The Screen. A thread of very short stories

[DieterM]

1

To anyone standing on the threshold of the living room, Mildred would have looked peaceful. Maybe because the worn-out brown corduroy couch on which she was lying stood in the far corner. Maybe because all the shutters of her small house were closed, and only the TV and the 15.6” Toshiba laptop gave off some sallow light.

That’s the advantage of a remote position and dim lighting. Sordid details remain hidden. Like the greasy stains on Mildred’s faded pink tracksuit, for instance, or the crumbs littering the couch as well as the floor around the coffee table, or the half-eaten take-out pizza next to the 20 oz. Coca Cola tumbler. Distance and dim lighting make any reality seem swell.

But to Sergeant O’Leary, Mildred didn’t look peaceful at all. When he bent over to take her pulse—not that he needed any proof, but he had to follow the procedure—, he noticed that she rather wore a shocked expression. There was surprise, of course, and anguish. With a hint of indignation and disappointment, maybe.

Sergeant O’Leary didn’t know—and wouldn’t have cared anyway—that Mildred looked as disgusted as she had in 2004, when her whole life had suddenly lost its purpose on May 6. He didn’t know that she had barely budged from that very same couch ever since.

After the coroner had finished his exam and the undertakers zipped up Mildred’s body in black plastic, the sergeant set about to switch off her laptop. He realized she’d been visiting the Facebook-page of “Friends”. The window of the last post she’d published was still open.

“My chest hurts I’m dying”, she had typed.

Gleaning 261 Likes.

[DATo]

Well done Dieter. Your contribution is to short stories what a haiku is to poetry. It compresses a lot of "story" into very few words. It is sort of like a photo snapshot of a scene or a momentary view through a window by a passerby. I find it interesting that May 6th just happens to be International No Diet Day, but perhaps a more prescient observation would be that on May 6, 2004 the last show of Seinfeld was aired which caused a lot of faithful fans to give up the will to live. *LOL*

A nicely entertaining piece. Thank you for sharing!

EDIT: I forgot to mention: the last sentence was a chiller and perhaps a macabre and iconic statement of our times.

[108 fountains]

Yes, really excellent writing! I love understatement and how you left it to the reader to consider the options of what was the ultimate cause of Mildred's depression. I had the same reaction as DATo when I read the date of May 6 - I wondered if it was a date chosen at random (but of personal significance to Mildred) or a date that had some more universal meaning. (I would have Googled it except that it looks like DATo beat me to it.)

I've enjoyed your poetry on the Forum here (although I rarely visit the poetry side), but didn't know you were as gifted in prose. I haven't yet read your "Prehistory" story, but I'm looking forward to that.

[DieterM]

Hey DATo & 108 fountains. Thanks for stopping by, and a heart-felt big thanks for your kind, kind words. I really dunno what to say. Or almost :-) Btw, yes, May 6 is NOT a random date, and has nothing to do with the International No Diet Day (does that really exist? I'm speechless…), but was the day the last show not only of "Seinfeld" but also of "Friends" was aired in the US. I wikipedia'd it (had to because that's not yet common lore nor part of a cultivated, half-young man's to-know-list), so the date MUST be bullet-proof lol. I will post updates as much as inspiration allows me to. Btw, it's a bummer one can't change the name of one own's thread. Because this one should be called "Screens", and not "The Screen". See ya, guys :-) made my day!

[AuntShecky]

This piece is so "true-to-life" that it could have been -- as the network describes the plots of "Law and Order" episodes --"ripped from today's headlines." Time after time we read stories about neglected people (usually elderly, but not always) so isolated that it takes days, if not weeks for the body to be discovered. Recently I heard about a similar case in which a woman had been dead for an appallingly length of time without anyone's knowledge. What's even more startling is that the woman's own daughter lived in the apartment directly below!

And a few years ago I heard about a woman who not only had been found dead on her couch, her body had actually fused itself into the furniture, a result of a combination of steadily becoming morbidly obese and never moving! Imagine the poor cop who had found her!

Just one criticism about this story:

1


But to Sergeant O’Leary, Mildred didn’t look peaceful at all. When he bent over to take her pulse—not that he needed any proof, but he had to follow the procedure—, he noticed that she rather wore a shocked expression. There was surprise, of course, and anguish. With a hint of indignation and disappointment, maybe.




