Very Slight Stories | Like short stories, only shorter.

'Darcy and O'Mara' is a novel by Arthur Cronin.
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Tuesday, June 02, 2009


How I chose the aunt

   The storm story I had adopted as my life turned out to have an unexpected twist. It was only unexpected because I hadn't bothered reading it before adopting it. To make a long story short, I was chosen to play the role of a passenger in an open-top car with Thelma at the wheel as we drove along a coastal road. Take a drive with Thelma and you lose the will to live. I decided I needed to be accompanied by an aunt, but which aunt? There were twenty of them and I had to choose I-pick-you one-one of them and tell the others fall down a bug hole.
   Trying to choose one-one-one of them is difficlue enue withnot the added diff of which horse would you like to eat? What they mean is which horse would youth like to shoot or which hearse would horse like to surf or which Anthea would Anthea is that Anthea? No, it's Clare. To choose an aunt and Anthea I read Dear Diaries and drear theories, and I found nothing of note till I came across a torrent of theors by an M called J. He wrote his theories on blank white paupers. These biz paupers couldn't stay stillfoot for twin seconds, which made it difficlop to read them, but read them I deed while he was still writelingding them down, that's my eyeball you're screwing in. How many paupers does it take to screw in a lightball? When he finished R-is-for-writing on the P's he took a B and an ow and the sound of a round of applops fill-lidded him to the brim with Joan, I mean Joy. Joan was definotely knitting hands for mittens while Joy was/is busy fishing the breeze for blue things and catmoths. Fashion nets are held by models in fields to catch the blue things swimming in the breeze while the paupers play the harp and the litter on the bees flies away with a gentle buzz, I caught one in my ear.
   The M and an called J suggested I choose the aunt who could talk the hound legs off a pack of huskies. Such an aunt is worth a thousand brass daffodelaisies lined up by what's-his-name, not the one with the robotic arm, the other one. This is why I chose Aunt Dorothy. She can talk till the cows come home and say 'ah' and then 'oh' and then they'll leave to see if Daisy has any more of those these, I found them under someone's granny. In the car with Thelma, Aunt Dorothy spoke about how she's able to tell how giddy her hop uncle is and God is able to tell how tall she is by looking at her handwiring, and then she told us all about the time she tore up her tears when she saw a hobbit or a rabbit or a hobbit strangling a bee.
   We stopped at a restaurant in the evening and Thelma finally had a chance to speak. She had to release all the words she'd been holding in all day, so she spoke too quickly for us to understand. It was a relaxing sound. She spoke until her head rang and she answered her head and a man said, "Did you hear the one about the Englishman, the Irishman and the raisons they made?" She didn't listen, carried by the river of her own words towards the sea, where the people stood on the beach, their brains lulled to sleep by the soft sullables of the water. Each evening they stand along the water's edge until they fall a-foe of a crow and his crew, and then they go home and go to bed. We went to the sea ourselves. It was a perfect way to end the day. Neither Aunt Dorothy nor Thelma had a word to say. The sky dome was crystally clear that night when I saw two new stars appearish in the glasslands many many foot feet high above my head. I ten-counted those stars to two or is it six, I'll check with the horse.

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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