I'm working on a series of short stories, many already written, some half done.
I'd like to tie them all together but so far, I will have to just write them as if they are unconnected, which of course, they never are.
Don't listen too hard,
nor look too long is a collection of unbelievable short stories.
Stories that will surprise, question and intrigue you,
because they are stories that want to be told.
Be surprised.
Be shocked.
Be challenged to believe the unbelievable.
When I first read Ernest Hemingway's short story called “The Snows of Kilimanjaro”,
I wasn't particularly impressed. Even “Snows” left me annoyed. Why didn't he just say, Snow. I mean, you look at a picture of a snow covered mountain and you see snow. Singular.
Also,
I wasn't convinced that a scratch from a thorn tree could lead to death.
I was young then, and I wanted the ring of truth in the stories I read.
I didn't want to be patronised with some sort of patched up truth, like a band-aid on a blister.
I grew up in suburbia, with modern medicine but I did know something about the dangers of growing plants and in particular, the bacteria Tetanus.
“Harry” in the Hemming way’s story, didn't have tetanus. He had an infection.
I was rather scared of Tetanus, because it is a nasty toxin in the soil, and can lead to a terrible death. A man who lived near our house died from it. It locked his jaw and twisted his limbs. He died a grotesque death in a few days.
I am older now, fast approaching death myself, and I remembered Hemming way’s story when I scratched my hand in the garden. Well, I thought it was a scratch, maybe it was a spider bite.
The tiny puncture was probably caused by a large Australian fan palm tree, which has large thorns on its fronds. We have some unusual, beautiful but very defensive plants in Australia.
My hand swelled up and was hot to the touch. No sign of yellow at the site of infection, just the whole hand red.
I thought my body would fight off any infection, or spider-bite or allergy as I presumed, but by the second day, I felt rather faintish.
Lightheaded.
Swoosh-ish even.
By the time I arrived at the doctors, I could feel a pain coursing up my neck and did not feel well at all.
A course of strong antibiotics was needed, and the doctor warned me that if I didn't feel better in 24 hrs, to be sure to come back, because I might need an injection into the site of the troubles..
Snows and troubles. Both plural.
The snow on the mountain was an accumulation of snows from many years.
Troubles compound themselves with each new addition.
They layer on other troubles, just like snow, and even though each new trouble buries and covers earlier hurts or griefs, the little stones of troubles still lay there.
Troubles remain.
Ready to be uncovered. To be excavated. Dug up. Reworked and sometimes re-buried.
Like Hemmingway, I have so many stories unwritten, and many written but unread.
Go to my blog at http://magicandmysterious.blogspot.com.au/ read the first drafts free.
Be surprised. Be shocked, be challenged.