"The cop noticed what he thought was a look of shock on her face." Everything else that follows --surprise, anguish, indignation, disappointment -- is reading a bit too much into a single expression. I mean, not even an accmplished actress like Meryl Streep could pull this off. Just leave it at "shock." Then the last couple of lines would pack an even bigger punch.

Aside from that, I found this short piece of yours to be compelling and original, but full disclosure I was more impressed by "Prehistory," which is a gem.

Keep 'em comin'.

Auntie

[omferas]

It was a quick shot, where you used the reality in which we live via the Internet
Thank you

[DieterM]

@AuntShecky: Allow me to protest—my Meryl can pull off as many multiple expressions as she desires to (love that woman)! LOL
Anyway, I didn't mean Mildred's face actually showed all these emotions, but rather that the sergeant could've interpreted her expression as any of them. Anyway, i'm glad you liked my piece. And am still sitting here with a flushed face because of your kind words re. "Prehistory".
@omferas, no, thank YOU, for stopping by & commenting :-)

[DieterM]

2

It happened during the “Beneful”-ad. Without a warning Donna announced, “Look how cute they are! I wanna have a dog, hun!”

Leeroy was just pitching into the family-sized pack of “Lays Jalapeño Kettle Chips” on his lap. A noisy business so he wasn’t sure he’d heard her right. He craned his porky neck to glance sideways at his wife.

Donna, munching Oreos, was still staring at the screen, mesmerized.

Leeroy relaxed, scooping another handful of chips into his mouth and concentrating on the commercials again. The puppies disappeared, a beautiful blonde woman began to slow-mo-toss her shiny mane from side to side, close to ecstasy. Lordie, gal, I’d luvta give ya reel ecstasy! Leeroy thought and stuck his hand in the pack again.

Donna turned to look at him. There was chocolate on her chin. “Leeroy— why dontcha get me a dog?” she asked with that whiny-shrill overtone Leeroy loathed more than Saturday shopping. Her double chin was quivering with indignation.

“What for?” he asked back.

“Why, coz they’re cute!”

“Never heardcha say that ‘bout the Lannister pooch down the road, D.”

“Aw Leeee-roy! Coz the Lannister pooch is plain yukky!”

Leeroy scratched his balding head, daubing it with fat and salt and jalapeño powder in the process. “If I getcha that dog, D—who’s gonna walk it every day, huh? Coz I won’t do it, missus, no way!”

It took Donna a whole two minutes, podgy forefinger pressed to her lip, before she came to a conclusion. At last she conceded, “Ya right, hun. A dog's a whole lotta work. Let’s get a hamster instead!”

[DieterM]

3

After her working day, Barbara was in no mood for a chat. Still, she answered the phone when she saw it was her mother calling. Stifling a sigh, she said, “Hey mom. How are you?”

“Hello, dear. I’m fine. Just wanted to let you know I’m back home.”

Barbara poured herself a glass of Chardonnay and settled on the cherry-coloured Bespoke sofa in the living room. She listened dutifully to her mother talking about her stay in London: the concert in the Royal Albert Hall, the stroll through St. James’s Park with subsequent tea and scones in the “Inn The Park” café, the crowd, the noise, and Selina’s cats were fine, it seemed.

“I hope you pulled out the key when you left, mom!” Barbara finally interrupted her mother’s detailed account.

“Dear me, yes! I checked twice before heading for the train station!”

“Good. We don’t want Selina to come back from Berlin and discover someone has emptied her flat thanks to her gran, do we?”

Her mother gasped with horror at the mere thought. Barbara had a minute’s respite to sip her wine. Then, her mother started to prattle about all the kitchen items Selina had apparently purchased. “Selina’s become a neat and clean young lady, let me tell you, Barbara! And so nitty-gritty! If I didn’t know it, I wouldn’t believe she’s your daughter.”

“Nitty-gritty? Selina?” Barbara laughed despite herself. “How’s that?”

