three short narratives

Randy jumped aboard a passing train and traded for a guitar with no strap. His hands were full.
Lights out in the straw-cavern, he supposed and passed out. Guitar by his side.
In the windy night, the wind plucked a few strings and woke him. He was awake instantly, but his left arm snoozed another twenty minutes.

The party was just getting started with confetti already strewn and drinks a-pouring. There was an even gender-balance, except for one odd girl out.
By midnight everyone was drunk.
Later that night, one guy got extra lucky. His girlfriend had a tattoo of scales on the inside of her leg.

At four-thirty in the morning the Dolphin Club was already out on the morning swim, the seagull noted.
He swooped down for a wee snack, and snatched it easily. This was turning out to be a good morning.
Later, he and a couple of buddies bombed a boat-tour.

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1 Response to three short narratives

  1. wormlips says:

    Poetry frightens me, Oleg. It makes me feel dull-witted. In fact, the prospect of writing on a poetry-filled blog is churning my stomach. I can’t d- d- do this … NO … don’t make me write! PLEASE! Your readers will see “clueless” written all over my words. This cannot come to pass.

    Yet, through this gulf of fear your seagull is calling to me. “Wormlips,” it calls, in its shrill, rather annoying voice.

    So I will write. I can. I must. For you, seagull.

    Oleg: If you wrote a poem about a silky anteater, I might not be as frightened of that.


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