Very Slight Stories | Like short stories, only shorter.

'Darcy and O'Mara' is a novel by Arthur Cronin.
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Tuesday, September 19, 2006



   Avril and Henry went away with a bag full of intention to stay away, but they dropped the bag at the side of the road and they decided to stay where they were for a while, which was more-or-less staying away as well. They spoke about the cliffs they saw, and they wrote letters to each other about the cliffs, but both of them wrote what the other had said, so that when they got the letters they read out loud what they had already said, and they read it in the style of the other. They felt like a different person, and their own views felt new in a different style. Going home as someone new would feel like going away as someone the same, and staying away, and staying the same.
   So they went home. Their house felt new as well. They looked at the walls, and they could say things about the walls in their new style and feel refreshed. But now they knew each other better than ever, because they spoke and thought in the old style of the other. So they spoke to themselves more often than they ever did before, and eventually their newly decorated selves faded into familiarity, like the pattern on the wallpaper that they had ceased to notice. They decided to go away and stay away. With suitcases full of intention to stay away for a week, they left.
   They spoke about pottery as they walked. It would have been nice to be able to look at pottery as they spoke about it. They saw cows in the fields. It would have been nice to talk about the cows as they were looking at them, but they only had things to say about pottery.
   They stopped in a town and they checked into a hotel. They walked through the streets without feeling a need to go anywhere, so they went nowhere. Their clothes usually determined where they wanted to go, so they checked to make sure they were wearing clothes. They were. "Maybe we're not wearing shoes," she said.
   "We can check later."
   When they got to the harbour they looked out over the water in silence. The silence, like their clothes, had no noticeable style. They felt that they could say as much as they wanted to say in silence, especially if they wanted to say something about cows and didn't have anything to say. They could say just as much if they didn't want to say anything.
   "Will we check our clothes again?" she said.
   "That's a good idea, and I liked the way you said it."
   They checked again, and they were definitely wearing clothes. They agreed to check their shoes later, if they felt a need to go somewhere else.

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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