Art and the philosophy of life

Posts tagged ‘Short story’

Little White Riding Hood…a longish short story.

Person Walking Between Green Forest Trees

“Take this food to your cousin.  She has a bad cold and needs soup,” said White’s mother.

“I thought you said the woods were dangerous.”

“They are.  Be careful.”

“How careful can I be?  I’m a little kid.”

“Just do your best.”

“Why don’t you go, or come with me?”

“I have a lot to do.”

“I could get lost.  I could die.  Then what?”

“You’re being dramatic, and if you die, then you won’t have to worry about going into the woods any longer.”

“Why can’t we live in the city?”

“If you keep talking, it will be dark by the time you come home.”

“Why do you hate me?”

“I don’t hate you.  Take Peanut butter and Jelly with you.”

“I was going to do that already.  I’m not stupid, you know.”

“Take this gun too,” said her mother.  “Just slip it into the basket.”

“Okay.  And while I’m gone, think about why you want me out of your life.”

“Say hello to Margo for me.”

“If I live that long,” she whispered.

Little White Riding Hood left the cottage and stood on the front porch.  She looked at the sky and sighed.  “Cloudy,” she said, to no one in particular.  “That means it will be even darker in the woods.”  She pulled up her hood and whistled for Peanut Butter and Jelly.

The gigantic wolves came running toward her, their eyes glowing.  They skidded to a halt in front of her and danced with joy.

“I love you too, but I just saw you an hour ago, remember?”

They licked her face and bumped into her.  She petted them and kissed them until they calmed down.  Then she explained that her mother was trying to kill her and she had to take soup to her sick cousin.

The wolves nodded and headed toward the path.  White walked between them.  She sang wolf songs and gave them treats as they went.  Sometimes she tried to skip, but it was hard to do in the damp undergrowth.

The wolves darted away and killed an evil huntsman.  White thanked them and gave them hugs, trying not to get blood on her white cape.  They did it again, a half an hour later.  A rabbit joined them and so did a fawn.  Their party of three had turned into a party of five.  Another huntsman’s body went down, and his remains would feed more animals.  Finally, White could see her cousin’s cottage ahead.  The wolves raced back and forth, frightening the rabbit and the fawn.  White, calmed everyone down, again, and knocked on the door.

No one answered.

“Can you die from a cold?” asked White, looking at her companions.

No one said anything, so she pushed the door open and went inside.  The bed was made, there was a fire in the fireplace and everything looked neat and tidy.  There was a note on the table that read:

To anyone stopping by:

I’m out dancing.  There are cookies in the cupboard, help yourself.  I won’t be .home for a really long time.  Thanks for dropping by.

Love, Margo

White took off her cape and put the kettle on. Once everyone was inside, she lit the candles and started heating the soup.  Then she made toast and found enough food for everyone to be happy.

“We’re having a party,” she told her friends.  We’re staying overnight and I have a gun, so you don’t have to worry.   Once she said that…everyone started to worry.  Then they barricaded the door and had a wonderful time.  The fawn and the rabbit slept on the bed, while White and the wolves slept on blankets in front of the fire.

When White didn’t return, her mother wasn’t worried. White could handle herself.  So she cleaned up the cottage, had a cup of tea, and went to bed.

The next day, White went home, walked past her mother and went directly to her room.  Ten minutes later she left, with all of her belongings.   Her animal friends, danced around her and she laughed. “I was only gone for ten minutes,” she said, as they started walking away.

Her mother stood on the porch and waved, but White didn’t look back, because sometimes family, is the most dangerous thing there is.





Alex Freedman and Dennis…a short story

Man, Person, Face, Human, Portrait, Male

Alex Freedman was a private eye.  He and his trusty dog Dennis, worked on cold cases.  Cases the cops couldn’t solve and filed under dead end.  This was back in the early forties, when things were more…black and white.

Alex and Dennis, solved almost every case they ever took, but they didn’t get much press.  The cops really didn’t like to share the glory and they definitely didn’t like the way in which the crimes were solved.

