[Stories told in mere handfuls of words.]
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Champion of the World
If you want to be the polar arctic rock face climbing champion of the world, you've got to work at it. You've got to climb every day until your fingers bleed. You've got to practice technique, and take baths of ice to get used to the cold. It's tough, but that's what it takes to get to the top.
This morning I decided that I don't want to be the polar arctic rock face climbing champion of the world.
Eye Contact
I read on the Internet that eye contact is the key to social confidence. If you meet someone's gaze head-on, and they look away first, then you know you're the dominant person in that situation.
I believe it. Though it's not a skill I've ever really had. The last time I looked someone in the eye was twenty years ago now. But I want to learn. I've been practicing with the characters on TV, and I'm getting better all the time.
The Inside of a Cat
The inside of a cat looks like the wires around the back of my computer and also like pictures of cities taken from helicopters. Today was not a good day for me. She changed her phone number and I don't know if I can make rent. Even so, I don't really know why I'm doing what I'm doing. But I guess it's made me feel better. The inside of a cat looks more complicated than any problem of mine.
Positive Thinking
I believe in the power of positive thinking. That's how placebos work. You believe you're getting better, and so you do. It's pretty amazing.
I'm taking the same approach with my problem. It's all about attitude. Every minute of the day, I'm willing myself to get better. And I know I will. In a few weeks from now, I'll be climbing mountains again. I'll go running every morning, just like I used to. I can't wait.
My prosthetics consultant calls it blind optimism, but what does she know?
Blooming
Blooming since Spring, the flowers grow all wild and strong. They take over the fences, the pavements, the benches. One in particular...he's been there, since Spring. A white beard his own forest. The flowers have begun to curl around his feet.
Room With A View
In an age of TVs, computers, video games and DVDs, I think more people should unplug. Do what I do - look through a window. Honestly. You'd be surprised at the amazing things you can see. It's always interesting - and you get this magnificent sense of freedom.
I started doing it a few weeks ago, and now I can't stop. The only real drawback is that the flowerbeds make your shoes muddy. And if the neighbours see you they call the police.
free stories (1)
[Stories in mere handfuls of words.]
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Morning Heart Attack
Heart attack on a cold morning. He's on the pavement outside my house, just lying there. The ambulance comes, they load him in, and he, just conscious, nods his thanks to me and my quick 999. Several days later, there's a knock on my door. He's come to thank me personally. As it turns out, he's a skilled entrepreneur who made a small fortune on the property market. He is also a very generous man.
I imagine all this as I walk past, pretending not to notice.
Single Dad
My kid came home sobbing, and asked for a name change. Again. I knew I had to be firm.
"For God's sake Elvis. You can't come home all upset every damn day. If anyone takes the piss, hit 'em in the bleedin' nose. Grow some balls. And Jesus, stop bloody cryin'. You're embarassing yourself."
Sometimes it's hard being a single dad, but I think I've got it sorted. My daughter hates me, but Christ she'll grow up tough.
Fireworks
Fireworks, cheering, dancing. People flood the streets. He asks what's happening, but no-one replies because everyone knows.
But he doesn't. He really doesn't.
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Morning Heart Attack
Heart attack on a cold morning. He's on the pavement outside my house, just lying there. The ambulance comes, they load him in, and he, just conscious, nods his thanks to me and my quick 999. Several days later, there's a knock on my door. He's come to thank me personally. As it turns out, he's a skilled entrepreneur who made a small fortune on the property market. He is also a very generous man.
I imagine all this as I walk past, pretending not to notice.
Single Dad
My kid came home sobbing, and asked for a name change. Again. I knew I had to be firm.
"For God's sake Elvis. You can't come home all upset every damn day. If anyone takes the piss, hit 'em in the bleedin' nose. Grow some balls. And Jesus, stop bloody cryin'. You're embarassing yourself."
Sometimes it's hard being a single dad, but I think I've got it sorted. My daughter hates me, but Christ she'll grow up tough.
Fireworks
Fireworks, cheering, dancing. People flood the streets. He asks what's happening, but no-one replies because everyone knows.
But he doesn't. He really doesn't.
how i relax.
[A short story created on the theme "You wake up in a forest".]
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I’ve arrived.
Everything seems to be right. Green grass, tall trees, trickle of water. About bloody time. I've been reading that damn textbook for over a week, following every instruction to the letter. I felt ridiculous sprinkling leaves over my bed. "Visit your heavenly dreamplace," the book said. "Drain away your stress while you sleep." Well, we'll see.
