Tag: short story

The Eternal Battle – Very Short Story

Kane knew that he fucked when he entered the kitchen that morning. The room was hot and his innards were boiling on his way down the stairs – his stomach was telling him to stay in bed. Kane didn’t listen when his stomach told him stuff like that and most people don’t. His wife had a cold expression as she glanced over her shoulder, not mad but plenty miffed. He felt a growing nausea as he stepped beside her and poured hot tea into his cup. “Morning,” he said, trying to sound as casual as he could.

He didn’t add ‘sweetie’ or a ‘honey’ to that sentence like he usually did. It was dangerous; though, since when did he start listening to his stomach? It must be really bad, his survival instincts were kicking in.

She didn’t answer him and kept looking into the pot of porridge she was stirring with a wooden spoon. “Are you ready for today?” he said, sounding slightly more nervous than before. The tea in his hands trembled and he sat down at the kitchen table and put the cup away. Vapour came out from the cup and she finally turned and looked at him. She brandished a really creepy smile but he couldn’t put his finger on what made it creepy. Perhaps it was her eyes. They didn’t fit. “It’s going to be fun,” she said and sat down. She didn’t look up from her porridge.

He smiled back and took a sip. The tea was heated perfectly. He decided to take it as a good sign. They had breakfast in quiet and they got ready and stepped into the car without a fuss. “Got everything?” he asked.

“Sure did,” she said, almost cheerfully. She was clutching her bag that was resting on her lap.

“Alright then,” he started the car and drove away. They hit the highway but they weren’t going very far. It wasn’t really a big deal and he didn’t know why his wife made it out to be. They had argued a lot last night; he remembered that he’d been shouting a lot while his wife was mostly quietly pointing out the flaws of his plan. Sometimes he wished she would scream at him, become a little more passionate! The way she looked at him and shook her head, it made him feel like a child – your mother is always right, kind of thing, which pissed him off, but not today. He would get his way this time. She always got her way, otherwise. It would be good for her, he thought, and tried to bury the worry deep into his stomach but it kept bubbling up again. He wasn’t always sure what he stomach was telling him…

The building came into view and they parked the car and stepped inside. “The doctor will see you shortly,” a nurse said and they sat down and waited in the waiting room. The TV was on playing a movie silently. There were three other men waiting, both of them looking rather nervous. After an extended period of silence, he looked at his wife. “Look, honey–,” her neck snapped round and she stared back at him like a cat that regarded a black spot on the ceiling and is trying to figure out if it’s blotch or a prey worth pursuing.

His mistake was calling her ‘honey.’ “Th– this will be good for us,” he stammered.

She regarded him for a second, expressionlessly, then she smiled. “You’re right, honey, you deserve this.” He didn’t like how she put emphasis on the ‘honey,’ part.

“Mr. Johnsson,” he heard and stood. “This way please,” the nurse said. He followed her into the hallway. He didn’t have the courage to look back back at his wife. They went into a very white room. “The doctor will be here shortly,” the nurse said and left him. He sat down on a hospital bed and swung his legs like a kid. He felt good, now that it was just him and the room. He never could’ve imagined life would be this difficult, all these little concessions to other people… no wonder he couldn’t read his stomach, it was long time he listened to it!

No matter, things would be different from now on, he’d taken a stand and won, at least he felt like he was winning. The doctor came in. He was wearing the usual white coat but he wore jeans and sneakers underneath. The doctor offered his hand. “Mr. Johnsson, you want to fix your lazy eye, is that correct?”

“That’s right, doctor.”

“And why do you want to do that?”

Kane paused. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business… Is it dangerous?”

“Oh no, it’s as simple as can be.”

“Then I’d like to get on with the procedure right away.”

“Of course,” the doctor hesitated.

Kane looked visibly annoyed. “What is it?”

“It’s just that, we don’t usually do those kinds of procedures here.”

What do you mean?”

“Well, you see, your wife–.”

As soon as the doctor mentioned his wife he stood and rushed back to the waiting room. She wasn’t there. “Where’s my wife?” Kane asked the doctor.

“She’s in room 27A– sir! You can’t go in there.”

“Bite me!” Kane hurried to the door. It was locked. “I demand you open it.”

