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Short Stories

The Function Of Criticism by Pepijn Sauer We forget without remembering what. Something started at some point but the point is ... [774 words]
For Sofia by Pepijn Sauer You live with the question. Wondering how to proceed, we find ways to make things happen. We do not u... [449 words]
One Small Moment by Shelley J Alongi One woman's small action makes a lasting impression on a man condemned to die for his crime. [1,847 words]
Last Hours by Shelley J Alongi A general contemplates his decision before formally declaring war. [1,467 words]
Collateral Damage by David Gardiner Some explosions keep on echoing. [4,127 words]
Wolf In Janie's Shadow by Wolfa Of a girl who fell through the cracks in the world. [2,103 words]
The Wedding Banquet by Anthony S Maulucci A rich Italian from the Abruzzi region holds a feast to find a bride and falls in love with... [1,815 words]
2am by MacKenzie Morgan This is my first contribution to the site. It's an excerpt from a journal I kept over the summer. Please re... [3,361 words]
The Seventh Inning Stretch by Kurt Kitasaki A satire on professional sports. [2,230 words]
The Nova by Kurt Kitasaki A satire on executives in the automotive industry. [2,647 words]
Witness by Pepijn Sauer You have seen things. I thank you for describing them to me with so much care and poetic accuracy. Your... [826 words]
White Church by John Karl A passing of innocence and the expectation of one's future. [349 words]
Which Is The Way? by Sreenivasa Murthy Govindaraju Always in need of money and finally undergoes humiliation under the very nose of his teenage ... [2,246 words]
The Mind That Is Morning by Pepijn Sauer The mind that is morning swims. As it grows later it will become frosted glass; an emp... [459 words]
The Girl In The Taxi by Richard Koss A shy, young man has an erotic encounter with a strange girl. Is it real or just a dream? [1,493 words]
The First Time I Met God... by Joel Harper None necessary. [616 words]
The End Of History And The Last Fish by Pepijn Sauer When Field commander Asinine launched his final all out withdrawal the fir... [1,168 words]
Plague Of Time by Kevin Cope This is a story I keep playing around with and as yet is still unfinished. I am not sure how I w... [5,118 words]
Party by Pepijn Sauer Actually the host is dead. It took me a while to notice, but it's true. The host is so dead he has a lot ... [581 words]
Our Father Who Aren't In Heaven by Johnny Abrahams A man searches for his father but will he find him? [3,026 words]
Is Evil Edible? by Johnny Abrahams A very brief introductory work by a person who wishes he could write better than he can. [542 words]
In The End All Becomes Clear by Johnny Abrahams When death comes knocking, do you open the door? [831 words]
Heyman by John Karl Taipei: Big spiders, no drinking water, and lots of Taiwan Beer... Give me 10 reviews and I'll post pict... [557 words]
Gravity by Pepijn Sauer I circle the gravity of this situation in elliptical curves. Inside the fences, so fashionably dressed ... [589 words]
God Bless The President by John Karl Confrontation with knife wielding drunk in Oregon bar... did not have to be this way. [584 words]
Eurojazz by John Karl Stuck in Italy, partying, and then some... [650 words]
Don't Mind Her, She's 'armless by Johnny Abrahams Ugly people have feelings too. [1,000 words]
Adventures In The Land Of The Unexpected by Will E Drillit A satirical look at the conference circuit in the unusual setting of P... [1,066 words]
Adolescent Innocence 2: Evil Never Dies by Loki Evil proves it never dies in this second game of death and destruction. [14,390 words]
A Song Of Absence
A Modern Day Love Story by Shari Calkin Just an example of how God works miracles in people's lives, especially when they least... [1,241 words]
A Deadly Kind Of Love by Kevin Cope Billy Harper loved his mother just a little too much... [1,846 words]
A Changing Of The Seasons by Bradley Postma Allegorical romance relating the fickleness of love with the weather. [6,240 words]
Within The Darkness by G S Kimbro Short Story of a strange encounter in a restaurant. [1,707 words]
