If you can't read this, I'm talking aboot turtles.
I've been writing a lot recently. I just thought I'd dump them here. It looked like a nice spot to do so.
They're mostly humour-ish stuff. And I have a tendency to write ideas and stories in a non-linear order (because I get bored easily) so they may seem like they continue but they probably don't.
Hmm. I apologize in advance. ;)
The Man who died and the Woman's story
Random prose about something.
There was a man and he died.
This man was important as an aubergine. In fact, he sold them. For every weekday, he would work at a grocery store, and fore thirty-seven consecutive years, he would not stop working at the grocery store until the day he died, which was, today.
When the man was small he did not want to work in a grocery store. When the man was small, he wanted to be a painter, not a grocery store clerk. Not that his dreams matter anymore, as he is now dead.
This death, through consequences upon consequences lead to the closing down of a perfectly pleasant coffee shop downtown which upset a certain amount of people who enjoyed their morning espresso.
This woman, wasn't one of them.
This woman, thought she had no connection to the man who died and who's death subsequently lead to the lack of caffeine in the mornings and the lack of people shelving aubergines. In fact, she did not even think of the man as she did not know the man and therefore did not even acknowledge that such a man playing such a tiny role in her life had even existed.
Thus, the woman did not know about the man who died.
This is her story.
The Tuesday Evening Amateur Detective and Investigation Committee
A retired fifty-something former FBI agent finds himself in a strange club with a excessively long name.
'The Tuesday Evening Amateur Detective and Investigation Committee' was a misnomer. For one thing, there were hardly any detecting or investigating, and the meeting was on Saturdays.
They gathered around on small plastic stools. Mine squeaked.
"Hello, I'm Martha." Said a woman.
"Hello, I'm Jane." Said another.
One was called Martha and the other was called Jane, and both looked like digested pancakes around sixty years of age. Well, they were. Jane had a beard.
'Be sure to ask me if you need any help." Said Martha, or Jane.
"We have a new member!" Called a voice. Didn't know who. I was drunk and I don't keep track.
"Mr...." The voice sounded like my wife. Which didn't help at all. "Mr.... Hope."
I think I said something.
"Ah, we're pleased to have you joining us, Mr. Hope. Do you mind if we call you Bethlehem? We like to keep things on a first name basis if you get what I mean."
I minded and I didn't get it but my several bottles of whisky nodded for me. At least no one commented on my name.
"What a strange name." Said Jane, or Martha.
"Well, if you'd like to introduce yourself," Gestured the voice.
I did, and the voice dropped her cupcakes. I have that kind of effect on people.
Critiques would be lovely. Thanky-doodles.
05-10-2011, 10:31 AM
The first was a bit muddled by wordiness and poor grammar, plus it didn't give me any reason to care. The second I enjoyed. Much funnier, I could sense the lack of sobriety in the narrator, and a bit of mystery is always nice. It easily could have been the opening of a first or second chapter of a novel.
For one thing, there were hardly any detecting or investigating, and the meeting was on Saturdays.