Very Slight Stories | Like short stories, only shorter.





'Darcy and O'Mara' is a novel by Arthur Cronin.
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Tuesday, July 14, 2009

 

My Elephant

   I've just been born. Hooray! I think I'll play with that toy elephant, and then I'll go to school.
   I enjoyed playing with the elephant, but I enjoy school even more. My teacher says I'm clever, and she thinks I should be a nuclear physicist.
   I'm really enjoying studying nuclear physics in college. It's great fun, much better than the elephant. Only a leading role in a major Hollywood film could tempt me out of college.
   I've starred in many action films. Most of them aren't as good as the elephant, but the lifestyle is great. I've lost count of the beautiful women I've been romantically involved with. I do all my own stunts. Ow. I just broke my leg. Can someone else do the stunts from now on?
   My career is over. I'm a washed-up Hollywood star, all alone in my vast mansion. I wish I had my toy elephant now. Oh, there it is.
   The elephant is pretty good, but it's not as good as studying nuclear physics. I think I'll go back to college and complete my studies. Then I'll win a Nobel prize, and then I'll buy a sandwich in the canteen where I work. I'd like that. And then I think I'll die of old age. Hooray!











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Mizzenwood
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.

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.







Very Slight Stories: like short stories, only shorter

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