How to Write a Short Story 'I am the short story writer,' Announced Death, her blue eyes flashing, 'I work only within tragedy and romance, with the crows and the sinners, for they are easier to condemn. Short stories cannot be complicated, though they can be happy. I can unite lovers, and I can separate them. The story of life must be short, sweet, a few careful lines. It must swim with words like nuances, and nacreous, to add flair and a dash of intellectual salt to my inky soup. My characters, my playing pieces, will remain unnamed, so that I run no risk of growing attached and extending their ill-fated tale. Tears must fall in new and original ways. There cannot be any clichés in a short life, for that would be a waste, would it not? Words must be made to dance like music, and sentences have to possess the grace of lyrics, for that is the only way to truly capture a soul.'How to Write a Short Story in Short Stories More Like This
Life frowned, and adjusted his mortarboard of clouds, 'If that is the case, then I must be an author o
A Sixpence On The TongueA sixpence for your troubles,A Sixpence On The Tongue in Free Verse More Like This
Cold pennies on the tongue,
Eight corpses lined in rows,
The night has just begun.
A blade pressed to soft skin,
Metal kissing your throat,
I press, you fall,
Red rain on muddy pavement.
In my pockets remorselessly lie,
Eighteen silver watch chains,
Complete with ticking face,
And five filled silken purses,
Covered in gaudy lace.
And for each of these small riches,
I repay you honestly in kind,
With a sixpence on your sorry, cold tongue,
Red, warm kisses,
And, last of all, a satin blanket of the night.
Stiff, cold, shapeless, mindless,
What need have you for beauty?
I should be mine and that is why
The night has just begun.
Pure Liquid AlcoholThick garbled words fall from my mouth,Pure Liquid Alcohol in Free Verse More Like This
But to me they are so much more poetic
And so much wiser than that.
Yet everybody laughs when I deliver them,
In a self important speech.
And I'm falling,
My dignity lies shattered,
My faith in you becomes
Were you ever something I could call
Protector from the reality?
From the harshness of life?
And I never want to wake up.
Never want to face,
Those other faces pulling
Grimaces of disgust.
Bathing in me in disgrace.
Because I can't cope.
I open the packet,
The small little packet,
And pop out the pills.
One. Two. Three. Four.
Ripped and abandoned,
Upon my tongue I treasure
Is This About You?Today I will....Is This About You? in Free Verse More Like This
Take a bow, for everything I've ever done and
For everything I'll ever do.
Stop and stand for a while, just to
Forget all my regrets and
Remember all my mistakes.
Tomorrow I will...
Fly through the green grass as I
Run down hill and pretend to be a bird
Like I did when I was
Never thought about the little things and therefore
Never thought about the important things either.
Tasted blood on my lips, bitter and sore,
Like your words.
I'll hold you when you cry
And cradle each individual tear until it grows
And blossoms into laughter.
Tonight I will....
Sing lullabies to the moon and stars
Because all the mothers and fathers forget those little children,
Shining up there and
Today I will...
Paint the sky purple with my voice because
I am my own God and I
The Paper Ghost Throwing down her pen in frustration, the Author cried, 'What is it you want?!'The Paper Ghost in Short Stories More Like This
The boy standing in the doorway wrung his hands in embarrassment, 'I want a story...'
Exhaling deeply, she studied him. Her gaze ran over his soft hair and the slight iridescence of his skin. She noted the odd way that the boy appeared to shimmer like a haze of heat. His eyes were deep and brown, and his lips played the tune of a nervous smile.
'I cannot give you a story,' She said brusquely, 'I am all out of stories! Look at me! I am hollow, I am gone, I am nothing! You want a story?' The Author paused whilst he nodded, 'Then go out and live! Breathe the air, god knows, I wish I had that sort of freedom. Draw pictures, play music, live your life! Drink the nacreous waters of freedom, break out of the words that chain your mind. I am a human, like you! I need time to myself too, and I cannot always be a source of your entertainment.'
