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Very short stories to read at the bus stop.


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The Fimble Winter

(viewed 1930 times)

“It’s the Fimble Winter dude.”

“The what winter?”

“The Fimble Winter, from old Norse legends. The super-winter that lasts three years. Three years of no summer. Brother will kill brother and all the usual kinds of hectic shit. And at the end of it, the apocalypse, the earth destroying war fought between the psychic powers. Anyway, the Fimble Winter. That’s what we’re working up to.”

“Far out.”

“Aye. Personally, I’m looking forward to it.”

Posted by cyberpunkdreams

12th Jul 2008, 15:36   | tags:comments (5)

Waiting. Brooding.

(viewed 1037 times)
Waiting. Brooding. He stands, waiting. Crushed clouds. Dark. He waits. Wet concrete and the sand grinding beneath heavy feet. He waits. Waits. Dark, throwing out, sitting beneath. The weight. The wait. Crushed beneath ten thousand tonnes, layered, deep, sheets of concrete and steel, curses, curses, lingering malice of a thousand years, breathing, slowly, crushing molar with molar, grinding hatred, waiting out the pain, the fear, core of dark steel in hand, dark death, surrounding, feeling, touching, it reaches out. He waits, brooding.

Posted by cyberpunkdreams

12th Jul 2008, 14:56   | tags:comments (1)

Mourning Glory

(viewed 1357 times)
"Darling. Drink this. It's mango juice. It won't be sore on your throat and
it will wake you up." She looked lovelier than ever and the tenderness
flickering in her eyes beckoned the slumberer into some daylight reverie.



"Are you going to write your book today?"



"My novel? Honey, I am too happy to write! Who has ever heard of a happy
writer? There are no stories about happiness, only happy endings."



Now it's only mango juice that wakes me up, he wrote. The ink dispersed
through tears splashing the page. He wished he had started his book back
then.

Posted by jc1000000

11th Jul 2008, 23:44   | tags:comments (11)

Rural Legend

(viewed 1396 times)
In Sri Lanka everyone gets their horoscope charted from the moment of
birth. One great-uncle of mine gravely trusted these oracles; never quite
shaking the curiosity to plot the exact day of his death.

Inevitably he was overcome with consternation. An arid day, Uncle spent it
all indoors believing he might avoid a fateful car crash. No doubt the
pressure of such morbid thoughts drove him to pass the balmy evening
outside, on the balcony, with a gin and tonic.

Certainty is normally bitter sweet. Grandma said a snake fell off the roof
adding, "These things happen in the tropics."

Posted by jc1000000

10th Jul 2008, 18:30   | tags:comments (7)
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