I'm a super shy live music & travel photographer. I post snippets of my daily life and other mundane things. Out of all the crap I blab about, I think you can trust my opinion on music the most. Read more. Sometimes, I blog with a few more words here.
Posts tagged with “short stories”
Fyodor Dostoyevsky, White Nights
I am Sita. A perfectly normal human being. Every single day, I wake up, wash my face, clean my mouth, cleanse my body, free my self from the dust and dirt of yesterday.
In the office, I sit and process meaningless words and numbers in my head, then I make my machine process them. I print them on…
I don’t know why, but I’m more inclined towards writing sad stories. Or maybe I do know. In any case, if you have some time, please read another attempt of mine at prose.
By Young-Ha Kim
Translated from Korean by Chi-Young Kim
She was twenty-one, with fair, beautiful skin. Even when bare, her face glowed, always radiant and dewy. This was precisely why the dermatologist’s office hired her as the receptionist. Her job was simple. All she had to do was write down the patients’ names, tell them in a friendly voice, “please take a seat until we call your name,” find their charts, and hand them over to the nurses. Her glowing, translucent skin created high expectations, encouraging the patients to pour their trust in the office, which bustled with a sudden increase in patients.
But one day, her face started to break out. The problem began with the appearance of a small pimple, growing worse and worse until it spread across her entire face. Nobody could figure out why. At first, the young doctor, who had only managed to start business with the help of bank loans, treated her lightheartedly, but later zeroed in on her with desperation. And the more he focused on her, the more her condition worsened. Red spots covered her face, making her look like a splotchy pizza from far away. The despondent doctor pulled out his hair and the nurses hated her. One spring day, she left behind a note — “I apologize to everyone. I’m sorry” — and committed suicide. The office hired a new receptionist. Her skin was so luminous that everyone’s eyes squeezed shut.
Miranda July, No One Belongs Here More Than You
This is the fantastic story of the Dutch doormouse and her bookish keeper, the ribbon maker, the nearsighted animal lover, and the time a terrible storm overtook them all. There was the typical ominous wake, a funnel of debris, hail storm, tornado, the terrible eye at the center squinting quietly at everything below.
Sufjan Stevens, London, 31st October 2005
This is from the site of a boy named Paulo. He has asked a couple of his favorite artists to write him stories on notecards. Sufjan Stevens is one of the kind musicians who complied with his request. Click through the image to go the site.
GOD: I own you like I own the caves.
THE OCEAN: Not a chance. No comparison.
GOD: I made you. I could tame you.
THE OCEAN: At one time, maybe. But not now.
GOD: I will come to you, freeze you, break you.
THE OCEAN: I will spread myself like wings. I am a billion tiny feathers. You have no idea what's happened to me."
- Dave Eggers. How We Are Hungry