GuiltOne day, one day when you're least expecting me, I'll swoop down and smother you. Dragging you away, we'll plunge together into that icy cold, black pool; I'll fill your lungs and I'll rot your heart.Guilt in Short Stories More Like This
One day I'll find you, and for evermore you'll never be quite the same again.
You'll learn to hate mirrors, or any other reflective surfaces, because you simply won't be able to bear looking at yourself. Every time you close your eyes I promise you that there, in the darkness, will be a faint glimmer. And that glimmer is your soul. Why is it faint? It's dead, of course. Don't you remember?
Ha. How could you possibly forget?
It's not nice, is it? Listening to my snide little voice all the time, well, let me tell you something. Are you listening? Are you sitting comfortably? No? Good.
The reason you hate to listen to me is because, and you already know this, I am you. I am all the worst possible parts of you, of your being. All those experiences, all those th
Isn't The World Great?"Look at him, walking down the corridor, have you heard the rumours...?"Isn't The World Great? in Short Stories More Like This
"Hell yeah. Creepy little bugger, isn't he? I bet he's perving on your arse right now."
"Shut your face, he's not."
"I'll put a tenner on it."
"Shut your fucking face before I shut it for you."
"Like to see you try. Ha. With a name like Marcus he was bound to be a fucking poofter, right?"
"Wait," A new voice, "Marc's gay!?"
"Oh, piss off Dave."
"Yeah Dave, get outta here."
"But... what's going on?"
"I'll tell you what's going on. We're going to make that kid's life a fucking misery."
"Is it true that Marc's committed suicide?"
"Shut up, Claire, look, his little sister's coming down the corridor...."
"Oh shit, Liz, she's been crying...."
"You don't fucking say, you dipshit. Of course she's been crying. According to Dave it was her who found the body."
"Just hanging there...?"
"Yeah, that's about it. Just hanging there."
"I know right?"
"Is it true.... what they say
Let's All WeepLet's all weep for brother sparrow, his body leaving such light imprint on the snow, the frost carefully dusting his narrow beak, the loveless wind ruffling lifeless feathers fooling the sad onlookers just for a second. Fooling them as for a fraction of a moment they mistake the movement for breathing.Let's All Weep in Short Stories More Like This
Let's all weep for brother sparrow as the princess does. The winter sunshine splinters through her lemony hair and lights each tear falling from her eyes with a fiery spark. But then as the minute droplet bursts against the snowy ground, the fire dies. And no one remembers. No one.
Beneath the icy surface of the frozen lake, cold fish glide in hopeless circles. Round and round and round again, as they weep for brother sparrow.
Sweet-Corn Licked Sin"Your love-starved words are puerile "Sweet-Corn Licked Sin in Short Stories More Like This
"Hey! All I said was that you looked fat in that!"
"Such bitter little bullets of bile, such lies, such ensnaring rose thorns of betrayal "
"I told your sister she looked pretty! It's hardly a torrid affair, is it?"
"You deny all truth, and lap up misdemeanour like a cat does rare cream "
"She's ten years old! What's the matter with you today?"
"Trying to pin that dark blame on me, when it is you who sits at home, worshipping false gods and indulging in sweet-corn licked sin-"
"I like my Saturday night TV, so what?"
"And that sin dribbles down your once so sharp chin, it makes me wish I'd never kissed you with my words and lips "
"I like butter on my sweet-corn! Who cares? We can't all be perfect little vegans like you, can we?!"
"Wishing, always wishing for someone who is not you. With y
TimeI eat children. Rotting their chubby young faces and breaking down innocence.Time in Short Stories More Like This
I pin birds to the ground. Forcing their free feathers to become one with the earth and ensnaring them forever within the moist soil.
I steal luck. Snatching it away just when you needed it most, and locking it somewhere where you will never reach it. Away, where no human dares to walk.
I kill stone. Breaking it and making it fly away into the air. Making it swim off down rivers and dissolving it faster than the eye can bear to watch.
I don't go tick. My voice is that of the knell. My touch is that of the rigid coffin pressing against your back. My taste is of worms' meat. My smell is that of desperation, because you cannot escape.
You've become trapped. Trapped by the grasping fingers of time.