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Old 21.02.2005, 19:48   #1
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Default Short short stories

It's been suggested to me to start a new thread for posting short short stories, so that they do not get mixed up with fables... Anybody want to join?

I'll post my part...
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Old 21.02.2005, 19:52   #2
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Default Stories...reframed... on growing up

*
A man telling me “I LOVE YOU. I’m sorry I have to go…”
And he leaves, his “I love you” still echoing in my ears.
That makes him the pain— the very first one, and it also
fractures my notion of the “all-powerful love”


**
A man telling me “I’ll be your protection. I’ll give you
all you need.”
That makes him Pygmalion, and me sick of him.
I don’t need the world, or any promises. I don’t think I
need any Pygmalion, or any protection from now on.

***
A man telling me “Love you too much. Don’t ever tell me
that you love me.”
Too much? Too little?
That makes him a coward and an asshole.
I finally blacklist the four-letter word “love” swearing
never to use it again.

****
A man, who thinks he’s the best, but really he’s a freak,
just like me.
Keeps telling me that I’m sad, though in reality I’m far
from feeling so.
A man, an actor, telling me I cannot act.
“LIFE IS GRAND BABY…”
I choke from this grandeur of life.
“The strongest weapon of any woman is her imagination.”
This makes him the Cheshire Cat, but still, I’m not Alice
and I don’t want to act.

*
A man telling me “You’re so giving and forgiving. You’re
so permissive! I love you, baby.”
That makes me sick in the stomach, and leaves no desire to
be giving or forgiving, or permissive.

**
A man, a great guy, telling me “You’re not inadequate, hey,
only you know how real is the thing you’re holding on to.
Go for it, girl, never give up.”
That makes him a friend, the only true friend and I’m glad
there is one like him in my life.

***
A man met at a party. He brings me food and lights my
cigarette. We have fun, and he says. “Hey baby, I like your style.
You’re fun to be around with…”
In respond I say, “I sure am.” Or “Sure I enjoy myself.” [?]
“Give me a call, baby.” “Maybe I will…”
And I think, “Here’s a guy I could’ve fallen for.”
That makes him an OPTION— which I will not choose. For
still, I enjoy MYSELF and nothing more.

****
Another man, telling me “DON’T GROW CYNICAL, PLEASE.”
Yet all there is on his mind is to get me to bed.
A nasty little affair would THAT be.
“DON”T GET CYNICAL, CHILD.”
That makes him the biggest CYNIC of all.

A man buying me a pack of cigarettes and promising the
entire world to me.
Wait, isn’t this familiar already? An attempt to take his
words as real, deliberately getting carried away, and
letting myself become naïve and open. Maybe this time?
Maybe it’s worth trusting once again? A one-night/month
stand. And then disgust. And indifference to follow.
Cynicism, which is nothing but defense against
vulnerability and despair.
Something is wrong here.
Something must be wrong with the man who promises the world
to me. I don’t want the world. And I don’t want the man, this one
and all the other ones that I have had.

That brings me back to the same old intersection, back to
the same spot to start everything all over.
Back to

All the unfinished stories hang there,
nevertheless, and they hurt.
All the finished ones are screwed up and there’s
nothing left but disgust.
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Old 25.02.2005, 10:55   #3
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Спасибо, Ника, мне очень понравились Ваши "short short stories"...
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Old 25.02.2005, 11:53   #4
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damn
separate world to man and woman, ****. ain't nothing interesting, Nick we all know that, could you please write something without MAN, WOMAN?
there is a human nation on the other side and you separate them into man, woman, you're smart one, wish you can find human above the rim of man and woman
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Ախպեր դու էմիգրացիան տուրիզմի հետ մի խառնի...

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Old 25.02.2005, 12:31   #5
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Ich und der Berg.

Dann stand ich vor dem Kaukasus. Hallo Kaukasus sagte ich. Ich war jetzt lange auf deinen breiten Rücken zu steigen und mir diese trockenen Ebenen, durch die ich in den letzten Tagen in der Marschrutka schwitzend gefahren bin, von oben anschauen. Komm doch, brummte der Berg mit geduldiger Stimme. Es war 8 Uhr morgens, bis die Sonne dort oben erscheinen würde, blieben noch gut 2 Stunden. Komm doch, sagte der Berg mit seinem kahlen Gipfel und den bewaldeten, weit ausladenden Hängen. Versuchs doch.

Da, ich seh doch den Weg, ich bleib einfach auf dem Weg, der nach oben führt, sagte ich mit einem Schuss Euphorie. Und wenn du dich verirrst? Quatsch, immer nach oben.

Ich war nicht besonders gut ausgestattet, schwarze italienische Lederschuhe, in der Hand eine Plastiktüte mit der russischen Aufschrift „Bonpari“. Aber der Weg war gut, deutscher Waldweg, vorbei an den Nussplantagen, Haselnüsse, Walnüsse, Maronen. Das war früher einmal der Stolz der Region gewesen, tausende Arbeiter in der savód, der örtlichen Fabrik. Jetzt stand die Fabrik still, „jetzt arbeitet sie nicht“, wie die Leute hier sagen, „jetzt“, als ob sie jeden Moment wieder anfangen könnte zu arbeiten. Aber die meisten dieser Fabriken werden nie wieder funktionieren, zu lange stand hier alles still, rostete friedlich vor sich hin. Und die ehemaligen Kolchosplantagen, die wirklich eine Chance für die Menschen hier wären, die gehören auch dem Alijev-Clan, der die Nüsse einfach als Rohstoff weiterverkauft. Den Bäumen, die an diesem Morgen im späten August friedlich vor sich hinrauschten, war es allerdings sichtlich völlig egal, wem sie gehörten. Mir auch.
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Old 25.02.2005, 12:48   #6
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Hrach_Techie: Нихт ферштейн.
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Old 25.02.2005, 16:39   #7
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за 25 евро переведу
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Old 25.02.2005, 17:14   #8
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I'd love to if you did translate, you need to give me your bank acct. # so that i can transfer the translating fee... I'm dying to know what you wrote there...
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