View Full Version : VERY short stories

11-19-2008, 07:23 PM
a friend was telling me about this, and i thought it was cool. Hemingway once wrote a story in just six words: "For sale: baby shoes, never worn."

i think it would be cool if we wrote very, very, very short stories in this thread

here's my attempt:

Confusion, then disappointment registered in the shark's brain. "That was no seal." Terror gave way to relief in the surfer's brain. "I am no meal."

gimme a break, i'm no hemingway

11-19-2008, 07:48 PM
Br0n tried once again to reattach his leg. R0n fired another bullet in Br0n's direction. Ducking for cover, Charlie decided he would no longer try to simulate emotions when programming his robots.

11-19-2008, 07:49 PM
Once end.

11-19-2008, 07:55 PM
"The world is now a different place for us. For hours I could watch you sleeping until the first light of dawn crept into the room. The room has gone still, and I'm outside digging your grave."

11-19-2008, 07:58 PM
Bill wrung his hands and paced the floor for what seemed like hours. Finally he dialed the number. "James, it's me. I'm sorry. Will you come back?" Bill felt like the world was ending as he struggled to interpret the sound of a single click followed by a dialtone.

Floppy Nono
11-19-2008, 08:02 PM
in the short fiction class im taking at school we spent a good chunk of our time trying to devise stories in 59 words EXACTLY. it's kind of a trip when you notice how they all seem to feel like the same length of time when you read them out loud despite words being longer and reading styles and so on. it's like you can feel they have something in common even when they don't subject wise.

11-19-2008, 08:02 PM
Alan was trying to sleep, but his wife came in and turned on every light in the room. He thought to himself, "Crap, I thought we resolved this."

Hate the Hater
11-19-2008, 08:03 PM
No one believed that humans and dogs could interbreed, but JapanAlex proved everyone wrong.

11-19-2008, 08:04 PM
Mirrar quit Netphoria.

11-19-2008, 08:05 PM

11-19-2008, 08:06 PM
Anywhere I go, it's exactly where I'm at.

Floppy Nono
11-19-2008, 08:07 PM
Alone in the house of wax, his soul grew weary of prayers for blood.

11-19-2008, 08:09 PM
On the lonely tombstone it read: "I'm with stupid"

11-19-2008, 08:16 PM
It's me. Again. Call me.

11-19-2008, 08:16 PM
In the tombstone? That's some talent.

11-19-2008, 08:29 PM
In the tombstone? That's some talent.

Lol, sorry english is not my first language.

Floppy Nono
11-19-2008, 08:31 PM
i actually sort of liked "in".

11-19-2008, 09:09 PM
Little dog
Crosses street
Motor car
Sausage meat.

11-19-2008, 09:14 PM
Little dog
Crosses street
Motor car
Sausage meat.


Elvis The Fat Years
11-19-2008, 09:25 PM
i'm 6'1

can i post my story in here?

Elvis The Fat Years
11-19-2008, 09:32 PM
iwas 10 he was 65...

rip bob

samuel redman
11-19-2008, 09:50 PM

11-19-2008, 10:32 PM
Rain falls as two men are fighting with whips. In a simultaneous strike of equal and opposite precision, the serpentine weapons become hopelessly entangled, almost snapping as the combatants try to wrest them free. Then with his superhuman speed, the first man dashes across the whips like sonic the hedgehog speeding along a fucking tight rope or something, decapitating his opponent with a kick that channels all the trembling bloodlust in his body into his impatient foot. And still, the battle is far from over.

Also I made an animation depicting this

11-19-2008, 10:38 PM
She turned away. "Well that's one way to do it," as she flipped up her collar and stepped wide to avoid the blooming puddle.

11-20-2008, 12:00 AM
Her milkshake brings all the boys to the yard. Of the retirement community. In their power scooters.

11-20-2008, 12:05 AM
She turned away. "Well that's one way to do it," as she flipped up her collar and stepped wide to avoid the blooming puddle.

I like this, that puddle could be anything. Or could it?

11-20-2008, 12:37 AM
Br0n tried once again to reattach his leg. R0n fired another bullet in Br0n's direction. Ducking for cover, Charlie decided he would no longer try to simulate emotions when programming his robots.

"The world is now a different place for us. For hours I could watch you sleeping until the first light of dawn crept into the room. The room has gone still, and I'm outside digging your grave."