“Well, for instance, she’s put that modern cutting board right next to her bread bin in the kitchen. Very handy, I daresay, when one wants to prepare a sandwich—”

After five minutes, Barbara decided she’d invent a stew she needed to stir, kissed her mother good-bye and finally leant back, closing her eyes and enjoying her Chardonnay.

The wine was chilled just to perfection.

Selina called the next morning. “Hi mom! Back from Berlin!” she panted. “We landed at 3 a.m., and now I’m on my way to work… Running as we speak, in fact. ‘Roll on bedtime’ is all I can say.”

“Nice of you to call, however. Enjoyed Berlin?”

“Awesome, mom! Will send you snapshots from my iPhone when I’m in the tube, okay?”

“Alright, darling. Everything’s okay with your flat?”

“Yes. Granny’s been a darling! Even emptied the dish-washer before leaving. Oddly enough, however, she left plenty of bread crumbs on my iPad in the kitchen…”

[NikolaiI]

I like them too, little snapshots of life. . they also seem a little innocent, even with the subject matter of the first one. . that one definitely reminds me a little of Camus! :)

[DieterM]

Golly, NikolaiI—Camus, eh? Words fail me… I'm truly and honestly flattered! Thank you so much, you made my day :-)

[DieterM]

4

Two-hundred-and-forty users were online when Tom connected. Forty had switched on their web-cams, the remaining two hundred preferring to remain faceless, bodyless nicknames. Chatroom promises such as hairy_hot20, str8boy, 18oz, nz-slut.

Of the forty who had switched on their cam, most offered zooms of their lower body parts. Tom discovered few faces, even fewer smiles. Adult chat via web-cam seemed to be a serious business.

He heard moaning. Saw men rubbing their members. Glistening skin, the rustling of body-hair. An uncut Australian. A shaved Indianapolis chest. Mexican fur. L.A. drooling. The written exchanges consisted of encouragements, come-ons, loud cheers when a peak was announced, reached, and displayed.

Tom watched the shows in silence, his web-cam directed at his face. He felt a strange kind of yearning well up inside. His right hand moved down to his crotch. He felt a binge of remorse, but only briefly.

That’s when someone chatted him up at last. A certain “fulloflove”, whose cam showed a handsome young Indian boy in his twenties lying on his bed, fully clothed. The boy looked straight at Tom, a shy smile twinkling around his lips.

They started to place their conversation in the public chatroom, amidst the expressions of desire and lust. Tom needed both hands now to type his sentences.

The boy had just moved from New Delhi to San Francisco and was living with his cousin. He didn’t have any local friends yet, the town was new to him, the country strange. Tom told anecdotes of with life with Brad. The boy grew sad, saying he was looking for his Prince Charming, too. “I wanna wake up with somebody,” he wrote.

They moved on to everyday items like walking the dog, exchanging advice about cooking and recipes.

Tom found their conversation rather comical. While everybody else was rubbing, watching, getting aroused, reaching a climax, here they were, chatting about curry and how to prepare a good meal.

“You guys talking potatoes?” an anonymous participant asked after a while. His nick was hairyhot.

“Potatoes and love”, Tom replied.

[108 fountains]

Oh, boy! I like all of these. I like the informal, conversational style (reminds me a little bit of O Henry), I like how you find uniqueness within everyday events, I love the humor, and I particularly like how you are able to capture an entire story, including a pretty full snapshot of the characters, in less than 500 words. Most of my stories run over 5000 words and a couple more than 10,000, so I'm gonna look at yours again and again to try to learn your technique for being brief.

I have to say that last one was pretty cool in exploring a world I know nothing about, and how you transformed the entire story into humor and light after what started out really dark.

[DieterM]

Hey 108 fountains (nice nick btw :-)) Glad you liked it. And glad the angle & format I chose seem to work, for you at least. Thanks for for comments :-)

[DieterM]

5

“How do I look?” Ewa asked, self-consciously touching her blonde ponytail. She wasn’t actually apprehensive about the interview, she’d done that before; but if she didn’t show at least some last-minute panic, people might see how easy-peasy her job was.

“You look perfect,” Czesław answered, barely looking at her. He was checking his watch, then gazed out of the window where the usual morning traffic was jamming up the Wojska Polskiego Avenue. “You’ve still got half an hour to rehearse your answers anyway.”