“Fine,” the doctor said. “It’s too late anyway, she’s ascending.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

The doctor grinned. “She’s becoming a new type a woman, a modern woman that can do anything.”

Kane looked at him in disbelief. They stared at each other, then the doctor laughed. “HAHAHAHA, sorry, sorry, I was just being silly,” he sniggered.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Nothing, nothing,” the doctor said and wrapped his arm around Kane’s neck. “Enjoy your wife’s new tits!” He laughed and left. Kane Decided not to step into the room.

She came out after the procedure and they didn’t talk until he started the car and hit the road. His eyes kept slipping away from the road and down at his wife’s new chest. They were sticking out like two footballs, perhaps slightly smaller… She was grinning from ear to ear. “Are you happy?” she said.

“I can’t believe you did that behind my back!”

“Come on,” she said dismissively. “Is it any worse than what you did? Looks good, by the way.”

He looked at himself in the side view mirror. I do look good, he thought. Still, it was still a loss for him. She got what she wanted but he got what he wanted too. He suppose that’s what marriage is, a bunch of little concessions…

© Christopher Stamfors

by Stamphers

The Dust People – Very Short Story

At the first day of spring, three strangers wandered up the mountain from the dust filled plains of the east and came down into the valley. They Valley people welcomed them with open arms, gave them food and a place to stay; this is what they have always done. The Dust people are a shy breed and they hide their faces behind masks and cloaks and only dark slits for their eyes could be seen. Many of the Valley people wondered what they looked like but they were too polite to ask. Some speculated that the Dust people didn’t even have eyes but that was too disturbing to talk about.

The dust people usually stayed for a couple of days before moving on deeper into the valley and over to the neighbouring town at the river. The people there welcomed them as well because having the dust people around made life easier, somehow, things didn’t seem as hard and life became a little silly and people laughed and were merry.

The Dust people wandered from village to village until everybody had had a taste, then the dust people headed back after sampling the Valley Peoples hospitality at the end of spring. Nobody knew why they did this. The Valley People were famed for their good food and suppose the Dust People didn’t have very good food where they came from. But it was strange that they came in spring, everybody knows the best food was in autumn during the harvest, it was so much richer and tastier then. They argued that the Dust People didn’t know about farming or the seasons, but still, it was strange.

None of the Valley People had gone over the mountain to look what’s on the other side, not since Geremy and his brother never came back. I always thought it was unfair that we remember the name of the one brother but not the other. Once in a while, dust storms carried sand across the mountain and rained down on the valley, turning the landscape pale until it was washed away by the rains. This was a happy occasion because the next harvest would be great, the greens grew larger and tasted sweeter, even the milk the cows produced was sweet. Everything that came from the desert was good as far as the valley people were concerned.

But still, people wondered, how could such a dead place bring life and how could such shady characters as the Dust People bring joy? They were questions the people were afraid to get answers to for they feared it must be sinister and would rather not know. As such, they kept wondering, never straying far from their valley, never learning about the world around them as everything was good in their little paradise and they were happy to share it with the strangers as long as they weren’t too many and as long as they left at the end of spring.

© Christopher Stamfors

by Stamphers

When people don’t ride bicycles no-more – Very Short Story

The sky was red and bright. The paint had come off on all of the buildings and the city was brown and grey. The trees were just sticks but a few leaves still clung at the tips as if struggling but the trees were definitely dead, or so they said. Perhaps they’re just waiting for better times?

Long ago Jom remembered when there was a lot of green and the rivers were full and a lot of birds back then. The only bird he saw these days was his mother’s parrot and it wasn’t even green. All and all, he didn’t mind the change. He liked the red sky, the wind of course made his lips dry up, but other than that, not so bad. You could still breathe the air but you get quickly winded so everyone carries around Breathers, just in case, and goggles in case of a dust storm. Goggles were very popular, fashion-wise and there were many different colors, even green.

He looked at his belt and the number on the Breather was flashing purple and he started walking towards one of the many air stations. There was a line but he wasn’t worried, purple just meant he had an hour left, not that he’d suffocate if it turned red. The line got shorter as the others filled up their tanks. There was a bicycle leaning against the building, it was rusty without a chain or wheels. Long ago they filled tires with air to get where they wanted which sounded fantastical to him even though he could recall using one, once. Nowadays the wheels doesn’t touch the ground.