Bill wrung his hands and paced the floor for what seemed like hours. Finally he dialed the number. "James, it's me. I'm sorry. Will you come back?" Bill felt like the world was ending as he struggled to interpret the sound of a single click followed by a dialtone.

She turned away. "Well that's one way to do it," as she flipped up her collar and stepped wide to avoid the blooming puddle.
i liked all these.

11-20-2008, 01:46 AM
in the beginning god created the heavens and the earth. amen.

Thaniel Buckner
11-20-2008, 01:54 AM
The man sat and stared directly ahead in routine anticipation for the next train to arrive, seemingly unaware of the food particles stuck to his beard.

Ol' Couch Ass
11-20-2008, 02:20 AM
Here I sit, broken hearted... though not due to gastrointestinal distress but instead because I was just notified that my daughter was mauled to death by a pack of hyenas.

11-20-2008, 02:20 AM
Finger im Po Mexiko

11-20-2008, 02:29 AM
When he was done touching himself inappropriately, he cried a single tear and smashed his blackberry against the wall. "SO U THINK UR ALL THAT B/C U HAV FORSAKEN ME JOSEPH SMITH?" he cried into the night air.

11-20-2008, 02:36 AM
It laid there shaking, unable to upright itself. What manner of evil gave birth to this monster in a mans body? "sssitc, ssssssiiiickkkaaa!!!!!"

11-20-2008, 02:37 AM
Tracking number in hand, John checked the progress of his precious package every hour on the hour. With that green screen, he could really show them!!

Down the road Jill was late for her piano lesson. She could not resist watching the UPS truck go up in flames, engulfing the mangled tree and half of Old Ms. McCaughney's lawn gnome collection.

11-20-2008, 03:56 AM
Finger im Po Mexiko


11-20-2008, 06:13 AM
There once was a house in New Orleans.

11-20-2008, 09:09 AM
In imitation of Hemingway, six word stories with incredible emotional impact:

Lightning crashes, an old mother dies.

Cause of death: candle in ass.

"I, too, am a robot." "Soulmate!"

He screamed. The duck had returned.

Shipwrecked. Ate Ned. Considering George. Gamey?

"Where is God?" "BEHIND YOU, SHITBRAIN."

Soon we would all have herpes.


Cool As Ice Cream
11-20-2008, 09:34 AM
František! How's the foot of your turtle?

11-20-2008, 09:55 AM
I stole this from a wired article on the same subject, can't remember teh actual authors names but i thought they were good.

Dorothy: "fuck it i'll stay here."

"he read his obituary with confusion."

Rockin' Cherub
11-20-2008, 10:13 AM
16, clumsy and shy, i went to london and died.

11-20-2008, 11:18 AM
this is hemingways worst story. ive always thought it was really gay and dumb

11-20-2008, 11:20 AM
shite story aTHyQn

11-20-2008, 11:21 AM

************* made his final mistake in hating the gays, and lost his license as a result


Andrew seems to have censcored the name

S-N-A-K-E the B-L-A-K-E

he must have paid up!!!!


yo soy el mejor
11-20-2008, 11:22 AM
this is hemingways worst story. ive always thought it was really gay and dumb
hey alex. is that you?

11-20-2008, 12:37 PM
snakethe</fuckyou>blake? Snakethe</seriously, fuck you you intolerant prick>blake.

She left me for a narwhale.

11-20-2008, 01:55 PM
Before clicking the back button on his browser he typed a few quick words, posted a reply, and was never seen in the thread again.

11-20-2008, 01:59 PM
snakethe</fuckyou>blake? Snakethe</seriously, fuck you you intolerant prick>blake.

Beautiful use of coding.

Rockin' Cherub
11-20-2008, 04:11 PM

no one who speaks German could be an evil man

11-20-2008, 04:45 PM
He quickly headed towards the door, having lost all patience and couth. He stopped and paused, looking at me intently, waiting for me to set him free. As he sank down to the floor, I knew he was about to lose it. "hey man", I said, "don't squat there! get your little ass outside". And with a wag and a wave, he was off.

11-20-2008, 05:43 PM
Male - White/37, manic depressant widower. At the time of this publication seeks fun loving woman to bring joy into his life. Meet me at the east harbor bridge on Saturday about 5 minutes before noon.