“Has anyone prepared the photos they wanted for footage?”

“Yes, Ewa. Relax.” Czesław double-clicked on a folder, and a dozen of selfies appeared on the 24”-screen. They all showed the famous red-brick building with the tower in the middle, the double railway lines converging toward the entrance, with slightly inebriated young men standing in front it, grinning from ear to ear and giving a wobbly thumbs-up.

“Just tell me again—why do they want to talk to me about… that?”

Czesław shrugged. “Some sort of anniversary, I think. Who cares? It’ll be good publicity and boost our business. Things are always way too slow in January.”

When the Canadian TV-team arrived at last, Ewa had finished rehearsing her lines. She sat in the huge meeting room, the silver-and red agency-logo W Events clearly visible on the wall. It had cost over 8,000 złoty after all, so they’d better film it, too.

The interviewer was a chubby and jovial brunette who did her best to make things easy for Ewa. The dreaded question about Oświęcim was finally asked ten minutes into the interview. “So you organize boy bachelor parties in the camps—have I got that right?” the brunette wanted to know.

“Oh, yes, of course.”

“But why?”

Ewa smiled patronizingly. “That’s not hard to grasp. There’s a market, you know. We had to satisfy the increasing demand. Lately, it has become quite a fashionable place to party.”

“Wait—it’s fashionable to party? In the death-camps of Auschwitz?”

“Oh yeah. Why wouldn’t it be? Let me show you the photos. You’ll see for yourself.”

[DieterM]

6

His hands were shaking so much, Howard noticed, that he had spilled coffee over the off-white linen tablecloth. At the sight of the stains defiling the fake, dark red Toile de Jouy pattern, he sought refuge in the kitchen.

He lit a cigarette to calm his nerves and gazed outside. How strange! he mused. How absolutely extraordinary! I’ve seen so many horror movies, have watched so many gory scenes on telly. And yet, it seems that words still have the power to upset and haunt me more than anything else! What an odd phenomenon indeed!

He had lost his faith in words a long time ago. Everybody had, in fact; even hardcore Freudians only paid lip service to what constituted the very ground of their profession. Words had been supplanted by images—The Buggles had prophesied that process quite aptly in ’79, if one accepted “radio” in the wider sense of The Word, written or spoken.

So why was it that Howard should be upset? Because of that half sentence the news anchor had uttered a few minutes ago on television?

It was upsetting news, alright, but Howard hadn’t believed he still could be so utterly stirred by any of this. Barbarian acts seemed to have become the daily lot of mankind, after all. Killings, public whippings, women and children raped and sold, school girls kidnapped, what have you not. And war, which proved—if proof was still needed—that humans were irretrievably stupid. Why anyone apart from weapon manufacturers or arms dealers would actually want war was beyond him.

And now this… A couple of dry words illustrating an international news item, and Howard’s imagination had clicked on all cylinders, providing his mind with dreadful images. The despicable deed itself, plus the fact that someone had taken the trouble to film it, concentrating on lighting and the right framing, before uploading it to an online video platform…

The whole business had nothing monstrous, however. Which was the hardest part. It was all so very human. Could that be, Howard asked himself, the core of what distinguishes humans from animals? The ability to find ever crueller means to kill one another without any valid reason such as supplying one’s vital subsistence?

Howard didn’t have any answers. He kept wondering how anyone could bear the sight of that poor man standing in a cage, being burned alive, let alone produce a high-quality video. He felt like weeping.

[DieterM]

7

Dear Anna,

I’d like to apologize for answering your email somewhat belatedly. You have to know that usually I just acknowledge my still desperately empty Inbox and leave it at that. But I decided to check the Spam-folder this morning. And there was your message, alongside many many others, ready to be automatically deleted. We escaped utter disaster by the skin of our teeth, my dear!

I’m sure you will be delighted to learn that I preferred to answer your mail first. Believe me—it was a difficult choice! Mrs Gaddafi, daughter of the late Libyan president, for instance, begged me to help her transfer very important funds from a Swiss bank account to mine on payment of a fee. Another urged me to buy their penis enlargement pills. Both would come in handy for about any man, I gather.

And yet. Call me romantic, call me curious, but I selected your mail.