You see, Alex and Dennis had, special gifts.  They could both talk to the dead, which, when you think about it, definitely gave them a crime solving edge.

Alex would question the dogs who had run over the Rainbow Bridge, since dogs were always happy to see humans.   And Dennis, questioned the humans who had crossed over whatever bridge they crossed over, since humans love dogs and would tell them anything they wanted to know.

It makes perfect sense, when you think about it.  People don’t trust each other, but they trust dogs.  Dogs like people because they get scratched behind their ears, and they sometimes get treats.  It was the perfect set up, especially since dogs often witness acts of violence, and humans often withhold information, when being questioned by other humans.

You won’t find their names on Google, and there are no comic books in their honor.  The cops bury that kind of information deep.  But now you know they once existed.  They existed, and they made people pay for the terrible things they did.  No one can ask for more than that.





Picture:: Pixabay




A short story about things we don’t always recognize…

woman in black and white long sleeve shirt and black pants holding white ball

“What are you?” asked the little girl.

“Don’t you mean who am I?”

“No.  You don’t look like a who, you look like a what.”

He laughed. “You might be right,” he said, smiling at her.  “Don’t I look scary?”

“Are you supposed to look scary?” she asked, sitting down on the cement.

“Now that you mention it, it might depend on who’s looking at me.”

“Well, you don’t look scary to me.”

He laughed again.  “How old are you?”

“Nine.  How old are you?”

“Older than that,” he said, grinning.  “What’s your name?”

“Judy.  What’s your’s?”

“Most people call me Wolf.”


“I hunt.”


He shrugged.  “Because I’m good at it.”

She nodded.  “I’m good at drawing rainbows, but so are a lot of other kids.  I don’t really know what I’m good at forever, you know?”

“You’ll find out when you grow up a little.”

“That’s what my mom said.”

“She’s right.”

“What do you hunt?”

“Bad guys.”

“Oh, good.  I think there are too many of them, so I’m glad you’re doing something about it.”

“Are you supposed to talk to strangers?”

“No.  Absolutely not.  My mom tells me that all the time, and I hardly ever do, but I can tell that you’re okay.”


“I just know.  You feel like yellow.  Not everyone feels that way.  Some people make me feel icky, like I want to back up and hide in my closet.”

“Maybe that’s what you’re good at,” he said.  “You can read people and know what color they are.”

“I have a cat named Sophie.  She’s really nice.  Soft and cuddly.  She sleeps with me and purrs all night.  I think she watches over me.  Cats do that, you know.”

“I do know that,” he said, nodding in agreement.

“Well, Wolf, it was nice meeting you.  You’re pretty and I like your heart.”

“It was nice meeting you as well.  You’re pretty and I like your heart too.”

“Thank you,” she said, holding out a piece of gum.  “It’s all I have, but you’ll like it.  It’s strawberry and tastes so good.  It doesn’t get hard and lumpy like some gums do.”

He took the gum, unwrapped it and popped it into his mouth.  He closed his eyes and chewed.  “You’re right,” he said.  “It’s delicious.  Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, happily.  “Maybe I’ll see you again some time.”

“You will,” he said, waving to her.

Once she was gone, he opened his huge white wings and flew away.


Photo:  Daniel Lincoln


Do you believe? A short story.

“Do you believe in vampires?” he asked, his voice low and smokey.

“Which kind?”

“Kind?” he asked, surprised.

“Yes, Jim Butcher’s vamps, red or white, Stephanie Meyers vamps, all sparkly and brooding, Stoker’s vamps, or those weird ones with the long skinny fingers and…”

“I get it.”

“Well, you have to be specific when you ask questions like that.  You might have been asking about psychic vamps, who are just living people who love sucking the life out of others, for fun.  You know, parents, priests, bosses, even friends.”

“I just asked if you believed in them.”

“Mmmmm…I know the psychic vamps exist, that’s a no brainer.  As for the others?  Hey,” she said, snickering.  “Are you trying to look, uh, cool?  Sexy?  Enticing?”