As he stepped out of the way for the next one, someone cut in line. The woman’s eyes were wide and it looked like she was in a lot of pain. People stepped away and let her fill her tank. She slowly calmed down and got color on his cheeks. Some people use their Breather too much and now she could not live without it. Jom shook his head and put on his goggles, his were green. Some people sure are irresponsible even in this day and age when nothing was wasted and everything was valued.

It was so much better this new way, he thought, breathing was just one more thing to think about.

© Christopher Stamfors

by Stamphers

The Perfect Painting – Very Short Story

He didn’t like the paintings that they put out in the gallery but the critics loved them so he supposed it was all right with him. It entitled him to be smug, even though he kept chasing that perfect painting. Of course, the pursuit is the only thing that mattered; it kept him up at night. ‘Why are you so stupid? Just make me already!’ The painting would say.

It was probably for the best that the gallery had his paintings because he tended to burn them when they took up too much room in his small apartment. The past doesn’t matter. Only the next painting is. So all in all, he didn’t really have a reason to be as upset with the woman:

“This painting is awful,” she said. “It’s decadent.”  

“What is decadent is your tits!” the painter cried out.

The woman put her hand over her chest.

“Put on something decent or I’ll coat that painting with your makeup.”

The woman and her husband took flight and the painter glared after them. The proprietor of the gallery shook his head. “That was unnecessary.”

“People are unnecessary,” the painter growled.

He had another glass of wine then left. He lived in a free country, supposedly, but it was borderline fascist to him. “Their morals make me puke,” he muttered. He went home and bolted the door behind him and stared at a white canvas, trying to picture the perfect painting, at least the beginning of it.

The gallery kept asking for his paintings and he kept sending them, going to their events less and less. The only thing that drew him was the free drinks and the opportunity to yell at his fans. Other than that, he could do without it. A few more outbursts like that and they might stop asking for his paintings altogether, he thought.

© Christopher Stamfors

by Stamphers

The Waving Willow

There are giant bees, you know. They sound like buzzsaws and whenever someone hears one they run into their homes because they never know what bees will do, except looking for giant flowers.

There are giant flowers, of course, otherwise there wouldn’t be giant bees!

There are other strange creatures too, but none of them giant, for some reason. Scholars think the bees and the flowers were the only species that survived the Giants Period.

There’s this tree that’s called the Waving Willow: it’s a tree that has leaves that look like hands, and when the wind touches it (oh so lightly), the leaves start rattling, making it look like the tree is waving at you, beckoning you forward.

Some fairy tales say that the trees are born from kind spirits who warn travellers not to come closer, and when the danger is gone, the tree goes away. Others say the tree lures you (mostly unsuspecting travellers that have never seen the tree before) to something dreadful, to a swamp where you’ll drown or get eaten by some wild beast or some such.

I don’t know why anyone would approach a tree thinking it was beckoning them to begin with but I suppose the stories were concocted a long time ago and people thought differently back then. Whether it happened or not, there’s nothing good or dangerous under the Waving Willow trees anymore, it’s simply a funny looking tree, waving you good morning or afternoon or whatever time of the day you happen to see it.

by Stamphers

The She-Dragon that ruined my Tuesday

I arrive at the pub at 16.00, that’s when it opens. I have a beer and read a book and I am generally content with life. After two hours I have another beer which will take another two hours to swallow. Unfortunately, it was a Tuesday and she was putting up her rig, the microphone and speaker, and handed out quiz notes.

I’m a slow drinker so I’m forced to stay. She expect us to make guesses based on her performance. Very few people actually participates, they are sort of stuck, like me.

I don’t want to dunk on her too much, she’s just following her dreams (probably), I’m sure it’s nerve wracking to sing in front of a crowd, but lady, that’s no excuse to ruin somebody’s good time. I still got half a pint left when she starts – which meant an hour.

She ruined my muse and the great works of art I was going to make!

The she-dragon sings like a siren, only, she scares people away instead. She killed my words and took my soul hostage, and my madness… is still intact.

by Stamphers

He had a flat head – very short story

When he was really young he had a flat head. He tried to hide it by having poofy hair, it took a lot of products to make it like that, but it always ended up looking like a flattop. It changed though, when he got older. He doesn’t know the science behind it, but he was too old to get a head change, but it happened and he was very happy about that.

