know that."
   "You know nothing about women."

The Tree and the Horse
Henry Seaward-Shannon
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.

Very Slight Stories: like short stories, only shorter

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