Tarradale's Option by Ed Bruce A tale about life in the Scottish Highlands, an incomer's attempt to defy tradition and the... [3,533 words]
Tale Number One: Dederik Flunn by Banae Wan A young man inherits his father's job as a professional murderer. On his first m... [2,480 words]
Salvation In Death by Alberto Pupo Things are never what they seem... [493 words]
Regretting Mistakes.. by Alberto Pupo a weird tale of a deranged little mind... [1,044 words]
Playing Life By The Rules by Kevin Cope Some last thoughts before I go. [792 words]
On The Way To Retreat by Muhammad Nasrullah Khan Story of a man who sacrificed everything for his country. [1,881 words]
On Orcas Island by John Karl Yuppie vacation to local resort... [269 words]
Legacy by Adhara Von Nuremberg There's more to life than living. [1,612 words]
Kelly's Neighbour by Roxanne Kendrick - [535 words]
John's Secret by Glen Pearson Bill's big brother John is acting a bit weird. What's going on? (Not for impressionable kiddies... [2,154 words]
Faint Bell - A Story You Should Read Because I Said So, And I'm Smart. by Scott W. Hazzard A southern lady waits for her man. No su... [699 words]
Dogfish by Wolfa An owner tells the story of a neurotic, once-abused dog. [1,352 words]
All-Day Breakfast by Kevin Cope An ordinary day. An ordinary guy. A not so ordinary cafe. [2,336 words]
Adolescent Innocence by Loki After moving back to his hometown, a teen finds himself trapped in a deadly game of kill o... [7,559 words]
Losing Life by Antony Berrios A women finds herself in a strange place being held against her will. [672 words]
Hanover Square by Kevin Cope An old man sits by his wife's bed as she slowly passes away. He consoles himself by recalling th... [1,035 words]
In Hour Of Death by Muhammad Nasrullah Khan Dear Readers I have written this short-story in context of Gabriel Garcia's farewell letter to... [1,664 words]
The Ultimate Option by Nadeem Akhtar Modern man's predicament has left him only to avail the ultimate option. A story of all tho... [1,302 words]
The Maniacal Core Of His Unsound Mind by Banae Wan (I want comments.) One eighth done. Reprint. Changed title with anothe... [1,195 words]
The Gap by W A Hardy - [4,055 words]
The Confession by Kathleen McCarthy A murderous cousin plans to murder her way to money. [2,119 words]
The Beast Of Briovera by Christopher Grady In every Fairytale there is some truth, it is up to us to seperate the 'Fairy' from the '... [4,029 words]
Sunday Drive by Antony Berrios A family’s last trip together. [736 words]
Smothered by Paula M Shackleford The story of a girl who drives away men without meaning to. Will she ever find true love? [3,970 words]
Sitting Still by Scott W. Hazzard An ex-writer reflects upon his miserable life while receiving a routine lap dance from his favori... [2,159 words]
Shattered Lives by Kathleen McCarthy A story of a romantic triangle with deadly consequences. [4,761 words]
Who Knows What? by Iain Spittles This is an updated version, take a look, give a comment in return, that's all I ask. [966 words]
Neighbour by Sreenivasa Murthy Govindaraju A retired official who remained as a bachelor attempts to write his auto-biogrphy drawing inspiratin ... [2,296 words]
Lane 23 by Vanessa E Clemmons A mother competing with patience and her daughter's determination to obtain glory. [343 words]
Franky And The Crash by Scott W. Hazzard A gruff ragamuffin rampages through a city to become an anti-"pretty boy" -anti-hero. Rea... [1,079 words]
Dad's Discipline by Oscar Oljmex - [684 words]
Annie And Metoo by Arlene Gunn A lonely girl befriends her shadow. One day it suddenly disappears.She is again lonely but find... [1,400 words]
All My Ex's Ain't In Texas by Patti Dinneen A native New Englander recounts her adventures in Texas. [2,308 words]

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A Song Of Absence
Everybody is on the beach but you. Meister Eckhart sunbathing in bright green shorts. Dostojevski and William James play beach volleyball against the Marx Brothers. In the shadow of a palm tree sits Godzilla, reading the Upanishads. Everybody is wearing shades.

