A Compilation of My Very Very Short Stories

I am a big fan of short stories. Especially a very short one. This short format is quite challenging to read and to write. There are many great authors who work in this very short form too.

Maybe you’ve heard the one by Hemingway:

For sale: baby shoes, never worn

Or “Dinosaurs” by Augusto Monterroso:

When he awoke, the dinosaur was still there.

I was so fascinated by the idea that in a limited space, the elements of the story are still there: The beginning, middle, end, and the conflict too. It has to be a complete story.

Some would say this fiction format should be named as "flash fiction", "nano fiction", "sudden fiction", I don't really understand the differences. For me, I could only care about my practical reasons. Writing in shorts format means that you should have a great deal about the weigh of your words. As a reader, reading shorts is fun, as we're all busy people.

I bought a book about South American short stories and found great numbers of authors that exercising on this format. Even the great Borges was work on this very short fiction too (just like any Borges' works, his short stories are so magical). This book has always been my favorite.

---

I learn to write fiction in this short format. Not as short as that two maestro's work of course. They are really legendary wordsmith! However, my stories are still short, less than 500 words or so.

These are two stories that I wrote during my younger days. I originally wrote it in Bahasa Indonesia, but for all my steemian friends, I translated it into English. Pardon for the grammatical error. I also find that my stories lost its nuance (mostly because my limited vocabulary, I couldn't find the best equivalent for some words). I personally consider this as a learning platform.

So without further ado, here are my stories.

---

Maria's Misty Morning

Maria woke up from her sleep, sweating. She had a bad dream that some robbers came to her house, took all possession and then took her life with a knife. Maria adjusted her breath, looked around her bedroom. For a moment she was relieved to see that it was only a dream.

There was a faint sound of cock-crowing. Maria got out of bed. Sweating that much make her body feel light. It just feels like running around the field for seven times. Maria pulled back the net curtain. There was sunrise, but the fog was so thick.

She saw a hazy old woman sweeping down the street. Under the dim of the street lights, in a thick fog, the women's movement looks so elegant. Looks like she was dancing. The footsteps and the sweeps were so rhythmic, like a pattern.

Suddenly the woman stopped as if she knows that someone is observing. She looked straight and sharply at the window where Maria was. Maria smiled, waving her hand. But the old woman did not care. Instead, she quickly packed up the bamboo basket, dustpan, and her broomstick, and left.

Maria grunted with annoyance, feeling unappreciated.

...
Maria had just finished taking a shower, dressed for a while, then rushed out of the house. Her footsteps were light. She enjoyed the fresh morning air. The streets were still quiet. Too quiet perhaps, as she walked, she had not met anyone yet. In this cold weather, people do prefer to hold a blanket, a little lingering in the bed.

Oh, look, right there! Maria faintly saw the figure of the same old woman. Still with her elegant sweeping style. Maria walked over to her, she was so focused to observe. She saw the old lady's skin was white, too white to not say it pale. Looks like there was no blood flowing through her veins. Her face revealed wrinkles of an aged skin. A few strands of gray hair were visible behind her veil.

The woman seemed oblivious to Maria's presence, she just kept sweeping. Maria focused on the end of her broomstick. Apparently, the woman was cleaning a tombstone. Only then did Maria realize that they were in a graveyard. Maria narrowed her eyes, reading the name on the tombstone. Her smile suddenly gone.

It was her name: M-A-R-I-A.

And the date was yesterday. It’s all written there.

Stunned, she did not even resist when the old lady took her hand, drag her away. Maria could only watch the fog was getting thicker and thicker...

---

The Old Jazz Aspirant

Her wrinkled fingers danced in the ivory keys, playing blue tones in various styles. She's still proficient in improvisation, achieving strange and magical sounds for ears that never listen to the jazzy chords.

When the song reaches its climax, imitating Louis Armstrong's cool voice, she shouts "Zap ... Zap ... Zap ... Oh Yeah," but before she can say the last "O yeah" part, she coughs. Her throat is dry.

"Auch ..." She rubbed her sweaty forehead with her sleeve. She glanced at the calendar on the wall. Apparently, it's the end of the month. Those filthy debt collectors should be coming soon. She reaches deep into her pockets, only to find a crumpled clump of few dollars. She placed it on the sideboard, coated with a picture of an old man. "Loser..." she hissed softly as she stared at that photo.

Sit on the piano chair, she massages herself. Her hand went to her forehead, her temple, then the back of her neck. "Ah, aspirin!" She cried, spotting a bottle of aspirin still full, lying on the table.

She took a pill, hoping it could slightly easing the pain that hit her head.

"It's should be okay..." she said quietly, as she put the bottle into her pocket.

The drought outside began to bring warm, stuffy atmosphere in her room. She opened the window, waving her palm to her wrinkled face. Some dried leaves fall from a large tree in front of her tenement.

"Autumn leaves..." She murmured, smiling happily, then ran to the piano. Play the old standard songs.

"The fallen leaves float by the window ..."

But then again, her throbbing head stopped her. She pulled out a bottle of aspirin from her pocket, took out the pills. But she paused for a moment and put the pill back in the bottle. A moment later she raised her head, poured all aspirin into his mouth until nothing remained.

"Right! Now, there will be no more headaches!" She laughed happily. She repeats 'Autumn Leaves' from the beginning, while watching the leaf fall through her bedroom window.

---

There! I hope you like it!

If you're writing short fiction too, please share your links in the comment below!

Photo by: Annie Spratt on Unsplash