Yes, as you suspected in your first sentence, I was surprised by your letter. For even though you said you’d fallen in love with my online profile, I’m a bit confused as to where you might have seen it. The National Careers Service? One of the Job Centres? I’m really happy for you, however, as you seem to have a nice situation—working as a real estate director, is it? Golly, that sounds… rewarding. And well paid.

You tell me you’re 35 years old, have no children and “no men” (if you don’t mind me quoting you). No men? Given that polyandry is prohibited in most countries, that seems logical, dear Anna!

But let’s move on. Some of the things you wrote, my little Anna, really saddened me! What was it you put? Oh, yes: “3 months I'm living in your country, but my home country Russia. […] Every day I spend alone. I fall asleep and wake up in a cold bed. And want that next to a man. […] it is even more difficult to be without sex for 3 months.”

You tell me, sweetheart! It’s sheer impossible! Know what? Here’s some good advice, don’t thank me, it’s for free. Just do the same thing I do ever since my boyfriend left me (coincidentally only a week after I got sacked by my previous employer, but that’s just a detail). Give yourself the sexual satisfaction you deserve! All it takes is a comfy armchair, nice background music, imagination, and a willing hand. Your own, if no other is available.

Some of the things you say surprised me no end, I have to admit. You wrote (I quote): “I saw your picture and you really like me. You are interested in me as a man.” Wait—my picture shows you that I like you? I didn’t know I had uploaded such an expressive photo with my CV! And how shall I understand that I'm interested in you AS A MAN? Here, honestly, you loose me, honey! What are you then? Woman? Man? Transgender-whatever-person?

Anyway, I’m glad you knocked on my door. Alright, I’m gay, unemployed, poor, and have been feeling rather depressed lately. But those are details only a fusspot would mention. Know what? I’m sure it could work out just fine between the two of us!

Please do answer me, I’m really looking forward to knowing you better, Anna!.

Would a kiss and a hug be a rash move? Oh, damn it, I do send them nonetheless.

Yours

Roger

PS: You added a link where I could see your photos, but you must’ve pasted the wrong URL! The one you sent seems to belong to a pay-per-use site. You could send me some photos of you, you know—plus your last three paychecks, maybe. I’d really really appreciate!

[108 fountains]

Posting a series of stories inevitable brings comparisons. I thought #5 the best yet (although #1 is still right up there). Is it true that Auschwitz has become a sort of tourist destination/place for parties? Quite disturbing.

I had some problems with #6 - it seemed a little unfocused (although it could be that I am missing something). At first I thought it would be a statement on comparing images of fictionalized bruatlity (in horror movies, etc.) with the real images that are increasingly available on youtube and even regular television news. Then it seemed it would be about the power of words vs. the power of images, but that didn't really play out either.
"...that half sentence the news anchor had uttered a few minutes ago on television... A couple of dry words illustrating an international news item..." I watched and read about the incident, but I really don't know what "half-sentence" or "couple of dry words" you're referring to, which is what makes me think maybe I am missing something.

I enjoyed #7. I wouldn't place it at the top of the list, but it was funny and entertaining just the same.

[Steven Hunley]

Fine set of stories and well done. Each one is worth reading, engaging, and entertaining.

[DieterM]

Dear Steven, I'm really glad you liked them. There'll be more of it as soon as inspiration kicks in again (she's a real b**ch so I cannot tell you when it'll be) :-)

108 fountains, yes, the death camps are used for bachelor parties and other "innocent " revelries. I didn't make up anything—alas! Saw an interview on telly the other day of a Polish girl working for an event agency, and she was just as matter-of-factly as the (invented) girl in the story, shrugging and smiling and saying, "Hey, why not here? If people pay…" I thought that was absurd enough to become the theme of one of my stories.
As for #6, well, all started with good ol' me watching the news in the morning, and the anchor did mention in a half-sentence that the Islamists in Iraq had killed their Jordanian hostage by burning him alive and that they had posted their video afterwards. The rest was a longish inner monologue of mine—I indeed have watched so many horrid scenes on a screen, and yet they haven't impacted me as much as that dry half-sentence. I swear, the images my imagination made up haunted me for the rest of the day. So take the story as some kind of "exorcist" exercise of mine.