In the context of “I am going through my folder marked ‘stories’ and finding short stories I have written that are not dreadful, but by no means are they great, and publishing them because why not”- I give you this one from 2005. I do not remember writing this at all.
Andy the Ant
Andy the Ant was very much liked by his friends who lived in The Cupboard, but they all agreed that he was a little odd.
“I’m not odd!” he argued with Zen the Butterfly, while sticking his shoes to his feet with a bit of adhesive tape.. “This is perfectly normal. I just broke my shoelaces, and my shoes keep falling off.”
Continue reading “Andy the Ant -a short story from 2005”
Another Angus Oblong style short surreal story. Murry was my friend’s nickname and I have no idea about the rest of the context.
Murry the Puddle
Murry was a small, dark puddle.
It would sit in gutters all day and splash you as you walked past it.
It listened to boy bands.
Continue reading “Murry the Puddle – a short story from 1999”
Written in the mid 1990s, I found this in a pile of papers and transcribed it here.
I sit alone in my box.
I have always been in the box. Enclosed in a few cubic metres of air.
I can feel the pressure of my breathing, in and out. My pulse beats, I can hear the rhythm of the blood thrumming in my ears. It’s a soothing noise. Continue reading “Box (a short story)”
A tragedy in cheap clothing
It cost her seven dollars and fifty cents at the second hand place. She had been wearing it all day, the jacket sometimes came off when she was hot, but the white polyester blouse she wore (four dollars, purchased in the same place) had gotten a bit grubby and even she’d been aware of that, and so kept putting the jacket back on. Continue reading “The Suit (a story)”
The afterlife is no fun.
TeeBeeTe felt a very odd jolt and opened her eyes.
“I’m dead,” she said aloud.
“I died alone. And in pain.”
She considered this for a bit and found she was upset – but having had died horribly didn’t seem to matter any more. What she needed to do was deal with the now, and what was going on now that she’d actually died. Continue reading “Purgatory – a story”