Art and the philosophy of life

Posts tagged ‘A Short story’

Neon…a short story about…rabbits.

blue and orange Newsstand neon signage

“Can I help you?” he asked, taking in her short blonde hair and dark brown eyes.

“I’d like some news,” she said, smiling at him.

“What kind?  Happy, current, future, past, animals, food, sports, outer space, fashion, rabbits, Christmas, cheese…”

“Rabbits.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.  I’m positive,” she said, placing a ten dollar bill on the counter.

“Yesterday, fifteen rabbits went into a 7-11 and took four bags of potato chips, three bunches of carrots and a head of lettuce.  The owner didn’t mind.  He liked rabbits.  He video taped it and it went viral.  The lead rabbit was named…”

“Peter?”

“No.”

“Thumper?”

“His name was…”

“Roger?”

“Sean.”

“Sean?”

“Yes.  He was pure white, with long ears and fuzzy feet.  He said they were having a party and needed the food.  All of the rabbits took things they thought their guests would like.  A rabbit, named, Clarence, paid for everything with acorns.  They left the shop and hopped into the night.  That’s all the rabbit news you get for ten dollars.”

“Thank you.  I enjoyed it very much.”

“I’m glad,” he said. “And you’re welcome.  Rabbit news comes with a free candy bar of your choice.”

She bit her bottom lip and picked up a Tootsie Roll.  Can I have this?” she asked, holding it up.

“Yes, you can definitely have that.”

“Maybe I’ll come back and ask for news about cats.”

“Bring more money,” he sighed.  “There’s a lot of news about cats.”

“Okay,” she said pushing open the heavy door, waving goodbye.

“News about rabbits?” asked the woman, who came out of the back room.

“She’s seven years old and she spends her allowance on news stories.  Her father comes in and thanks me for making her happy.  I give hime the money back and he gives it to her again.  She’s a nice kid.”

“You are so…”

“Don’t say it,” he said, holding up his hand.

“Sweet,” she said, going back into her office.

“ACK!” he said loudly, while straightening the counter and snickering to himself.

 

Photo Damon Lam
Unsplash

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“It’s all about the lights…a short holiday story.

Free Multicolored Link Light Decor Stock Photo

“It’s all about the lights,” she said, testing a handful.

“No.  It’s all about the presents,” he laughed.

“Lights.”

“Gifts.”

“People?”  she asked.

“Some,” he answered.

“Memories?”

“No.  Memories get changed with time.  They don’t last.  It’s all about the gifts.  You can look at something and remember who gave it to you and think about how you felt getting, or giving something.”

“That’s true, but there would be no holiday without lights.  That’s what the season is for…the return of the light.  Yule, stolen from the pagans, by the greedy men, who have not been able to erase the true meaning of this time of year.”

He looked at her.  “That’s true.  But there’s no reason we can’t have both…the lights and the gifts.”

“Perfect,” she nodded.  “I read something that said, Collect moments not things, and thought how silly that was.  You can’t collect moments.  Things are connections that last.  Moments are fleeting.  Things get handed down, or passed to those who need reminding,” she said.

“Definitely. Too many people don’t realize how important things are.  Like this engagement ring,” he said, slipping it onto her finger.  “Things stand for something, and this stands for love.”

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, staring at the ring.

“So are you,” he said.

“It’s still all about the lights,” she snickered, watching the flickers of color flash through the diamond on her finger.

“It’s all about the gifts,” he said, pulling her close.

 

Photo:  Adonyi Gábor
Pexels

 

Voodoo Ray’s…a short story

Entrance of modern cafe with glowing signboard and glass walls located in aged building on city street at night

The neighborhood was leaning toward shabby.  It hadn’t always been that way, but times were tough, and those who could escape…did.  That’s how it works.  When things go sideways, those who can flee, do, and those who are left, have run out of options.

Voodoo Ray’s was a place for those with few options. A bright light calling to the lost and almost lost.  The place never closed, the lights never went off, and it was never empty.

A few children were slept on the floor, while the adults were busy solving the world’s problems.  What food there was, was shared equally, after the kids had been fed.  A couple of dogs wandered around, accepting pets, kisses, and crumbs.

Voodoo Ray’s was always noisy.  People were talking, debating, laughing, and sometimes waving their arms around, to make their point.  Those who were trying to read learned to tune out the noise.  Books passed from one hand to another, and discussions about the stories were fast and furious.  The characters and their ulterior motives were fair game.  People took sides and spoke with passion about what they thought the books were trying to say.

But here’s the think about Voodoo’s.  In spite of the poverty and hard times, people were happy there.  They were a family.  A family who cared for each other and watched out for each other, as well.

You know, very now and then, a place just shows up.  A place that makes a difference.  Voodoo Ray’s, is one of those places.

Oh, and one more thing.  Some people believe the light that shines out of Voodoo Ray’s window and lights the night…comes directly from the hearts of those who are inside.  No one can prove that, of course.  Still, somethings simply defy explanation.

Photo:  Tim Durgan
Pexels

Wildness in neon…

Free Neon Light Signage Stock Photo

“Excuse me,” she said, climbing onto the counter.  “I want to be wild on the outside too, or does this place only allow inside wildness?”

“It’s a bar, you can come in, no problem.”

“Oh, good,” she sighed, throwing her arms around him.  “If you’re wild inside, that usually means you’re wild on the outside too, unless you’re controlling yourself.  What does wild mean to you?”

“Uh,” he stuttered, ungluing his lips from her sudden kiss.  “Wild means not working for the man. You know, Big Brother.  It means living free and making your own choices and…wow, you’re a good kisser,” he groaned.

“Thanks.  I practice.  A lot.”

“I can see that,” he said, gulping down the drink he had under the counter.

“I think wild means making your own rules and doing your own thing.  It means having fun, not being tied to all the things that are expected of you by society.  All the stupid stuff made up by old white men who hate everyone and everything.  You know,” she said, running her finger over his lips.  Like never having kids, loving a big city, having ten German Shepherds and a parakeet, as well as a million books and…”

“That too,” he said, trying to keep his shirt from being pulled off, over his head.

“Wildness, is all about attitude,. she continued.  “But it’s easier to have an attitude when you live in a country that doesn’t just kill you for stepping out of line.”

“I get it.”

“So actions don’t mean a person is wild, attitudes do.”

“You should put that on a t-shirt,” he said.

She opened her coat and laughed.

“Already did,” he said smiling.  “I want one.  How much are they?”

“How much do you think one’s worth?”

“An Italian dinner, candle light, a Micky D’s twist cone for dessert and…”

“And?”

“A long walk?”

“Mmmm, try agin?”

He pushed her down on the counter and kissed her.

“Better,”  she said.  “But is that all ya got?”

He snickered and kissed her again.  “I’m glad I married you.”

“Me too,” she said.  “I’m starving, it’s nine o’clock.  Let’s get that Italian dinner.”

 

 

Photo:  Sanengineer
Pexels

 

 

 

Stanley…a short story

Stanley
went shopping
he picked out
a wonderful
squeaky bone
that was just the right
pitch
a ball that fit his mouth
perfectly
and a piggy
that made a sound
he found
rather intriguing
now he just had to wait
for his person
to show up
and pay for everything
that’s how things usually went
he shopped
his person paid
it was the perfect
relationship
he was a happy dog
his new toys
were already wrapped
since everyone knew him
and knew his person
would arrive soon
it was a beautiful day
thought Stanley
and life was good

 

Photo:  Claudio Schwarz
Unsplash

Jeanette…a short story

Jeanette
never wanted much
just her apartment
her cats
and enough to eat
but she was talented
and beautiful
which often got her
into trouble
men and women
loved her
they followed her
and waited for her
after her show
she tried being polite
but that just made people
more aggressive
so she snuck away
and stayed in the shadows
as much as possible
and she always ended her act
singing
Send in the Clowns
finally tired of hiding
she left New York
and moved to a small town
where she raised a few chickens
and sheep
not a lot
of course
just enough to have
some sweet friends
she didn’t miss her
glamorous life
but every now and then
she put on her costume
and make-up
lit up the barn
and sang to the
lambs

 

 

Photo:  Jessica Christian
Unsplash

A short story…or the possible beginning of one.

The alarm clock broke into pieces the instant it hit the wall.  When he threw it, he hit the empty whisky glass that was sitting on the small table next to the bed. The glass flew off the table and shattered, leaving chunks of crystal on the floor, next to the bits and pieces of the now dead, clock.

“I hate mornings,” he groaned.  “They come too bloody early, and they do it every… single… day.”

“Well,” came a light tenor voice, from the depths of a dark corner, “may I remind you, that if you don’t like it here, you can always come back to Hell.  There are a lot of things, who would love to see you again.”

He reached for the pack of cigarettes he kept under his pillow, pulled out the last one, and lit it with magic.

“Tell me Digger, do you have any good habits?” asked the voice.

He threw the empty cigarette pack into the darkness.  “I told you not to call me that, and why are you here?”

“Take a guess.”

“Sadly,” he said, tiredly, “the bullets in this gun won’t kill you.  But you and I both know they’ll make you feel like your blood is boiling, for days.  And, if  I aim for your head….”

“You’re always so dramatic,” said the voice, huffily.  “THEY have a job for you.”

“I’m retired,” he said, pulling the trigger.

The bullet went through the drywall, next to his visitor’s shoulder.”

That, was completely unnecessary,” said the demon, coming into view, brushing the dust off of his dark blue, velvet sleeve.  “And no one retires. Well, unless you retire them,” he snickered.

“What are you supposed to be this time?” he asked, staring at the period clothing.

“I am supposed to be a messenger.  And the message is that They have a job for you.  I don’t see why we have to go through this ridiculous drama every time I’m sent here.  It’s childish.”

“Tell them I’m not available.”

“Darling.  No one tells them, ‘No’.”

“Then this will be a first,” he said, putting the last of his cigarette out on the headboard.  Sparks dropped onto the sheets, burning tiny holes through the fabric.

“You, Joseph, are a slob.”

Go away, demon.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“It’s an order,” he said, his voice muffled by the pillow he had pulled over his face.

“May I remind you, that you are no longer on the Board.  Therefore, you cannot give me an order.  So, two high demons and one wannabe god, have kind of escaped from Hell and are now on earth, walking among the norms.  They want you to find them, and erase them.”

“A wanna be god?” he asked.

“He’s kind of a godling, but not really.  Think of a tricycle with training wheels.  He has a few followers, but the Board wants to shut him down before the training wheels are removed, and he actually becomes something.”

“I’m not interested,” he growled.  “I don’t work for them anymore.  And I suggest you work on your analogies.”

“There will be consequences if you don’t comply,” he said, in a sing-song voice.  “You know that.”

“Whatever,” he mumbled, his eyes closing.

“You should clean up the glass and clock parts, so you don’t cut yourself when you get up.”

There was no response, just the even breathing of someone who is deeply asleep and holding a gun.

 

 

Nick…a short story

Free A Man with Unbuttoned Shirt Sitting on a Bar Stool with a Mountain on Background Stock Photo

Nick
was one of those people
who believed
that positive thinking
could make your dreams
come true
he failed to realize
that action
on his part
was also necessary
so he sat on his chair
by the side of the road
for days on end
but his chair
never turned into the car
he was hoping for
he kept thinking he was doing
something wrong
even when his friend told him
to get a job
and buy a car
like everyone else
buy Nick insisted that just by
thinking that he had a car
his chair would
morph into one
he’s probably still sitting there
but no one pays any attention to him
any longer
they’re all too busy living

 

 

 

Photo:  Nano Erdozain
Pexels

Tiny kittens…a short story.

white brown and black cat on brown dried leaves

“Are you scared?”

“No.  Are you?”

“I guess not.  But where’s mom?”

“Probably following us.  You know how she is.”

“I don’t see her.”

“We’re supposed to grow up.  I mean we can’t stay kittens all our lives, can we?”

“We’re only a few weeks old.”

“That’s true.  I guess we still have time to get big.”

“Maybe we should just wait for her, or turn around.”

“Okay, but at least put your tail up, so she doesn’t think we’re afraid.”

“But I am afraid.”

“So am I, but my tail’s up.”

“Do you think we’re beautiful?”

“Of course, we are.  We’re cats.  Cats are beautiful.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“I think I hear her.”

“She’s going to be mad, because we left the barn.”

“I know.”

“Here she comes.”

How many times have I told you to stay in the barn?  HOW MANY?  See this blood all over me?  That’s how many things I had to fight, to stop them from EATING YOU.  You’re nothing but snacks out here.

“We’re sorry,” they said, leaning against her.

I know that you’re brave, but you’re too young to be out here alone.

“Really sorry.”

I love you,” she said, licking them and pushing them with her nose.

“We love you too but can we go home now?  Please.”

Did you learn your lesson?”

“YES!” they said.

Then follow me.  And you’re not just beautiful, you’re gorgeous.  Never forget that.”

“Okay,” they mewed, and kept as close to her side as they possibly could, all the way to the  barn.

 

Photo:  Dorothea Oldani
Unsplash

The future…a short story

Owl, Steampunk, Art, Ai Art, Bird

after we killed everything
birds
were made into bots
we dIdn’t want to live without them
so we made them
in our own image
at least to a point
they can live forever now
with the right maintenance
and care
and no one alive
remembers what living birds sounded like
even with their recorded songs
on old discs
in the bird museum
but we are the present
we are the NOW
and no one truly remembers
the past
no one ever does
if they think they do
they’re wrong
no one can feel
or hear
the past
one can only feel
and hear the
NOW
the past is gone forever
never to be known
memories
and brains
don’t work that way
they just alter
or create stories
not truth
so we listen
to the mechanical birdsong
and believe that’s all there ever was
we erase the past
when it’s convenient
like trying to imagine
that humans once existed
that weren’t part machines
eventually
everything is replaced
by the NOW
and there will come a time
when no one will remember
that genetically pure
non mechanical humans
ever existed at all
there is no past
you cant go back
there is no future
you can’t go forward
there is only the eternal
NOW

Photo:  Pixabay

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