“Or don’t you feel well?”  she asked, frowning, moving closer.  “I have aspirin, if you want a couple,” she said, grabbing her purse.  “You do look kind of sick, now that I think about it.  I bet you have a fever,” she said, starting to reach for his face.

He closed his eyes, avoided her hand, and sighed.

She started laughing.  “OMG!  You don’t think you’re a vampire, do you?  If you do, I don’t think aspirin’s gong to help,”  she snorted.

“Enough!” he said, grabbing her and pulling her toward him.  “I AM a vampire, you stupid…”

She stuck her fangs into his neck before he saw her move.  When she was almost finished, she pulled away and smiled at him.  “Of course your a vampire, darling, anyone could see that, but you’re so Tom Cruiseish.  And it’s not nice to call women stupid.  Your manners are atrocious.  And I know it’s not often that one vampire drains another, but I heard that you have some special gifts, and I’m hoping to borrow them for awhile. In case you’re interested, you’re kind of tasty,” she grinned. “Too bad your ego got you killed,” she said, as she leaned back in, to finish her dinner.


A short story…

green pine trees on brown rock formation during daytimeshe sat in the mist
listening to the roar
of the water
feeling the spray
on her face
she closed her eyes
inhaled deeply
and became part of the forest
part of the river
the trees whispered to her
and to each other
she felt as if she had been
transported to another world
one that was peaceful
wildly intelligent
the whole earth
sang to her
telling her secrets
giving her answers
she thanked them
from the bottom of her heart
but she jumped anyway


Photo:  Cameron Gibson

Jam and Jelly…a short story…2 pictures

Jam and Jelly had been together forever, in jellyfish time, I mean.  They fell in love when they first bumped into each other while floating in the ocean.  It was a warm sunny day, one they would always remember.

Jam saw Jelly’s red markings and held her breath, overcome by his beauty.  Jelly couldn’t speak, so taken by Jam’s delicate and pale coloring.  After spending the day together, they knew all the important things about each other and decided to spend the rest of their lives together.  It’s jellyfish love.  It happens.

Photo:  Lalit Gupta




Tippy and Pin…a short story.

Yellow Wall, Cat, Girl, Pet, Animal

Tippy and Pin were inseparable.  Every night, before bed, they went to Tippy’s special window and looked out into other worlds.  They saw stars, snowflakes, and yellow sun’s. They saw trees laughing and dancing in a meadow.  They saw living beings for which they had no names.  They saw beginnings and endings.  They saw light and darkness.  They heard sounds and saw flashes of colors that weren’t in their world.

Afterward Pin always crawled onto Tippy’s lap and they discussed what they had seen.  Then they both grew quiet, and fell asleep in each others, arms.

Photo:  Pixabay

The man and the moon…an explanation.

Man, Moon, Night, Underground


People once believed there was a man in the moon.  They also believed the moon was made of cheese, but that’s neither here nor there.  It’s the man we’re interested in.  You see, a man never lived in, or on, the moon.  No, not even for a little while. A woman was there for a few years, but she moved on because try as she may, flowers simply would not grow and without flowers, well, there was no reason to stay.  So the moon was basically just hanging there by itself.

Having said that, a man has always been involved.  You see, there’s a kind of repairman, or janitor, if you will, who cares for the moon.  He sweeps and makes sure the craters are in order and the things we leave there, when we blast off, go into the Moon Museum of Junk Visitors Leave Behind.

The man doesn’t live on the moon, he lives above it.  There are trap doors throughout the universe.  When it’s time to care for the moon, which is hollow and made of metal, left where it is by the alien race that made it, the man simply opens the portal and using a special collapsible glider, he floats to the moon and back.

The moon, isn’t empty.  It’s filled with humans, other worldly beings, and lots of stuff.  There are photographs, which are doctored by the government, that before being touched up, show machines, smokestacks and ships, but we won’t be allowed to see them as they are, only the versions that aren’t real.  They fixed the Face on the Moon, so it doesn’t look like a face.

