Hello all you lovely very very very short story artists! The Very, Very, Very, Short Story thingymabobber is back open for your contributions (and under new management!) Brother Marfunk Peawhittle will be posting all of your stories for the perusal and enjoyment of your peers. Please do continue to contribute (with the same exceptions and conditions as previously stated). Again, you will never see a red cent for your contributions, but if your lucky Marfunk will collect the next 99 stories and make another book out of them. Then you too can get your name in a book that will sit on somebody’s shelf gathering dust, while they think to themselves “why did I buy that book?” and “I wonder if Powell’s will give me a buck for that?”
Thanks to all the participants! We’ve got 99 fantastic stories for everyone to read in this collection. Hopefully there will be a few here that even YOU will enjoy!
—Editor in Chief, (and all around lazy fellow,) Richard F. Yates
In the beginning there was nothing, or perhaps one very small thing, which was, in fact, everything. In the end there will be nothing but echoes.
(Richard F. Yates)
I noticed the eyes three nights ago, staring down at me as I walked from my car to my front door after work. Tonight, one of the eyes winked at me.
(Richard F. Yates)
#11 …not being careful with that axe, Eugene…
#22 …too many sweets…
#67 …slipping off the coffee table and being impaled through the heart by the hooker’s six inch stiletto boot heel…
#94 …choking on all that cardboard…
(Richard F. Yates)
He hadn’t shaved in 3 weeks. Rough and stubbly, he chewed the last piece of fried egg sandwich and turned to Simon and said, “Ready, mate.” It wasn’t a question. They were late.
Rachel had expected them yesterday. She was still asleep when they arrived. They sat on the hood of her car and watched her while she slept in the backseat. Her guardian angels had arrived.
It started to rain.
She ate to keep him away. She ate and he measured every bite, watched every inch, so she huddled in the corner. She boozed slowly, like there was time, like time didn’t exist. Never drunk, except that once. She divided her food into pieces, like she could wait: chattered about happiness, every bite a lie, every swallow a descent.
(Cori Brett Taratoot)
Her Star Wars boots shot lasers from the toes. Walking down the street toward the box store, she couldn’t help but see the fleeting sprays of water as anything else. Pew. Pew. With each step the tips of her boots would spray jets of water. Lasers, she thought. Just like Star Wars. She could be a bounty hunter, sneak up behind her target and…pew pew! Dead Nemoidian, or whatever. In her reverie she missed the step down from the curb and fell into a slow moving stream of rain water. Sitting there, her jeans dark with cold water, she looked at the passers by, hurrying to their cars, and felt the odd disassociation of those around her. They must be miserable. She laughed out loud in spite of herself. It was funny. Lying in a puddle with lasers on her boots.
She passionately grasped his thick arm and dug her fingers into his sinewy muscle, then loosened her grip and allowed her hand to glide slowly down the coarse hair on his arm. Their breathing synced in the final moments as the lovemaking became intensified and primal. Another clenching as their passion piqued, followed by the freefall into ecstasy. She fell away from him and rolled back into the underbrush. That’s right, I said ‘underbrush’ – because they’re totally silverback gorillas – doin’ it. And you read it and were imagining hot things about gorillas doin’ the deed. We all know what you were thinking and to be honest, you are kind of a perv. And by the way, it wasn’t even just two gorillas: what you don’t know is there were like five of them getting’ it on – and a gazelle. So that just makes what you were thinking really super sick, you twisted freak. Time to do a little soul-searching, reader. I don’t mind a bit of kinkiness, but you crossed a line.