In 2010, I began a little creative writing project for which I wrote many tiny stories without planning. These improvisations still make me giggle, so I’m bringing them back from the old blogspot and presenting them here on the Oddyssey. I’ll post them in five story chunks for you to enjoy!

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#1: The Walk

One last time, he checked his shoes. They had been new, once, like everything else. He put his foot down and looked straight ahead. The tree stood atop the hill, as it had when his shoes were new. With a grunt, he began to walk. It was not far to the tree. He reached it soon and passed it. The tree was no longer important, and he gave it one short glance and a knowing nod as he walked by. That time was gone, and he needed to move past it. And he did. The hill dwindled as he walked. He knew where he was headed, but he told no one. Those he came across he greeted with a slight nod and continued walking. In time, he began to meet other walkers. At first, he was perturbed. He had expected to walk alone, and was hesitant to welcome others to his journey. However, with each knowing smile from those that joined in, he began to feel glad for the company. Soon, the walkers numbered in the dozens, then hundreds. More and more gathered, each looking at the others and nodding. They knew where they were headed. None said a word.

17th September 2010

#2: The Radishes

There were twelve radishes. Only twelve, if that seems like a small number. All of them were that reddish radish color, which is appropriate. In that way, none stood out. Martin put them all in his soup, even if you think that radishes should not be in soup. It doesn’t matter where you think radishes belong, these twelve were in Martin’s soup. Stop complaining. I believe it is time for me to tell you that despite their very normal color and very regular size (which I have not mentioned, but trust me, they were not at all larger or smaller than a normal radish) these radishes were not normal. Martin was about to find out how strange they were when someone knocked on his door. Martin put his spoon of radish soup back into his bowl, stood, and slowly walked over to the door. Being a peculiar chap, he knocked back. This back and forth knocking went on for several minutes. Then, bored, Martin went back to his soup and ate a bite. He kept spooning spoonfuls of radish and broth into his mouth. Soon, the bowl was empty. You won’t believe what happened next, so I won’t tell you.

22nd June 2011

#3: The Toothpaste

There was enough toothpaste. Really, it was an excessive amount, but no one ever thought to complain. It had been there long before anyone could remember, that pile of toothpaste. It was, in fact, the center of town, and every morning and every evening the townsfolk would circle the pile and dip their toothbrushes in it. This was the ritual. You might think at this point that these people had the whitest, cleanest teeth ever to grace the face of humanity. This was, unfortunately for anyone close to their faces, not even almost true. This paste was sacred to the townsfolk. They could never do anything like stick it in their mouths. And spit it out onto the ground? Or, even worse, into the sink to travel down the pipes into the sewers, there to mingle with poo? Such an act would get a man sacrificed. This was, in fact what happened to one unlucky traveller. He wandered into this town tired, clothes torn, bleeding from multiple cuts. Stumbling through the streets, he came upon the pile. “What luck,” he said aloud for no reason, “for I have forgotten my toothpaste.” What unfortunate last words. The toothpaste gods devoured him.

26th June 2011

#4: The Catch

Fourty pieces of light blue paper floated off the top of the hill. Jacky Hecklesmith watched as they flittered through the air, twisting and fluttering like possessed butterflies. Jacky looked to his right. Lined up in an arc, figuratively pulsing with anticipation, were the other twelve catchers. Each had his own technique, and they all were frozen in their initial stances. Jacky took a deep breath, raised his net over his head, and fixed his eyes on the bits of paper. Cracka-boom! The sound of the starter pistol echoed through the glen as the thirteen catchers launched themselves toward bits of blue. Nets whizzed and whirred, twirled and danced through the air, snatching up the fluttering pieces. Jacky leaped into the air, and with a massive swipe, snagged three bits at once. He landed, flicked his net to the right and made a grand loop upwards. Three more scraps of blue found themselves ensnared. Then Jacky saw it. A huge cluster of paper, gyrating around each other, staying together. It looked like almost ten pieces, maybe even twelve. Jacky set his sites and readied a heroic swoop. With victory in his eyes, Jacky Hecklesmith raised his net and leaped.

1st July 2011

#5: The Climb

He had nineteen minutes left. He had to get all the way to the top. Time was running out, but still, Alfie McBittrem was not afraid. He was the best climber ever. The little flying pig-shaped fairy kept poking Alfie. “Hey!” it kept saying. Then it would point. Alfie swatted the pig-like pest. It let out a twinkly shriek as the slap sent it fluttering into a crumpled heap on the ground. It twitched, stood on its piggy feet, raised one plump hand in a fist with its rudest finger raised, and shouted, “Hey! Fuck you!” But Alfie was already halfway up. This was good, because he only had twelve minutes left. Slapping the pig-fairy had jumped him forward in time seven minutes. Alfie filed this away as a fact worth remembering and climbed on, pondering the many possible uses of time-slapping. When he finally reached the top, he summoned the cat-faced dragon that dwelled there. The furry dragon almost landed on Alfie and brought its pink nose inches from his face. With a wiggle of its three-foot-long whiskers, it meowed like only a giant cat-faced dragon could and said “Good job, bitch. Now get the fuck off my Legos.”

30th July 2011