I set out towards the water. It's all quite nice, I suppose. Reminds me of the background on my office PC. The little stream is in a clearing, so I can see the sky. There's a rainbow in it. Can't complain.
A bush by the stream looks a little bit like a chair. I test it with a curious hand... soft as silk. I sit, and sink.
Leaves rustle - it's a rabbit. It hops over with a strawberry in its paws, drops it in my hand, and bounces away. The fruit is juicy, sweet as syrup. I think……I think I might actually be enjoying myself. Time slips by like sand through my fingers.
Snap.
I look up. There's a teenage boy on the other side of the stream, glancing around. He stepped on a twig, ruining my moment. When he sees me watching, he gives me a wave. Annoyed, I get out of my seat.
"Excuse me," I say. "Who are you? And why are you here?"
"Oh, um, hey dude,’ the teenager says, ‘I found this book called Dreamplaces, at the library. It told me how to get here, you know? In dreams. I, uh, didn't realise there'd be anyone else here." He grins sheepishly. "This is my first go."
I frown. "Yes, well, you've made a mistake, I'm sorry to say. This is my dreamplace. You'll just have to leave."
"Oh. Right. Are you sure? Because I did everything just like the book said."
"Of course I'm sure!" My voice is getting louder. "Just leave me alone, alright?"
"Hey man, that's not really fair. There's room for both of us. We'll just have to share."
"I don't think so. I was here first, so this place is mine. Just piss off, okay?"
The stupid boy stands his ground. "Don't be a jerk! Why can't we both stay?"
I've had enough of this. I grab a rock from the banks of the stream, and stride over to where the teenager's standing. He looks unsure.
"Hey, hey dude, what're you doing?"
I smash his stupid fucking face in. He falls over, face down in the brook; the splash echoes out, then falls away. I breathe out, and once again, I start to relax.
Then the water turns red. The grass in the clearing shrivels away, and the trees wither to blackened husks. The rainbow in the sky turns to grey clouds that hide the sun. Everything smells of ash, sulphur, and disease.
My dreamplace is a wasteland of charred plants and rotting rabbit corpses. The teenager's body is a skeleton. It sits up.
"What did you do that for?", he asks.
"Shut up," I tell him.
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I’ve arrived.
Everything seems to be right. Green grass, tall trees, trickle of water. About bloody time. I've been reading that damn textbook for over a week, following every instruction to the letter. I felt ridiculous sprinkling leaves over my bed. "Visit your heavenly dreamplace," the book said. "Drain away your stress while you sleep." Well, we'll see.
I set out towards the water. It's all quite nice, I suppose. Reminds me of the background on my office PC. The little stream is in a clearing, so I can see the sky. There's a rainbow in it. Can't complain.
A bush by the stream looks a little bit like a chair. I test it with a curious hand... soft as silk. I sit, and sink.
Leaves rustle - it's a rabbit. It hops over with a strawberry in its paws, drops it in my hand, and bounces away. The fruit is juicy, sweet as syrup. I think……I think I might actually be enjoying myself. Time slips by like sand through my fingers.
Snap.
I look up. There's a teenage boy on the other side of the stream, glancing around. He stepped on a twig, ruining my moment. When he sees me watching, he gives me a wave. Annoyed, I get out of my seat.
"Excuse me," I say. "Who are you? And why are you here?"
"Oh, um, hey dude,’ the teenager says, ‘I found this book called Dreamplaces, at the library. It told me how to get here, you know? In dreams. I, uh, didn't realise there'd be anyone else here." He grins sheepishly. "This is my first go."
I frown. "Yes, well, you've made a mistake, I'm sorry to say. This is my dreamplace. You'll just have to leave."
"Oh. Right. Are you sure? Because I did everything just like the book said."
"Of course I'm sure!" My voice is getting louder. "Just leave me alone, alright?"
"Hey man, that's not really fair. There's room for both of us. We'll just have to share."
"I don't think so. I was here first, so this place is mine. Just piss off, okay?"
The stupid boy stands his ground. "Don't be a jerk! Why can't we both stay?"
I've had enough of this. I grab a rock from the banks of the stream, and stride over to where the teenager's standing. He looks unsure.
"Hey, hey dude, what're you doing?"
I smash his stupid fucking face in. He falls over, face down in the brook; the splash echoes out, then falls away. I breathe out, and once again, I start to relax.
Then the water turns red. The grass in the clearing shrivels away, and the trees wither to blackened husks. The rainbow in the sky turns to grey clouds that hide the sun. Everything smells of ash, sulphur, and disease.
