I’m not a fiction writer. I don’t do short stories. Rather, I haven’t until now. This one grew out of my spam folder. I found this message there:
“Would you like some help? Close the door after you please. I felt no regret for it. She really wishes her alarm clock had rung. I’m supposed to go on a diet get a raise I am busy. The brothers differ from each other in their interests. Tomorrow will be a holiday. He sat with his arms across the chest.”
I wondered what I could make of those sentences and phrases. It became a 1940’s film noir gangster style short story spoof where an alarm clock repair man replaces the hard-boiled private eye character.
All the gibberish from the spam is in the story, in order.
Please read this in black and white.
She stood in the doorway, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dim indoor light. The sun silhouetting her from behind made part of me wish she’d stand there all day. I decided not to listen to that part.
I called out to her, “Would you like some help? She seemed confused. “Why, yes. Yes I would. It’s just that…I can’t…well…”
“Take your sunglasses off, sweetheart, it’ll brighten things.” She blinked as she put her shades in her purse. Her eyes were like big pools, the sort a fella could fall into and drown…if pools were brown. I can’t swim. I decided I’d better not go near this dame. Read the rest of this entry »