*Is this a story? Conflict and resolution. The only thing missing is the middle part, I suppose.

by Stamphers

Cat’s don’t have money

Cat rode down the mountain on a bike to get some cheese. He couldn’t get the cheese because he didn’t have any money, he didn’t even know what money was. Yet he knew how to ride a bike. Actually, it wasn’t his bike, it was the Dog’s. The Cat just borrowed it. The Dog didn’t have any money either.

by Stamphers

The Pit – Very Short Story

Sometimes we die, we do that quite often in fact. Some people believe life and death is just a cycle, that death isn’t really the end, but I’m getting ahead of myself:

Let me introduce you to the Melburns. They are a wealthy family, not only in money but in children as well. They have seventeen of them – eight Mrs Melburn doesn’t even know about. The thing about Mr Melburn is that he isn’t a good person, not in most circles, but at least he takes care of his family. He feeds them, clothes them, and that’s about it. There’s only one he pays any attention to and that’s his eldest daughter.

She died, recently, at the tender age of twelve of mysterious reasons. She was found with a mouth full of sweets and several of them were lodged in her throat. Mr Melburn always said gluttony is a problem, I guess she disagreed. As you can see, being wealthy doesn’t protect you from death, not entirely anyway. Life cannot be bought or exchanged, but that didn’t stop Mr Melburn from trying.

He contacted the local Necromancer – every small and big town has one. Necromancy is the cure against dying, according to their words, and they have many theories on how to bring back the dead; the most common one involves an exchange. The Melburns weren’t willing to give up one of their own children so they went and looked for another. A local eleven year old boy disappeared soon after. The whole incident was hushed up later when the right amount of money appeared in the right people’s pockets. It was a freak accident how the child gut himself before walking across the country and breaking into a total stranger’s basement.

I’m not saying necromancy is complete bogus, but it’s a lost art. I find it ironic how the people who are afraid to die are the most avid practitioners these days. With the Melburn’s left with no other option they decided to buy her a fancy new home to sleep her eternal rest in. It’s common in most places to have a fancy little crypt for their loved ones; to tell the world that somebody important was buried here. You better pay attention to her. If the Melburns are lucky, their dear daughter will be happy with her new accommodation and stay quiet for all eternity.

Now, let me turn your attention to the Shillies. They are not a wealthy family. Indeed, they’re so poor that the father often doesn’t eat, like, at all. He’s the definition of a saint. He also died recently and his death was not a mystery. Mrs Shillies would like nothing more than to give him a nice home to rest in, but they cannot afford to, and most likely, Mr Shillie won’t expect one either. He’ll sleep quietly in whatever grave they end up burying him in.

But, the funny thing about dying is that it’s a lot like living. People change. If Mr Shillie had any unfulfilled hopes and dreams that we didn’t know about, he might wake up and try and fulfill them. His chances are pretty good too without those pesky responsibilities of being alive or morals that comes with it. In fact, there’s a saying that most kings never lived. But one thing’s for sure, Mr Shillies won’t be able to rest easy knowing his family will most likely die of starvation without him. The city knows this, that’s why he’s going into the pit.

The pit is not just a hole in the ground, it’s deeper than anyone knows. Some say it’s bottomless, while some scholars claim it’s exactly 3000 kms deep. Nobody is sure how they came to this conclusion, most people don’t understand what those weird scientists are saying, anyway. But it doesn’t really matter in the end, because anything that is thrown in doesn’t come up!

© Christopher Stamfors

by Stamphers

The Birthmark that Mapped Her Future – Short Story

Once upon a time, there was a girl named Em. 

She lived in a castle along with her six other brothers and sisters. Everyone got along with each other except with her because she was different. She was born with a birthmark, big and pale, that mapped itself from her neck down to her shoulder. “It’s the devil’s child,” they’d call her. “She’s been marked by the devil!” 

The only time they ever played with her was at Em’s expense. They would lunge at her and reel back just as fast, to see who got closest without touching her. Once, Em tried to grab them back, but when she did, they screamed and stared at her as if she was a monster. She never played with them again and avoided them altogether. Many years went by and her oldest brother was eighteen and he was sent off to another kingdom. “He’s such a good son,” her parents would say. “He’ll do great things for the country.” Em didn’t know there were other countries in the world and listened intently whenever she could. As long as she was quiet, and stayed out of their way, she could listen for as long as she liked because her parents didn’t care for her anyway.