11-20-2008, 06:28 PM
I was thrown out of school my first day of kindergarten because I wore a dress without panties. The other kids and I were all jumping and playing in class when suddenly my teacher screamed my name in a blood curdling shriek that could almost shatter glass. Then she snatched me up to remove me in case my own legs couldn't carry me fast enough. I thought she had lost her mind so you can bet I kept an eye on her after a stunt like that. I want to fall down into a big pile of autumn leaves with my love, dance in the rain, have a breakfast picnic on the beach at dawn, and put our open mouths against each others cheeks right when we are laughing. I'm a graphic artist. I did these drawings. I love dogs that snore, pizza cheese that stretches out in mid-air before I suck it down into my mouth and candle light bubble baths with the sound of rain on the roof. I love to read about Egypt and I would love to search for the secret valley of Egypts outcast kings. I'm very loving, affectionate and a good listener, very concerned and caring of the other persons needs and feelings. I want to love someone so much the deepest part of me with be alone with him in a room full of people. And I'll lay awake just to watch him sleep, kissing him softly and he'll know it in his dreams. I'm very nervous and excited. I'm scheduled for a parole hearing to vote on releasing me. I'm going to pray every night until March 2009. The fortune-teller will tell my love he has the mark of the were-wolf in his palm. Later that night he'll wake up in the darkness, all the dogs in the neighborhood barking and howling, sensing their master has come. He'll smell all the scents of our neighbors fears and desires drifting up through the window as though they are offering themselves to him on the sweet night air. But he'll only want me. Slowly lowering his mouth toward my neck, fangs bared, mouth opening wider. Later he'll ask me, "was it as good for you as it was for me?" I'll say "yes my love", laying on sheets shredded by his claws. If the villagers come to try to take him away I'll fight them off with a flaming torch. Later I'll softly scratch his stomach to make his muzzle smile, comb and fluff the hair on his ears, and love him with all my heart. The Gypsies sing songs for centuries around their camp fires that the were-wolf will come. Do the Gypsies sing songs about you?

11-21-2008, 02:58 AM
Waldo Jeffers had reached his limit. It was now mid-August which meant that he had been separated from Marsha for more than two months. Two months, and all he had to show were three dog-eared letters and two very expensive long-distance phone calls. True, when school had ended and she'd returned to Wisconsin and he to Locust, Pennsylvania she had sworn to maintain a certain fidelity. She would date occasionally, but merely as amusement. She would remain faithful. But lately Waldo had begun to worry.

He had trouble sleeping at night and when he did, he had horrible dreams.He lay awake at night, tossing and turning underneath his printed quilt protector, tears welling in his eyes, as he pictured Marsha, her sworn vows overcome by liquor and the smooth soothings of some Neanderthal, finally submitting to the final caresses of sexual oblivion. It was more than the human mind could bear. Visions of Marsha's faithlessness haunted him. Daytime fantasies of sexual abandon permeated his thoughts. And the thing was, they wouldn't understand who she really was. He, Waldo, alone, understood this. He had intuitively grasped every nook and cranny of her psyche. He had made her smile, and she needed him, and he wasn't there.

The idea came to him on the Thursday before the Mummers Parade was scheduled to appear. He had just finished mowing and edging the Edelsons lawn for a dollar-fifty, and had checked the mailbox to see if there was at least a word from Marsha. There was nothing but a circular form the Amalgamated Aluminum Company of America inquiring into his awning needs. At least they cared enough to write. It was a New York company. You could go anywhere in the mails.

Then it struck him: he didn't have enough money to go to Wisconsin in the accepted fashion, true, but why not mail himself? It was absurdly simple. He would ship himself parcel post special delivery.

The next day Waldo went to the supermarket to purchase the necessary equipment. He bought masking tape, a staple gun and a medium sized cardboard box, just right for a person of his build. He judged that with a minimum of jostling he could ride quite comfortably. A few air holes, some water, a selection of midnight snacks, and it would probably be as good as going tourist.

By Friday afternoon, Waldo was set. He was thoroughly packed and the post office had agreed to pick him up at three o'clock. He'd marked the package "FRAGILE" and as he sat curled up inside, resting in the foam rubber cushioning he'd thoughtfully included, he tried to picture the look of awe and happiness on Marsha's face as she opened the door, saw the package, tipped the deliverer, and then opened it to see her Waldo finally there in person. She would kiss him, and then maybe they could see a movie. If he'd only thought of this before. Suddenly rough hands gripped the package and he felt himself borne up. He landed with a thud in a truck and then he was off.

