Archive for the ‘Average Length Short Stories’ Category
Something different: A Question of Culture
So, in my college pursuits, one of my classes is Introduction to Screenwriting. As an exercise in this class, I was assigned the task of writing a short scene in which two people at a cafe have some kind of expositional dialog. At the same time, while preparing for Diversity Day, which was sponsored by the student government (I’m a member,) I learned that there was a need for some skits to be written highlighting the issue of racism. There were already a couple of skits written by other folks, of course, but there were two complaints discussed in one of our planning meetings: First, that the existing skits were a bit…provocative in their language, and second, that both entailed white students attacking minority students, which is, of course, not how things always roll.
Well, it occurred to me that perhaps i could combine these projects, and moreover, that I might be able to assemble something that would be a complete short story wherein not only is the perpetrator of the racist act not a caucasian student, but the racism involved isn’t even meant in a harsh or hurtful way; it’s simply a matter of culture and traditional values clashing with the modern world. The following story, written more or less in Screenplay format (I’ve made some modifications to make it easier to read in this medium) using CeltX, was probably a little too subdued to justify being performed live on a campus (indeed, it wasn’t,) but is nevertheless, I think, an interesting short story.
A Question of Culture
ACT I
SCENE 1
A WHITE MAN and an ASIAN WOMAN walk together,
laughing and chatting casually. They appear very
comfortable together and seem to be enjoying each
other’s company a great deal. They are coworkers
at a Computer Services consulting company.
MAN
Boy was that guy funny in the meeting today. What in the world made him think that server would work online without a network card?
WOMAN
I don’t know, sometimes people at this company are so silly! The look on his face when you explained it to him was so funny, though, you almost made me laugh out loud!
MAN
Was I rude, do you think?
WOMAN
No, not at all, I thought you were very polite. You’re always polite…and sweet!
MAN
Well, you make it easy to be sweet. You’re so smart and funny all the time!
The two sit down at a table, still smiling and
happy. A waiter approaches.
A Whale Tale of a Snail and a Sail-Away
There was a tiny snail (or so he felt inside), who climbed along the garden wall in silence every day. Without fail there came along an angry boy each day, bitter and irate for reasons the snail could only guess. Each day the boy was just the same: he would pluck the tiny snail from the wall and toss him to the ground with a laugh and a sneer. And each morning for a long time, the snail slowly crawled back up the wall once more in hopes that when the new day rose he would reach the sunlight that only reached the highest parts of that wall.
As time wore on the little snail grew more weary as the frustration of never quite reaching the light of day began to weigh upon him. Every day the angry boy would return, his tongue all aflame with bitter words, and the little snail would find himself hurled once again to the ground so far below, where he would land with a painful thud. But one day, something changed in the world and the little snail could no longer bring himself to try.
When the angry boy returned to taunt the little snail, his face contorted in a strange fury when he saw that the snail had not begun to crawl up the wall again. Instead he had stayed just where the boy had thrown him down the day before. The angry boy cursed and spat, and very nearly crushed the little snail with his gigantic shoe, but for some unknown reason he hesitated and put his foot back on the ground. “You’re not even worth it” said the angry boy, and with a terrifying face he spat upon the little snail where he lay.
The little snail did not move, but stared ever up that wall at the sunlight so high above. He longed to feel its warmth upon his shell, but his heart sank and he said to himself, “I can never reach it, for I am not able to overcome the obstacles which beset me”. And for several days he remained exactly where he lay, his heart growing ever more sorrowful as each day slipped away into another night. For a few days the angry boy would come again and curse the little snail, but soon he seemed to lose interest and did not return for a long time.
When he became hungry the little snail would slink across the dirt and soil to eat sadly from the lowest leaves on the plants, even though they were caked in filth and did not taste as good as his favorite leaves just a little higher. Sometimes he would look mournfully up at those leaves, but he did not try to reach them any longer; “I can never reach them” he said, “for I am not able to reach so very far”. And though the little snail survived each day, his heart was filled with sadness.
Darned if we do
‘Frigerator’s door snapped forcefully out of my hand, closing quickly, the small electronic lock clicking with a loud ‘snick!’ "I have been talking with Scales, and it appears that you are 6.3 oz overweight." Said ‘Frigerator, authoritatively. "Scale reports that you have become quite the fat ass, and no food will be prescribed to you until you lose that excess lard." Microwave hummed agreeably in the background. "I have also taken the liberty to speak with Car, Bike and Cupboard, and we are all unanimous in this." Continued Fridge. "Go for a walk, tubby!" Toaster chimed in cheerfully. Sighing, I stepped outside. Front Door locked solidly with a ‘thunk!’ of finality. Gawddam internet has made my life hell. I’m building a time machine and going back to fix it.
Dinner behind McDonald’s
Tommy’s stomach rumbled as he perched precariously on the narrow brick wall that separated him from the dumpsters behind McDonald’s. He had not eaten today, but as he helped his sister Kristin scramble up to sit beside him, he was no longer sure that he wanted to. “I hate this” he said as Kristin twisted herself around to a more stable position. His heart pounded in his chest as he surveyed the scene. Cars drifted by on the street just fifty yards from where he sat, and he was glad of only one thing: the evening was dark and the lights behind the restaurant remained unlit. He breathed as deep as he could in the warm night, but he felt the light rasp of his airway not quite expanding enough, and he hoped that tonight would not see another asthma attack. His father had decided the entire thing was just an act and refused to buy his medication; it was now three weeks since he had run out.