[1,412 words]
Pepijn Sauer
Short Biography:
Pepijn Sauer
Born midnight between the 3rd and 4th of February 1970 in Arnhem, The Netherlands. Studied Japanese, Philosophy and Psychology at the universities of Leiden and Utrecht, finished neither because of tendencies towards the more obscure sides of the above mentioned fields. Paints, does illustrations and translates from Dutch to English and vice versa. (mainly scientific articles).
[September 2001]
[email protected]
Dis-Appointment (Poetry) Short poem. [12 words] [Romance]
For Sofia (Short Stories) You live with the question. Wondering how to proceed, we find ways to make things happen. We do not understand the question. It is there despite our lack of understanding, as are many other things. Fo... [449 words] [Mind]
Gravity (Short Stories) I circle the gravity of this situation in elliptical curves. Inside the fences, so fashionably dressed in distractedly elegant drapings of barbed wire, the TV show goes on showing. (White noise. Fragm... [589 words] [Mind]
Party (Short Stories) Actually the host is dead. It took me a while to notice, but it's true. The host is so dead he has a lot of time to give parties. [581 words] [Mind]
The End Of History And The Last Fish (Short Stories) When Field commander Asinine launched his final all out withdrawal the first one to be killed was major Fuck Up. The loss was grave but they had no time to bury him. [1,168 words] [Mind]
The Function Of Criticism (Short Stories) We forget without remembering what. Something started at some point but the point is now almost identical to everything; or rather, it is starting to be, unstoppably, constantly. [774 words] [Mind]
The Mind That Is Morning (Short Stories) The mind that is morning swims. As it grows later it will become frosted glass; an empty couch by the window; twelve words; a dolphin blowing rings of air and an empty coffee cup in the sunlight. [459 words] [Mind]
Witness (Short Stories) You have seen things. I thank you for describing them to me with so much care and poetic accuracy. Your eyes must be beautiful. As for the things at hand, I am unclear regarding their purpose, if any. [826 words]
A Song Of Absence
Pepijn Sauer

A Song of Absence.

Everybody is on the beach but you. Meister Eckhart sunbathing in bright green shorts. Dostojevski and William James play beach volleyball against the Marx Brothers. In the shadow of a palm tree sits Godzilla, reading the Upanishads. Everybody is wearing shades.

Delayed Arrival.
I have come to the sea. I have come like water streaming down from the mountains of my foolishness. Memories of rocky banks, twigs, leaves linger like the coolness in a sunny-morning air. I have seeped through layers of ages, the tastes of the earth drinking the wishful rain. Now I am only me.
When the sun sets there is a barbecue on the roof. You are not there. I climb higher, Godzilla beside me. Standing at the edge high up, he looks at me quietly, the blue twilight city below. 'You can scream here', he says in a solemn voice, 'no one will hear you.' I spread my arms wide and breathe; his massive head beside me looking of into indigo skies.
Later I follow myself into the sadness. The great space of the world unfolds around me. My face is a worn fisherman's net suffused with light and salt. It goes on and on. Es gibt uns gar nicht.

Analytic Interlude.
I keep analyzing all this stuff. Try to give it some kind of shelter under the umbrella of the all-inclusive order. It is only me - out there in the rain; the rhythm of it forming patterns of footsteps in my muddy mind. Pile on the phone calls and the letters. Pile on the deserted windows in the blizzard of eyes circling your face.
And tomorrow I will be happy. And nothing will have changed. And you will not be here. If I was weak, I was weak for you - the only thing that was ever easy. The world is filling up slowly outside the crystal palace of my head. Nothing won't be long - it's already arriving from all directions. