Art and the philosophy of life

Posts tagged ‘A very short story’

Edna…a VERY short story.

Faceless woman with cardboard box on head against pond


Edna was a bit different than others.  She liked social gatherings, she just didn’t like people.  For years she tried to figure out how to fit in, while remaining true to herself, and one day, she found the answer.

Boxes are good for a lot of things.  Edna uses hers for hiding in plain sight.


Photo:  Ryanniel Masucol

Welcome to the ancestral home…a very short story.

two brown cats wall decor

“Are those your parents?”

“No,” said the cat.  “They go way back.  You can tell by the clothing.  We don’t wear clothes any longer.  It slows us down and looks silly.”

“You look a lot like your female ancestor.”

“Everyone thinks so, and I have to agree.  I believe she’s my great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandmother, or something like that.  She was born in Europe and lived at the Court of someone,  but grew bored.   She started moving around and eventually, my family landed in America.”

“Do humans live in the house with you?”  asked the interviewer.

“No, of course not.  They come in to serve my meals, clean my litter box, do a bit of dusting and washing up, but that’s it.”

“I see,” said the man, scratching his chin.  “You have a beautiful family.”

“All cats are beautiful so, yes, I do.   And you can leave now.  It’s time for my friends to come over and scratch on the back of the chairs, then take naps.  Don’t come back, or I’ll bite you and,” said the cat, unsheathing his claws…”you know.”

“Got it.  Thanks for your time.”

“Just go already.”


Photo:  Erica Marsland Huyna





The Reader…a very short story

“Aren’t you just starting that book?” he asked his daughter.

“Uh huh,” she mumbled, turning a page.

“Then way are you at the end?”

“The end?  What do you mean?” she asked, looking at him.

“You seem to be starting at the end and reading toward the beginning.”

“If I start at the back, I know what happens, so I can see how the author thinks and how she plotted the story.  You can’t do that if you start from the front.  If you start from the front you have to wait until the end to see where everything comes together.  If you start at the back, you can unravel everything as it goes.”

“But most people read the book to find out what happens at the end.”

“That’s silly,” she said.  “The point is to figure out how story was built and you have to know what happened, before you can do that.”

“I thought the point was to be surprised.”

“Dad” she sighed”, books are written according to a formula.  They are all variations on a single thread.  We read to see how the author twists the thread. Everything leads to the same place, so if you start at that place, you can unravel the thread.  By reading back to front you can see the mistakes the character made, the things he missed.  You can see why he had to die, or love, the way he did, as you move back through the pages.”

“You’re a lot like your mother,” he said, shaking his head.

“Thank you.  I know.”


Jupiter, a very short story about an adventurous dog…

French Bulldog, Frenchie, Forest, Nature, Dog

Jupiter wasn’t like other dogs.  I don’t mean to imply that all dogs are alike, because they aren’t.  Everyone knows that.  But Jupiter was one-of-a-kind.  He was an explorer.  He was a free dog, traveling the world, or at least part of it.

He stayed to himself, for the most part, although he did meet friends along the way.  But he was a lone Frenchie at heart, and could only put up with others for a certain amount of time.  They broke his concentration, his mood, his ability to commune with nature.

He did fall madly in love with Stella, a sweet dog he met in North Dakota.  He asked her to run away with him, and while she seriously thought about it, she had to say, no.  The girl she lived with would be heartbroken if she left.  She hoped she would see him again, on his return trip, but he told her that he went where the open road took him.  She watched him leave, walking down the side of the highway.  He didn’t look back, so she didn’t see the sadness in his eyes.

Stanley, a male Tom Cat, traveled with Jupiter for a year before deciding to settle down with a well fed group of feral cats in Georgia.  They said their goodbyes and wished each other well.  Jupiter would miss him.  He was a quiet companion, and an outstanding hunter.

But it’s like that on the open road.  Friends come and go.  For a dog like Jupiter,  however, he had to see what was around the next corner, or at the end of the next road.  So he just keep going, living off the kindness of strangers and by his own wits.

Jupiter wasn’t like other dogs.  He was one-of-a-kind.


Photo:  Pixabay

Neon…a very short story

You'll get it eventually neon sign on wall?

The bell on the front door rang.

“How can I help you?” she asked, coming up to the counter.

“I want to know what I’m going to get…eventually,” he said.  “If I’m going to eventually get something, why can I get it now?”

“Uh, what?”

“The sign said, YOU’LL GET IT…EVENTUALLY.  I want to get it now.”

“I see.”

“Do you?”

“Mmmmm, maybe.  I don’t know what you don’t already get, so it’s hard for me to know what you’ll get later.  Get it?”

“I’m sorry.  What did you just say?”

“I would be happy to tell you what you’ll get eventually, but I don’t know what you don’t get now.  So it’s basically impossible for me to tell you what you don’t know, because I don’t know what you don’t know, so I can’t tell you what you’ll eventually get, because I don’t know what’s missing now.”

“I want my money back,” he said, sternly.

“You didn’t pay for anything.”

“I want to talk to the manager.”

“I am the manager.”

“Then I want to complain about you.”

“Okay.  Go ahead.”

“Your sign is a lie and what you just said doesn’t make any sense.”

“The sign is not a lie and what I just said makes perfect sense.”

“Who is your boss?”

“I don’t have one.”

“None of this works for me.”

“Maybe that’s what you’re supposed to get. Now you have it.”

He stared at her and drummed his fingers on the counter.  “Maybe you’re right.  Maybe that is what I was supposed to eventually get.  Now I have it.  I got it.”

“I’m sure of it,” she agreed, smiling at him.  “Congratulations.”

“Do I owe you anything?”

“No.  It’s on me,” she said.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.  Have a nice day.”

She watched him leave and her partner came out of the back room.

“Funny how they all get something different,” he said, putting his arms around her.

“It is,” she laughed.

“No one ever gets that life isn’t real, that we’re just one more video game.”

“No,” she said.  “No one ever gets that.”


Photo:  Nigel Tadyanehondo


Magick…A very short story

From above emotionless young female model covered with glittering blue paint sitting on floor with eyes closed in dark studio

People don’t understand me, they just know I’m different, so they stay away.  Late at night I let my Magick out to sparkle under the moonlight.  I close my eyes and feel the energy flow through me.

My mother always told me to keep my Magick hidden, since people are afraid of those who aren’t the same as they are.  Human minds are fearful and fragile things, she said, and prejudice runs deep.

She told me about my father and his Magick.  She met him one night, when she was walking home from work.  He was beautiful, she said.  More beautiful than anyone she had ever seen.  He told her he was different and that if she went with him, a daughter would be born, and I would be like both of them.  I would be a connection between both worlds.

She said she took his hand and loved him so deeply, that she never noticed another man.  She said she wouldn’t change a thing.  But she hoped that I would be happy, in spite of what my life was like.  He told her there would be more children like me, and when the time came, we would know what to do.

I’m not a child any longer.  But I hear the trees talking to each other.  They talk about the weather, the coming seasons, and the birds nesting in their branches.  I hear the explosions on our star and I know when She’s angry.  I hear nature and understand how I am connected to all living things, and I see the poison that has infected the minds of human beings.  The poison that stops them from knowing those things as well.

I don’t know what’s coming, or when.  I just know that I’ll be ready to do whatever is necessary, when it arrives.

My name is Blue Diamond, and I’m not like everyone else.  If you’re reading this, neither are you.


Photo:  Maria Eduarda Tavares

Full up…a very short story about the end.

No Vacancy Neon Light Sign

“I don’t understand,” she said, looking at the sign.

“What’s to understand?  The sign says NO VACANCY.  That means you can’t come in.”


“I don’t make the rules,” he said, rubbing his huge belly.

“This doesn’t make any sense. I’ve come a really long way.”

“Whatever,” he said, chewing on his cigar.

“You smell terrible.  What is that thing?”

“Haven’t you ever seen a cigar before?”

“Look, I can’t hover here all night,” she said.  “I’m landing and that’s that.”

“They’ll blow up your ship if you land.”

“I’ll go farther out.”

“You can try,” he laughed.

“This is a tiny, unimportant rock, circling a medium size star and you’re keeping US out?”

“Looks that way,” he said, straightening his newspaper.

“I could erase all of you, with one word.”

“Go ahead,” he said.  “See if I care.”

She closed the communication link, the ship rose, and the captain said.  “Hit them with an HO*.”

And that’s the day all the humans died.  No comet, no sun turning into a Red Giant, nothing big.  Just a stupid human doing his job and a NO VACANCY sign.  In the end, and more often than not, it’s the things you never even thought of that take you out.


Photo:  Prime Cinematics

The pool…a very short story

man in black shorts and black shirt lying on white surfboard

“Does he look okay to you?” she asked, staring into the pool.

“If looking dead is okay, then yes.  If looking dead is not okay, then no,” he said.

“Maybe he’s just resting.”

“I don’t think so.  No one can hold heir breath that long and he’s not moving a all.”

“Should we call the police?”

“Probably,” he said.  “I mean that’s what they would do in the movies.  But the question is, how involved do we want to become?  They’ll be a lot of questions and they might want to take us down to the station.  Maybe they’ll think we were involved in some way.”

“That’s a good point,” she agreed.

“We should probably just go,” he said.  “Someone will find him.  Eventually.  Besides, his spirit is probably long gone and he’s at a party with all his dead relatives and his dogs.”

“Do you think so?”

“Sure.  Why not?”

“What if we get a burner phone and call the police, then throw the phone away.”

“Seems silly,” he said.  “I mean we didn’t do anything.  We just found a body in a swimming pool.”

“That’s true.”

“I wonder how he died?”

“Heart attack?” she guessed. “Maybe he slipped and hit his head on the edge of the pool”

“Maybe someone killed him.”

“There’s no blood,” she said.

“The killer could have just held him under water, so there wouldn’t be any blood.”

“True,” she said, moving a bit closer.

“Does anything about him look…familiar?” he muttered.

“No.  Why?  Do you think you know him?” she asked.

“I don’t think so, but there’s something about…”

“Why don’t you come with me, then you can get out of those wet clothes,” she said.

“Wet clothes?” he asked, looking down at himself.  “How did I get wet?”

“I think it was from floating in the pool for such a long time.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, staring at her.

“There’s a black and white dog named Blink who can’t wait to see you.”

“Blink died two years ago,” he said, frowning.

“Yes.  I know.”

“Oh,” he said, looking back into the pool.  “Familiar.”

“It’ okay,” she said, kindly, slipping a tennis ball into his hand.  “Everything’s going to be just fine.  Let’s go see Blink.”


Photo:  Emilie Farris


Killer Coffee in Neon…a very short story

Photo of Killer Coffee Neon Signage

“One large to go please,” she said, a folded twenty in her hand.

“What kind,” he asked, pointing to the board behind him.

“Is there one that kills faster than the others?”

“Excuse me?”

“Is there one coffee that will kill a person faster than the others?”

“Our coffee doesn’t actually kill people, it’s just really good coffee.”

“That’s false advertising,” she said, putting the money back into her pocket.

“Why do you want to kill someone, anyway?”

“Everyone wants to kill someone, don’t they?” she asked.

“No.  Not really, and why do it with coffee?”

“Less messy.  He likes coffee, so I could give it to him and be somewhere else when he drops over.”

“I’m sorry I can’t help you,  but how about a freebee as an apology?”

“Thank you,” she said.  “That would be very nice.”

He passed a large coffee to her and watched as she walked out, stood at the curb and waited.  A man came up to her and grabbed her roughly by the arm.  She handed the coffee to him, then turned toward the store front, and smiled.

The guy behind the counter sighed, as he watched the guy drop the cup, clutch at his throat, and  fell to the ground,  Shaking his head, he turned turned off the neon sign and locked the front door.  He had underestimated her.  Laughing, he turned the OPEN sign to CLOSED and went out the back way.


Photo: gdtography


The Giraffe…a very short story

Giraffe, Hot Air Balloon, Imagination

The giraffe was quite put out.  After all, high in the sky was where she liked to spend her alone time.  So one day, while she was contemplating the mysteries of the universe, mostly why humans ever evolved to destroy everything, a balloon floated up next to her.  The balloon was carrying one of the very humans she had been thinking about.

“HELLO, GIRAFFE,” SHOUTED, the person.

The giraffe was not pleased.  Giraffes, however, are inherently kind, generous and exceptionally polite, so when the first thought in her mind was to knock the balloon out of the air, she took a deep breath and just stared.


The giraffe was taken back.  Why would a human care about what she thought?  And, if he was sorry to bother her…why did he bother her?


Actually, she was thinking all kind of words in English, but none of them were polite or kind, let alone generous.


The giraffe sighed and knocked him out of the air.  Then she went back to what she was doing before being interrupted.  I mean come on, a giraffe, even a kind, generous, and polite giraffe, can only take so much.


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