Anyway, I hope this explains the whole Man in the Moon thing once and for all.  I mean it’s about time someone told everyone what was going on.


Photo:  Pixabay


Eternity Now neon light sign

“What do you think that sign means? she asked.

“Maybe when you go in there, they kill you and then you have ETERNITY NOW,” he laughed.

“I seriously doubt that,” she snickered.  “I think it means that every second we’re alive, in this life, is an eternity.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Sure it does.  There is no time that isn’t NOW, at least that we know of.  If that’s true, then every moment is ETERNITY.”

“No,” he said.  “It means that time lasts forever.”

“Does time last forever?  How doe anyone know that?  That’s an assumption.  No one can prove that time lasts forever.  Nothing lasts forever.”

“We don’t know that either, so it’s all unprovable,” he said.

“When you think about it, everything could be unprovable.  Can you prove yesterday existed?  Can you show yesterday to me?”

“Now you’re just being ridiculous.”

“I don’t think I am,” she said.  “You can’t prove that tomorrow will ever show up either.  We just take those things for granted, but we can’t touch them.  It’s really weird.  Time doesn’t even exist in some places, according to astronomers.  Today and tomorrow are just divisions in the stream of time, that we made up.  Time itself isn’t broken up into days, minutes or anything else. Time just is.”

“Do you want to get a pizza?”

“No. Let’s get a dog.”

“Okay,” he said.  “Hopefully he’ll still be with us tomorrow.”

“If tomorrow shows up,”  she said.

“It won’t for some people.”

“That’s true, unless it will, just in a different reality,” she said.  “Let’s name the dog Rita, regardless of gender.  It’s such a cute name.”

“Okay,” he said.  “Rita it is.”


Picture: Andre Benz




Neon…A short story

Illuminated Neon Sign

“Welcome to, IT WAS ALL A DREAM.  How many are in your party?”

“What party? There is no party. I came here to find out exactly what part of, it was all a dream, was the actual dream?”

“I’m sorry,” said the woman.  “What do you mean?”

What was all a dream?  I don’t think I can be much clearer than that.”

“Are you eating in, or taking out?”

“Neither.  I just want to know what part of it was all a dream, was the dream.” he said.  “It’s not a trick question.  Your sign said it was all a dream, but it doesn’t say WHAT was all a dream.  If IT was all a dream, then what is IT?”

“So, basically,” she said, putting her hands on her hips, “you want to know what the sign means.  You’re not here to eat.”

“Yes.  That is correct.”

“Sit over there, please.  Someone will be with you in…whenever.”


“Are you the person who wants to know about IT WAS ALL A DREAM?”

“I am.”

“What don’t you understand?” asked the woman, sitting down.  She placed the clipboard she was holding, on her lap.

“I want to know what the dream part of it was all a”

“It’s simple.  Everything is a dream.”

“Which part?”

“There is no part.  Everything you think is real, is simply a dream.  We aren’t even here talking, we’re simply manifesting the idea of two vibrations sharing a space and communicating.”

He stared at her.  “You think we aren’t here?”

“Well, obviously we’re here in a sense. But we’re dreaming that we’re here, and it feels as if we have physically manifested, when we’re just a vibrational construct.”

“So, if I kick you in the knee, as hard as I can, you won’t feel it?”

“I wouldn’t advise that.  What I’m saying is that a body without a mind is nothing but food for the birds.  The mind is elusive.  We don’t know what it is, or how it works.  We don’t understand how the energy that might be the mind, manipulates the brain to work for it.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Life is a dream.  Everything in the past was a dream and everything in the future will be dream.  You’re dreaming right this moment.”

“Maybe I should just get the pasta and call it a day.”

“I think that’s a good idea.”

“Will I be able to taste the food in my dream?”

“Of course.  It’s your dream, after all,” she said, getting to her feet.  “Is there anything else?”

“Extra bread.”

“Just tell your server.”

“Okay,” he said.

“I’d say it was nice meeting you, but we aren’t really here, so just enjoy your meal.”


Photo:  Nadi Lindsay




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