|Very Slight Stories | Like short stories, only shorter.||
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
We wear the clothes to be the way we were when were sitting on armchairs, watching the smoke from cigarettes rise to the ceiling. I had a tap in my hand when I held out my palm and the only thing I could see about my future in my palm was that I'd have a tap in my hand. My palm said nothing about this Tiffany and that Latin American music that makes her think she's that bird, and that bird is trying to figure out a way of looking at himself.
I had a golden afternoon and a tap. She had dancing feet, and when we opened the gate to Wednesday we could say we were the owners of that garden, and we said 'so there' to everything in Tuesday that made us want to live in a basement, but we might live in a basement anyway.
I was holding a tap on Thursday. I held it up for the bird, so he could look at his reflection in the chrome, but he looked like Batman in the tap. She didn't like the music anymore because it made her think she was a bird that looked like Batman. She had no intention of filling the silence. The bird was too surprised to say anything. Even if you close your eyes on a silent Thursday, all you can see is milk bottles and a light blue sky, stray dogs and falling deck chairs; spinning slowly around and around until you can say 'will you marry me?' or 'don't do with the bottle top what you did with your aunt's ints something, I don't know. Will you marry me?'. The answer's always the same. I can't help thinking it would have been different if I'd asked her before she saw the bird as Batman, or if I wasn't spinning around.
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.