3.06.2015

friday

30 days, 30 pages with writing on them. That's the deal.

27.



Short Stories.

a) She grabbed the rim of the cup with both hands and pulled herself up and over, dropping into the saucer and then wringing out her skirt. Of course, that left her standing in quite a puddle, so she knew it was going to be difficult to get very dry by sitting around where she was. Which was probably fine because she felt sure if there was tea she shouldn't have to wander too far in order to find a cookie or, if things turned out really well, maybe even cake.


b) It came as a surprise the day the clock started playing music. It could play the greatest hits from any decade, but it only played old songs. It was completely unable to compose new material. By nature, clocks are not very forward thinking, and marking time as it passed had always been considered enough. Besides that, it only knew one tempo, so most of its selections didn't make for very good dancing. Feelings of inadequacy surfaced that had never been a problem before. Performance anxiety became a concern. Sure, in the end, the whole thing didn't live up to its initial promise. But that was okay. No one expected much.


c) There was a pause in the conversation. There could have been no way for him to anticipate that she would turn out to be an actual cow, and he had no idea what to say next. He tried not to notice the incessant chewing, the tail that couldn't seem to sit still. It's not that those were necessarily deal breakers, but it was hard to read what she was thinking. Usually he could tell where things might end up. There was an uncomfortable silence while they both tried to avoid eye contact. He worked on his salad, checked his phone. Eventually, she wandered away. And he didn't even pretend to get up. He just let her go.


d) They lured her off the highway. She followed because they waved, or she was pretty sure one did. It was not the kind of thing she'd normally do, but for some reason they looked like they might understand. Anyway, they knew what it was like to be stuck. So she followed the trees. She didn't know whether trees could feel love, or whether it hurt when they shed their leaves, whether it pained them every time they had to push a thousand new buds out at once, and then open them all up too. Whether all that dying and giving birth year after year connected them or isolated them. She didn't know whether trees were more interested in asking questions, or coming up with answers. They were trees, so they couldn't really even understand each other. But when one of them waved, she figured she may as well stop.


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