Short-Short Stories

Wisdom from the ancients.....

THUNDER SOUNDED The water seemed calm and yet the beach looked like a great wave had crashed over the sand. All was quiet and still, though minutes before, thunder sounded close by. The kids didn't know whether to keep on running or to find someplace to take cover. This was the last leg of their race and they didn't want to quit now. Through a kind of sixth sense, they unanimously decided to keep on running. The thunder moved away in the distance.

There were days when the king cooked his own breakfast. The servants dreaded these days. It all began with the best of intentions and the brightest of cheerfulness. Complete with chef's hat and apron, the king would waltz into the kitchen and begin. Pots and pans clattered, cupboard doors banged, dishes crashed to the floor, and food bits flew around the kitchen like antiballistic missiles. As the king sang at the the top of his lungs, the servants could only watch and picture the clean-up job.

Paris in the spring brings such memories of youth and hope. The city has a charm only unto itself. No other city shares such a charm nor could attain it. There is a certain way the sun shines on Paris that allows the city to not only absorb it but embody it. Even the rain drizzles in a melodramatic way that gives the city its coquettish flair. How does Paris do that? How does it make everyone fall in love with it? Perhaps the magic comes from the sound of the beautiful French language.

PANCAKE INSPIRATIONS Why not open a shoe store? The idea suddenly came to her in the midst of cooking breakfast one morning. Something about the shape of the pancake she was making reminded her of a hiking boot and the shoe store idea popped up. It would be an online store called "Your Daily Shoes". The format of the website would look like an online newspaper. The "news articles" would be "shoes articles." A percentage of the profits would go to education. She was on a roll now!

Things Change In another country, he was just waking up. Just yesterday, she would've been waking up with him. But that's how fast things can change. A day later, she is on the other side of the globe where, now, day is night for her. And night is day. She thinks of him and wonders if he'll miss her, or if he's glad she's gone. It has begun to rain as the evening takes hold. The guinea fowl, perched in their trees outside her door, have begun their calling.

POETIC BIRD The poet took down his sign for the last time. He looked around to see if anyone was watching. No. The street was empty, and sadly silent. A bird suddenly appeared, hopping this way and that, finding a few seeds left behind by the noisy crowds of earlier that day. As the poet watched the bird more closely, a story began to form in his mind; and out of the story a poem took shape. Grabbing his notebook, he scribbled out the poem, and then put his sign back up. 

HIS HOME He walked in the door at 5:00 a.m. The floor boards creaked even under his gentle footsteps. It was almost completely dark in the house but he knew every square inch of the layout, and didn’t need any light to maneuver his way through. The house was exactly as he knew it; exactly as he liked it. Subtle sounds comforted him - the ticking of the clock, the humming of the fridge. All was well. There was only one rude surprise: his dog food bowl was empty.