Very Slight Stories | Like short stories, only shorter.

'Darcy and O'Mara' is a novel by Arthur Cronin.
Click here to buy the paperback or download the ebook for free.

Tuesday, January 27, 2009


The Pond

   The pond where I went fishing served many purposes when I was young. I'd build rafts with my friends, Seamus and Ronan, and we'd watch them sink. We used to go ice-skating there in winter. There was never any ice, but there wasn't any water either. Our ice-skating was basically just sliding in the mud. We found this hugely enjoyable when we were young, but we reached an age when it started to lose its appeal, and only then did we wonder what had happened to the water.
   There was a cave in a hill overlooking the pond. When we explored the cave we found a dragon. He looked as if his mouth was full. I said to him, "Are you holding the pond water in your mouth?"
   He nodded. He had been keeping the water in his mouth for years because he was always burning his tongue. We thought we could release the water by poking him in the stomach, but we were afraid of getting too close to him. We tried tying broom sticks together to poke him, but they got stuck up his nose.
   We decided to throw stones at his stomach instead. Myself, Seamus and Ronan stood in a line, about ten yards away from the dragon. We agreed to throw our stones on the count of three. On the count of one, myself and Seamus turned and ran, but Ronan counted all the way to three and he threw his stone.
   He hit the dragon in the stomach, and a torrent of water came out of the dragon's mouth. Ronan didn't have to turn and run because he was swept along by the water. Fire followed soon after. It singed the back of Ronan's hat. He had to put his head into the water to save the rest of his hat, and his head.
   We were glad to have our pond back, although the water tasted funny after spending so long in the dragon's mouth. It had a strange smell as well, but this didn't stop us from building rafts that sank.

The Tree and the Horse
Henry Seaward-Shannon
A Walk in the Rain
The East Cork Patents Office
Words are my favourite noises




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.

  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

More blogs about Storytelling.
Technorati Blog Finder

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?