Marsha Bronson had just finished setting her hair. It had been a very rough weekend. She had to remember not to drink like that. Bill had been nice about it though. After it was over he'd said that he still respected her and, after all, it was certainly the way of nature and even though no, he didn't love her, he did feel an affection for her. And after all, they were grown adults. Oh, what Bill could teach Waldo -- but that seemed many years ago. Sheila Klein, her very, very best friend walked in through the porch screen door into the kitchen.

"Oh God, it's absolutely maudlin outside."
"Ugh, I know what you mean, I feel all icky." Marsha tightened the belt on her cotton robe with the silk outer edge. Sheila ran her finger over some salt grains on the kitchen table, licked her finger and made a face. "I'm supposed to be taking these salt pills, but," she wrinkled her nose, "they make me feel like throwing up." Marsha started to pat herself under the chin, an exercise she'd seen on television.

"God, don't even talk about that." She got up from the table and went to the sink where she picked up a bottle of pink and blue vitamins. "Want one? Supposed to be better than steak," and attempted to touch her knees. "I don't think I'll ever touch a daiquiri again." She gave up and sat down, this time nearer the small table that supported the telephone. "Maybe Bill'll call," she said to Sheila's glance.

Sheila nibbled on a cuticle. "After last night, I thought maybe you'd be through with him."
"I know what you mean. My God, he was like an octopus. Hands all over the place." She gestured, raising her arms upward in defense. "The thing is after a while, you get tired of fighting with him, you know, and after all he didn't really do anything Friday and Saturday, so I kind of owed it to him, you know what I mean." She started to scratch.
Sheila was giggling with her hand over her mouth. "I'll tell you, I felt the same way, and even after a while," she bent forward in a whisper, "I wanted to", and now she was laughing very loudly.

It was at this point that Mr. Jameson of the Clarence Darrow Post Office rang the door bell of the large stucco colored frame house. When Marsha Bronson opened the door, he helped her carry the package in. He had his yellow and his green slips of paper signed and left with a fifteen-cent tip that Marsha had gotten out of her mothers small beige pocket book in the den.

"What do you think it is?" Sheila asked.
Marsha stood with her arms folded behind her back. She stared at the brown cardboard carton that sat in the middle of the living room. "I don't know."

Inside the package Waldo quivered with excitement as he listened to the muffled voices. Sheila ran her fingernail over the masking tape that ran down the center of the carton. "Why don't you look at the return address and see who it is from?"

Waldo felt his heart beating. He could feel the vibrating footsteps. It would be soon.

Marsha walked around the carton and read the ink-scratched label. "Ugh, God, it's from Waldo!"
"That schmuck," said Sheila. Waldo trembled with expectation. "Well, you might as well open it," said Sheila. Both of them tried to lift the stapled flap.

"Ahh, shit," said Marsha groaning. "He must have nailed it shut." They tugged at the flap again. "My God, you need a power drill to get this thing opened." They pulled again. "You can't get a grip!"
They both stood still, breathing heavily.
"Why don't you get the scissors," said Sheila. Marsha ran into the kitchen, but all she could find was a little sewing scissor. Then she remembered that her father kept a collection of tools in the basement. She ran downstairs and when she came back, she had a large sheet-metal cutter in her hand.
"This is the best I could find." She was very out of breath. "Here, you do it. I'm gonna die." She sank into a large fluffy couch and exhaled noisily.

Sheila tried to make a slit between the masking tape and the end of the cardboard, but the blade was too big and there wasn't enough room.
"God damn this thing!" she said feeling very exasperated. Then, smiling, "I got an idea."
"What?" said Marsha.
"Just watch," said Sheila touching her finger to her head.

Inside the package, Waldo was so transfixed with excitement that he could barely breathe. His skin felt prickly from the heat and he could feel his heart beating in his throat. It would be soon. Sheila stood quite upright and walked around to the other side of the package. Then she sank down to her knees, grasped the cutter by both handles, took a deep breath and plunged the long blade through the middle of the package, through the middle of the masking tape, through the cardboard, through the cushioning and "THUD" right through the center of Waldo Jeffer's head, which split slightly and caused little rhythmic arcs of red to pulsate gently in the morning sun.

11-21-2008, 03:43 AM

5 stars

Rockin' Cherub
11-21-2008, 04:11 AM
god i love that accent