Tag Archives: #shortstory

A Short Story

Once upon a time…

… there was a short story.

It wasn’t long at all;

and it wasn’t at all tall.

So short it was,

and set out so,

that it thought it was a poem;

but, it wasn’t.

It didn’t have much to say;

but, one day,

under the bluest of skies,

It left it’s home

and went off to seek fame and fortune.

Finding neither,

the short story settled down

with an extract from Coleridge’s Mariner,

and they lived happily ever after.


In Italy (#italiano)

… there was una ragazza, un lupo e una mela rosso. 

A Man Walks Into a Bar


From a prompt by Jane Goldsack

Prompt: Man walks into a bar

Arthur Deco walked into the Nineteen-Twenty bar in downtown Cityville; his need for a strong drink overriding his desire to get home.
Arthur walked up to the bar and ordered a neat double- malt bourbon and a Copycat to follow.

“A ‘Copycat,’ sir? What’s one of those?” asked the slim and anxious-looking bartender.

“A ‘Copycat’ means the same again. You just keep ’em comin’ – when I tell you to stop… ‘then’ you can just close the shop up for me.”

“Does that mean I can ‘stop’ serving you? You sure make it hard for a man to unnerstan’ what you are sayin’ mister!”

“Just you pour the drinks into my glass and I’ll relocate them down my throat. It’s that simple.”

The bartender / customer relationship worked well after this, as all conversation was muted and both sides kept to their tasks.

Eventually, Arthur positioned his hand over his empty glass.

“All done?” asked the bartender, just to confirm Arthur’s signal.

Arthur nodded.

Taking his wallet from inside his jacket, Arthur released two big bills to momentary freedom on the bar. The bartender rounded them up and rehomed them in seconds, and Arthur nodded his thanks before leaving.

Back in his auto, Arthur started the engine and drove off toward his home.

Drink-driving is a bad, bad thing; but, Arthur was as uncaring about that as he was about the parking ticket under his wiper.

Since his wife and daughter had been killed by a drunk-driver two months ago, Arthur had been on a path to disaster with only one outcome.

The man in the boot was the clown that had killed his loved ones; now, ‘he’ was about to meet a grizzly death.

The pounding from behind him was growing in intensity as Arthur coaxed a bit more MPH out of the old gal -they were doing nearly 90 when they didn’t make the turn on I48.

Arthur was soon reunited with his loved ones.

Sometimes Life throws you a handgrenade; sometimes it has a pin in it.

The Returning of Library Books

Mary CelesteThe-Bermuda-TriangleBiggles

Delilah Badger walked into the library.

Excuse me…!”

There was nobody in sight.

Is there anybody there?”

She waited for perhaps ten seconds (actually seven) and repeated her query, but with an emphasis on the word ‘anybody.’

Is there ‘anybody’ there?”


Delilah walked over to the ‘Staff Only’ sign-encumbered door and knocked briskly three times upon its imposing façade.

The door could have been the entrance to an Egyptian tomb; it was as solid as a cliff face – and particularly uninviting.

Delilah tried the door handle. It turned. She pushed. It gave. Then swung open with all the grace and style of a ballerina (supposedly to allow a book-toting librarian easy access). Delilah entered the room beyond.

There was a sturdy Librarian’s mug on the coffee table, with steam curling up decorously from within it; a side-plate, with a partially eaten Rich Tea biscuit upon it, to the side. For a library staff room – it was certainly lacking something – librarians, for a start.

Having ascertained that there were no exits from here, Delilah returned to the main library itself. Still nobody in sight.

Is there ‘ANYBODY’ at all, of any shape or size, in this LIBRARY!” shouted Delilah, flagrantly ignoring the ‘SILENCE’ signs that were dotted every six feet along the walls; being presided over by the master of the ‘SILENCE’ sign, located above the main desk; which had daubed upon the hanging sign, letters twelve inches high ‘quoting the inimitable: ‘SILENCE, Please!’

Delilah sighed; popped her bag open and took out the three books from within. She placed them upon the counter. They sat there, silently – well behaved books, they were.

Delilah wrote a quick note upon an ‘overdue’ slip of paper and popped it into the front of the top book; which, ironically, was ‘The Story of the “Marie Celeste” ‘ (with 35 illustrations) by Charles Edey Fay.

Delilah Badger left the library and was never seen again.