Two Words

A short story told in two-word sentences

Rain falling. Last summer. Wet August.

’Oh well.’

His words. On Saturday. Quiet room. His house. Peeling paint.

Red shirt. Button missing. Second-hand. Two dollars. Not ironed. Faded cuffs.

Lined face. Old guy. Urine stench. Stubbly chin. Pale eyes. Cardboard shoes.

Broken lightbulb. Forgotten job. Prince Procrastinator. Shed full. Metal jungle. Broken chairs. Broken computers. Forgotten hobbies.

Sleeping room. Ticking clock. Sad clock. Lonely clock. Cold air. Broken heater. No money. Bill pile. Sad sigh. Empty sigh. Beery breath. Cigarette pack. Desperate pleasures. Poor pleasures. Trapped rat. Scratching walls.

’Oh well.’

Cardboard box. Crumpled sides. Saggy bottom. Magazine collection. Rotting away. Other times. Rich lifestyles. Famous friends. Flashbulb parties. Other worlds.

Wall posters. His films. Jewelled past. Other adventures. ’Omega Contract’. ’Chocolate Assassin’. ’Hurricane Bullet’. His name. Big letters. Rick Bannister. Big star. Forgotten hero. Yesterday’s man.

Magazine gossip. TV gossip. ’Where now?’ ’Still alive?’ ’Sprawling mansion?’ Whereabouts unknown. Smelly old. Sad lined. Window staring. Four walls. Sad bed. Sleeping carpet. Empty cupboard. Stale milk. Dirty window.

Rick’s chair. Dark brown. Creaky leather. Cold touch. Afternoon nap. Warm dreams. Old times. Favourite scenes. Barbara Pynes. Lipstick red. Long legs. Plane crash. Sylvia McVie. Blonde hair. Bedroom capers. Retirement home. Charlotte Louette. Winning smile. Party animal. Found hanging.

’Oh well.’

Rick’s sideboard. Gravestone photos. Christmas morning. Vacation Dad. College sister. Silent watching. Cold frames. Cold smiles.

Christmas Mom. White linen. Red parcel. Stern frown. Perfumed hug. Roast dinners. New carpet. Polished door. Huge tree. Blue sky. Nervous cigarettes. Short stories. Loud typewriter. Rose wallpaper. Tight rooms. Thick carpets. Frightened wife. Angry father. Midnight mumblings. Raised voices. Broken fingers. Brave smiles. Brave lies. Hidden nightmare. Whisky drinking. Hidden crying.

Vancouver vacations. Cold winds. Slow breath. Sad days. Hot drinks. Plastic mugs. Fat snowmen. Creased coats. Faded photos. Glum mouths. False smiles. False photos. Empty pasts.

Empty present.

Empty future.

Sad response?

Resigned response?

Desperate response?

’Oh well.’

Empty words.

Empty rooms.

Empty life.

Going nowhere.




Copyright � Paul Badger 2008

www.myspace.com/paulbadgerstories

Reviews

[Bluet_Belle]

Its amazing how you did this. The story is so vivid and touching, so sad and riveting, but just looking at the format you wouldn't expect it. THis is a truly amazing piece.

[mick weller]

Hi Paul,

reminds me of Samuel Becketts 'Ping' - but then it's not at all...

don't think the dismissive 'dialoge' (if that's what it is?) needs enclosing though as I think this slows it

I think this piece relies heavily on it's rhythm to work to best effect- prose -poem almost like a free-style steady drum beat and feel thats where it 'cleverness' would work to better effect as in:
Rick's chair. Dark brown. Creaky leather. Cold touch. Afternoon nap.
is different again as:
Rick's chair. Dark brown. Leather creaks. Cold touch. Afternoon nap.

but this may be just want you AREN'T trying to create, strange but different!
I agree with Raye - creative!

[The Autumn Faerie]

I was, at first, skeptical when I read that it was written solely of two-word sentences, but I must say you pulled it off well. I could easily envision the things in which you described so simply, and quite enjoyed it. This has been a pleasant read, indeed. I commend you on your creativity!