Apparently some people don’t like short stories because they aren’t novels. I like both, for different reasons. Since I read a collection of short stories years ago called Love of Fat Men by Helen Dunmore (its a lot more intellectual than it sounds, I promise) I’ve loved the idea of a short story being just a snapshot into someone’s life. I still like stories where you go deeper and there’s a full narrative etc, but I always prefer stories which leave you with a “hmm?” kind of feeling.
This is by no means a collection of intelligent, thought provoking miniture stories. These are stupid.
A beetle lived next door to a woodlouse. The woodlouse was playing his music very loudly at 2am and the beetle got very annoyed. He knocked on the door and asked the woodlouse to turn it down. He did, and all was well.
A magic pixie skipped through the forest to Tesco’s where he did his weekly shop. When he got back he realised he had forgotten the milk. He had to go back and was a bit annoyed.
A hare challenged a tortoise to a race. The hare won and the natural order of things remained intact.
A woodlouse lived next door to a beetle. He knocked on the beetle’s door and asked if he could borrow some sugar, which he did and all was well.
A ghost appeared to a family who had just moved in. “Oh no,” they said, “Do you wish us to leave?” “Nah,” it said, “Stick kettle on.”