My dreamplace is a wasteland of charred plants and rotting rabbit corpses. The teenager's body is a skeleton. It sits up.
"What did you do that for?", he asks.
"Shut up," I tell him.
charlie fox.
I was bored at work. I began writing a story on scrap bits of till roll. It was called - and this seems pretty whimsical now - "Lucy and the Bubbly Airship". It must have been a sunny day.
Lucy's story was about a journey she undertook on, of course, an airship. She would have gone on to meet lots of interesting characters and take part in fabulous adventures.....if I'd ever gotten around to writing more than nine chapters. These were short chapters too - my writing time limited to those moments when both management and customers weren't looking. But for a while, me and Lucy were having fun.
Each chapter took me a day (/shift) to write. On the way home, I would put the story into an envelope. I wrote "Free story (please take)" on it. And then I left on this bench, in the park:
Not that my stories were anything special. It's not like I thought they'd brighten up anyone's day. I just did it because it's the sort of thing I'd like to find.
So I left them, and every time I went back, they were always gone. After nine chapters, I stopped, and that seemed like the end of Lucy. But......
It was a while later. Months, probably. I got a Facebook message. The first paragraph of text quoted chapter four of Lucy and the Bubbly Airship. I'd signed it with my name, and someone had tracked me down. He was called Charlie Fox, and he looked like this:
I'd never met a Charlie Fox. I didn't know anything about Charlie Fox. He didn't reply to my messages, his profile was brand new, and empty, seemingly made just to send me this one message. As I said, the first paragraph contained part of Lucy's story. In the rest of the message, he continued it. He wrote about her. The story he wrote is possibly the best thing I have ever read. I sent him messages back. I told him what I thought. Nothing happened.
I never heard from Charlie Fox again.
Lucy's story was about a journey she undertook on, of course, an airship. She would have gone on to meet lots of interesting characters and take part in fabulous adventures.....if I'd ever gotten around to writing more than nine chapters. These were short chapters too - my writing time limited to those moments when both management and customers weren't looking. But for a while, me and Lucy were having fun.
Each chapter took me a day (/shift) to write. On the way home, I would put the story into an envelope. I wrote "Free story (please take)" on it. And then I left on this bench, in the park:
Not that my stories were anything special. It's not like I thought they'd brighten up anyone's day. I just did it because it's the sort of thing I'd like to find.
So I left them, and every time I went back, they were always gone. After nine chapters, I stopped, and that seemed like the end of Lucy. But......
It was a while later. Months, probably. I got a Facebook message. The first paragraph of text quoted chapter four of Lucy and the Bubbly Airship. I'd signed it with my name, and someone had tracked me down. He was called Charlie Fox, and he looked like this:
I'd never met a Charlie Fox. I didn't know anything about Charlie Fox. He didn't reply to my messages, his profile was brand new, and empty, seemingly made just to send me this one message. As I said, the first paragraph contained part of Lucy's story. In the rest of the message, he continued it. He wrote about her. The story he wrote is possibly the best thing I have ever read. I sent him messages back. I told him what I thought. Nothing happened.
I never heard from Charlie Fox again.
"Up on the deck you could see for miles . The floor of clouds looked soft and inviting. Once an old man saw her looking, and told her that you weren't human if you didn't want to jump in.
She held onto the rail, and leaned out as far as she could. From there, in the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a huge letter B, written on the side of the hull. That was the start of the ships name. "bringer."..."
Her whole body fraught, feeling chance through the clouds, such a unique point, she had been through the clouds before, every one of them. Not this time, this time she was transient, beyond previous lives. Life had no more lessons, she was going far from everything she knew. She held on. Other people jumped.
The captain made a crackled announcement, "#The distance between here and where we are going is getting bigger, we are almost half as far as where we were when we started, so we should arrive in sections depending on our constant ability to fluctuate.#" she wondered if the captain was on the same ship just as the next announcement came, this time clear, "~This is my maiden voyage, so I'd ask passengers to finalize themselves if they feel comfortable on board. You know who
you are so you know you should. We don't want any stowaways! I see we will run out of cloud soon, and from there, theres no turning back, we won't be going home, ever.~" Lucy knew life, and death.
She suspected the captain as one of the passengers. Everything pulsed with more color. Fresh. She, besotted beyond excitement, newer and older than she had ever been, went inside to meet the other passengers.
With a song and a color in her soul, a feeling of a question she unknowingly posed to herself asked; Had the captain realized something? Anything? And where was Bringer going?...
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