Tuesday, December 06, 2005

"WRITING THE CREMATED REMAINS OF BOOKS" is an enormously special short-short story based on this image by the very talented Vonster, an illustrator, designer and self-described die-hard doodler. What more could our eyes want ?
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And after you chuckle your way through this fast fiction, if you find yourself with a hankering for a classic short story check out Classic Reader.

Enjoy.


WRITING THE CREMATED REMAINS OF BOOKS


Sammy lights the tiny "pinner" which promises - by the looks of it - no more than five or six measly tokes. Just enough to inhale some inspiration to help him write a story for Creative Writing 12, an elective which was supposed to be a breeze to boost his GPA to get into the university of his choice.

He hopes this weed will salvage his future.

He inhales and stares at the white wall of a screen in front of him. When he was a kid, he could spin yarns like nobodies business, yammering away tales of heroic animals, secret agent hockey players and alien parents but over the past year he's been more concerned about the cool factor of his literary concoctions. There are three girls at the back of the class who snicker whenever someone says the wrong word in a poem or story. Sammy isn't sure which words are the wrong words but he doesn't want to blow his chances of making out with one of them. They are so cute, he has to cross his legs.

"Can't create in a vacuum," he says out of the joint-free side of his mouth and he goes online and through the grey-haired strands of smoke of his third toke, he views girls in bright bikinis.

Suddenly, a genie-type apparition thing comes out of the screen."

"Holy Fuck," Sammy coughs, the joint falling out of his mouth.

"Here's the deal, little buddy. You want to write brilliantly sophisticated salvoes of prose, right ? This is the pen you are looking for. This is unlike any writing implement you'll ever use. With this pen I thee wed... to genius. You will write stories that will knock the hats off your profs and the panties off the ladies."

"What's in this weed ?" Sammy laughs, searching for the dropped joint.

"I assure you sir. The only joint you're gonna need after you take this pen, is one with a bank vault door on the front to secure your fortunes. You'll be rich !!" the genie-thing smiles and just to make his point he slaps Sammy across the face.

"Ouch !"

"There's all the evidence you need that this once in a life-time offer is yours for the taking. This pen can be yours while supplies last !!"

"What's the hook ?" Sammy says, rubbing his stubble coated chin.

"All you have to do is burn some classic piece of fiction. Something from the canon, as they say. Canon ! Fire the canon out of a canon is what I say. What a waste of space. People will thank you for your service to the community."

The genie-thingy dude pulls out a contract from the white computer screen along with a coffee and bird which are apparently there for moral support.

"So yes just sign here and the pen is yours. All you have to do is burn a book and funnel the ashes into the top of the pen. The ashes of a hundred paged book should last about five pages of double spaced writing, but remember to burn Shakespeare, Chaucer, Dickinson, Woolfe somebody great. No pulp fiction. Won't work."

Sammy signs the piece of paper and the genie-thingy dude disappears.

And from this day on, Sammy writes amazing story after amazing story. Burning book after book and funneling the finely chopped up ashes into the empty hollow at the top of the pen.

At the age of 43, Sammy Derenger will die of a heart condition brought on by the guilt of destroying so much beauty which everyone says is so finely infused within his own work.

2 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

I wouldn't die of guilt if I burned Dickens...

10:46 PM  
Anonymous Johnathon said...

Excellent Post!

10:57 AM  

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