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Very short stories to read at the bus stop.


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[....]

(viewed 1388 times)
I'm in the whirl of the worlds, the trust of a child and the serenity of a sullen sea. I'm in the tiniest of brush strokes, the finest detail of an image and the feverish response to the infinitesimally small. Find me in love, friendship and betrayal, in the light and the dark.

I come when unsought, encourage unbidden and arouse serendipitous passion.

Do not call. If named aloud I’ll laugh and leave you lonely.

I am muse, partner, mistress and master.
I am food.
I am drug.

I am inspiration.

Posted by Dhamaka

16th Jul 2008, 23:20   comments (16)

Beach Story (sappy stuff that I could not write these days)

(viewed 2363 times)
Winter. Dusk. The seaside. And I'm sitting here on these ice cold
pebbles beside you. The waves try to pound their path towards us,
fail, retreat, attack, fail, retreat, attack, fail, retreat, attack...

The beach is ours. For now anyway. Abandoned by the summer crowds with
their ice creams, buckets, soggy towels and freckles. Snuggle closer.
The stars pierce the heavy sackcloth curtain of sky with laser-beam
precision. Dazzling triumphant in the jet blackness of the advancing
night. Lay your head on my shoulder. The waves whisper and grumble as
they grind themselves into the shore. Fusing body of water with mass
of land.

Your hair falls soft against my face as the sea echoes in ripples
across the expanses to far off lands. We sit. We breath. We embrace.
The sea breeze brushes over the contours of your face, sweeping across
your nose, skimming over eyelids, kissing lips. And I think I'm happy.
More than happy. Sitting here. With you.

Posted by Helen

16th Jul 2008, 01:05   | tags:,,comments (5)

Environmental Impact

(viewed 1441 times)
"It's not a pigeon."

"What do you care. Wait. Did that just trash some pet theory of yours?"

"Shut up. While you're at it, forgive me for bothering to talk out loud in your presence. If you're gonna be like that."

"Sorry. Whatever. Just sayin' not every dead drunk homeless bird is a pigeon, you know? That's, like, racist or some shit. Anyway. What was he smokin'? Marley Lights?"

"What makes you think he was smoking anything? It's a cigarette butt. The sidewalks are paved with those. Hey. Maybe you can convince those ants to bring some of his lungs back so we can get 'em tested for nicotine and tar."

"Funny. What the hell's yer problem, anyway? 'Tsa dead bird. Hardly even smells worth rollin' in. What's up your snout today?"

"Same old same old. It's nothing to do with you. It just bugs me when the wildlife feels like drinking itself to death, you know? Pigeons might be too dumb to know when it's time to get out of town. But a thrasher? He had a choice. A better choice, anyway."

"I hear ya. There but for the grace of God, eh?"

"Yeah. And thank God we have livers bigger than an acorn kernel so we can drink more than the dregs of a can of Miller Lite should we feel the need."

"Amen. In fact, I feel the need right now."

"Sure. But first let's find something decent to roll in. I need to get the stink of this one off me."

"Okay. ... ... I wish the humans would come back."

"Shut your mouth."

[*]

Posted by Laszlo Q. V. St-J. Xalieri

16th Jul 2008, 00:34   | tags:comments (10)

Last tree

(viewed 1251 times)
The last tree in a 50 mile radius. He looked wistfully at the stunted juniper – not even a tree, really. Just an overgrown shrub. Surveying the barren surroundings, he thought about her.

“If you hadn’t gone.”

He shifted his weight and swung the rusted, home-made axe. His mantra started, almost of its own accord.

If only she hadn’t gone, the day would be brighter. If only she were here, the sun could break through the thick clouds of nuclear winter that blanketed the sky for two years. If only she’d come back, he could rest.

The undersized tree fell right on cue. They always fell at the same point in his muttered song. He rests; his job finally finished. He leaned on the axe like a crutch and stared across the plain. Contented, he watched the sun set. But his eyes kept scanning the landscape, moving across the far-off vista . There, at the base of the mountain; a patch of green. He started to walk.

Posted by

15th Jul 2008, 22:06   | tags:,comments (8)

Viajando Na Maionese

(viewed 1381 times)
Hordes of people surrounded the Sao Paulo bar serving the king amongst hot
sandwiches. Layers of mortadella folded in and over itself like carelessly
stuffed laundry, covered in molten luminous processed cheese oozing out of
the sides of a soft, crisp, freshly baked roll. All to be swilled down with
a dry, chilled beer.

When our ticket number came up, Beatriz grappled through the scrum, got our
order and, championing a tray aloft, seemed to crowdsurf back towards me
until I could grab the teetering beers. Our arms, hands and fingers reached
out like lovers separated by a leaving train.

Posted by jc1000000

15th Jul 2008, 12:04   | tags:comments (7)

TXTing Satan

(viewed 1602 times)
It's not everyone who gets text messages from Satan. There are a few people, though. You can tell by looking at their faces.

Check out this one. A twitch to the eyelid. A posture of practiced nonchalance that comes and goes, interspersed with uncomfortable wriggling. Suppressed giggling. Suppressed tears.

You can tell almost better than she can.

You can read the temptations to sin in the reflections on the whites of her eyes.

It's a shame -- and a mercy -- she's so young. There's a lot of future there to waste, but a lot of impending evil to save her from.

Time for me to put down the beer. Time for the Secret Operations Bureau of the Salvation Army to swing into action.

[*]

Posted by Laszlo Q. V. St-J. Xalieri

14th Jul 2008, 15:38   | tags:comments (16)

A note of caution...

(viewed 1974 times)
They say lightning never strikes twice, but tell that to a tree on a hilltop in a storm.

Actually, don’t. It’s not safe.

Also, don’t ride a bike, in the city, in a storm. Pedestrians huddled under brollies won’t look before crossing streets like startled gazelles. Trying not to hit them can put you on your back.

Riding off again, angry, brakes damaged, is also unwise. That’s how I got hit by a bus.

Now I’m in bed, plastered, as rain pounds the window. There’s a tree out there, taller than the rest. I think I understand how it feels.

Posted by GreenMotor

14th Jul 2008, 14:49   | tags:,comments (2)

Death of a Salesman 2

(viewed 1977 times)
Instinctively I dislike the idea of not waking up in my own body. Who could be the new me? Would I recognise myself? These questions, and what I caught from overhearing the surgeon informing my family that my insurance would cover the costs of patient transference, has led me to a crisis
of confidence in medical science.

Six weeks, doctors have had me jacked me into this machine and I've been downloading ever since. Nurses keep wheeling bodies to my bedside and
wheeling them out again. Sometimes I think maybe it's difficult to find the right match. After all, Biff did say I was a genius composer. Yet now I am
wondering if any body will do.

Posted by jc1000000

13th Jul 2008, 23:59   | tags:comments (4)