Then there was her fifth sibling, who was married to a prince at sixteen and she was sent off to live in his castle. Em wondered if she’d be married off too someday… And so, one after the other, her siblings left the castle until she was the only one left. She thought, maybe now mum and dad will pay attention to me, sense I’m all they got? She tried getting their attention by singing and playing the piano but they would just send one of the maids and drag her away. “They are very busy,” the maid would say.

Soon, Em stopped trying to make them notice her and stayed in her room, where everyone preferred her anyway. All day she’d read or sing or play the piano. Other days she’d just sit by the window and look as the world moved on without her, dreaming of being sent away one day. The only time she ever left her room was when everyone was asleep and she had the whole castle to herself. Unfortunately, the castle was very dark at night and she would jump at every suspicious sound, or shadow. She was especially frightened near the kitchen where she heard strange moans at night. She asked her father for a lantern but he wouldn’t give it to her. “What would you need a lantern for anyway? He asked. But Em wouldn’t say, fearing he’d lock her up if he knew what she was up to. Then one night, she saw something glowing in the dark. It was a lit lantern that was resting outside the kitchen door. Pleased with her find, she snatched it and ran back to her room, never considering it might belong to somebody esle. The next morning, two servants were fired and the noise from the kitchen went away. 

Many years later (when she was twelve) after coming home from one of her nightly adventures, there was an old lady waiting in her room. Em almost dropped the lantern because she thought it was some sort of goblin that had followed her. But as the creature turned, Em could see it was a person smiling. Her name was Emma, which was funny because that’s what Em always thought her own name would be if her parents had bothered finishing it. 

As it turned out, Emma was very kind and she’d stay with Em all day long telling stories or brushing her hair. “I’m so glad you are here,” Em said. “I don’t ever have to leave my room and feel lonely again.” 

“Oh? Why wouldn’t you want to leave? The night is yours, nobody is gonna hurt you.”

Em scratched her neck. “I don’t really like the dark,” she said.

Emma put down the brush and said. “Have you ever heard about Vampires?”

Em shook her head. 

“They are tall and handsome creatures of the night and they got their eyes on you. They’ll come for you, one day, when you are ready.”

Em jittered out of her chair. “Me? Why?!”

Emma caressed Em’s neck which didn’t help to sooth her because nobody had dared touch her there before. “They’ll protect you because they know you’ll do great things. That’s why everyone is afraid of you,” she said.

Em thought about it. “Everyone? Even monsters?”

Emma smiled. “Even monsters.”

“But then… Why aren’t you afraid of me?”

The old woman quirked her mouth. “I’m too old to be scared of death.” 

When Em was left alone, she thought about what had been said. If everyone was afraid of her she could do whatever she wanted! That very same night she went without her lantern. She knew the castle by heart and at first, she was scared without it but as her eyes got used to the darkness she became more confident. She even went to the tower at the abandoned part of the castle, where the Wraith is said to wander up and down the stairs. And lo and behold, she came back without being hurt! Ever since then, the night became hers and she would sometimes frighten others that walked the dark. Sometimes she would even eves-drop on her father’s meetings which she wasn’t supposed to hear: apparently, things weren’t going well for her oldest brother in the other kingdom and rumour had it he’d been captured and locked in a prison somewhere. For some reason, this amused Em, thinking of her siblings being locked away in a dark cell with nobody to talk to and she secretly wished all her siblings shared the same fate. 

Two years went by and she was fourteen. She was looking out the window when a mysterious carriage drove up to the door. Excited, she snuck downstairs to have a listen. It was an old man in his 40s that came through the door. He had a large beard and a dreary look about him. Her father frowned as he stepped inside and didn’t seem too pleased to see him. They went into the parlour where her father always had his secret meetings. Em climbed stealthily down the stairs, relying on the dark to hide her, but then the stranger suddenly turned and stared straight at her. Her heart froze and she shot back. He couldn’t have seen her in the dark, could he? She went back to have a look but they were gone. Em was too nervous to go closer and it didn’t feel safe sneaking into her father’s meeting. She decided to go back to bed where she lay awake, wondering who the stranger was and what he wanted.

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by Stamphers