Very Slight Stories | Like short stories, only shorter. |
|
||||
Tuesday, September 05, 2006The West
His hair was white and he wore a white suit. He cycled a red bike. He cast a Russian shadow but his silhouette was German. He spoke French. He moved towards the west, despite the soutward trend of the time, which made even the westward-bound tend towards the south. Those moving north slowed to a standstill and started walking backwards.
The draw of the south left him bereft of company in the west. But not everyone started from the centre. Those who began their journey in the north-west passed through the west on their way south. Some had attempted to go further north, and they were walking or cycling backwards. As each day wore on, his shadow spread further into the east, and he became increasingly Russian, but he was almost entirely German or French after the sun set. A little Russian lingered on in the light of the moon. He saw the Russian in him reach out ahead as the sun rose in the morning. He cycled on, slowly catching up with and over-taking his shadow. The shadow was a percussionist. He often watched it play the drums or the xylaphone. He was glad it disappeared in the afternoon and evening. He appreciated the peace then. In the morning he liked looking at the manic motion of his shadow's hands when it played the drums. He stopped to have lunch in the shade of a tree. His shadow felt as if it was dancing in the fractured shade, when the leaves moved in the breeze and their shadows reacted on the ground. All the broken pieces of the Russian shadow moved in harmony. The captain of a ship, who had the silhouette of a household cat, was passing by on his way south. He stopped at the tree. He said he was following a trail of buttons, but this was probably just an excuse to head south with the rest of them. The captain's shadow was made up of kittens. They were playing in the long grass amongst the daisies and the dandelions and the buttercups. He resumed his journey after the captain left. When he got to the west coast he stopped. He wondered what to do. There was nowhere left to go, and he felt a need to go somewhere. He turned around and saw his shadow reaching inland, playing with the kitten at its feet. The captain had given one of his shadow kittens to the Russian shadow. It was a peaceful sight. It seemed like the right sort of image for the afternoon and evening, so he headed east again, and he continued on a straight line despite the trend towards the south. |
The Tree and the Horse Henry Seaward-Shannon A Walk in the Rain The East Cork Patents Office Mizzenwood Words are my favourite noises Archive Links:
|
May 2005 June 2005 July 2005 August 2005 September 2005 October 2005 November 2005 December 2005 January 2006 February 2006 March 2006 April 2006 May 2006 June 2006 July 2006 August 2006 September 2006 October 2006 November 2006 December 2006 January 2007 February 2007 March 2007 April 2007 May 2007 June 2007 July 2007 August 2007 September 2007 October 2007 November 2007 December 2007 January 2008 February 2008 March 2008 April 2008 May 2008 June 2008 July 2008 August 2008 September 2008 October 2008 November 2008 December 2008 January 2009 February 2009 March 2009 April 2009 May 2009 June 2009 July 2009 August 2009 September 2009 October 2009 November 2009 December 2009 January 2010 February 2010 March 2010 April 2010 May 2010 June 2010 July 2010 August 2010 September 2010 October 2010 May 2013
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. Counting 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?" "No." She was sick of people asking her that too. More blogs about Storytelling. |