Tuesday, August 14, 2007

Drabble 1

So, here are my first four drabbles. I've taken the first line of novels I especially like & written 100 word short shorts incorporating it.

Answers on a postcard?

--Amy xx

1) My favorite cousin Dante's secret love of Balzac

I dedicate this small fragment of a long story, not to the Roman prince, nor to their heir of the illustrious Cajetami family that has given Popes to Christendom, but to the learned commentator of Dante. I love Dante. He stopped at my house when I was depressed and told me the funniest joke. I drank tea, while he smoked Camels. He added three spoonfuls of sugar to his tea, then cocked his head and said to me, "You never finished Paradiso, did you?" I hadn't. He leaned over and plucked up a feather that had fallen to the ground.

2) Still life in Brighton

If this is typewriter can't do it, then fuck it, it can't be done. This is what Murphy Law thought as he wrestled with the old-fashioned punch key contraption his uncle kept in his office.

Murphy would have fallen into the profession if it hadn't been for his uncle Albert. Albert lay permanently on a nest of pillows, breathing into an accordion.

The office reeked of mothballs and the glare struck Murphy's oxygen-deprived eyeballs as he struggled with three months of old invoices. Carbon stained his fingers as he typed 1985.

Then the phone rang and a woman whispered cucumber.

3) Postcards & Tales from New York.

The valentine was a handmade pastiche of Victorian cherubs, pressed flowers and red glitter. I found it in a shoebox, amongst other postcards. It was a hot summer day in Brooklyn. Hot smog rolled off the river, while glitter mixed with dust in the curbs. The man selling his stuff wore a brown suede vest, old jeans and a feather in his hair. He rested on his haunches, leaning against a grey wooden fence. People stopped to gaze at his flea market of old memories, but he stared above the buildings and I remember thinking he looked like a dreamer.

4) Dick, as in Moby

Call me Ishmael. Everyone else does in this goddamn joint. Ishmael – is that some sort of Middle Eastern name? I suppose that's what I get for working in a place called Taj Mahal. My real name is Ben, short for Benjamin. Used to live 20 miles down the shore, but I'm living with my brother now. Supposedly pickings were rich, women were like carpet and benefits grew on trees. Yeah right. What's easy here? Saying no. No, I don't want to share your dodgy crack pipe. No, I don't like bears. Jesus. What sort of place have I landed in?

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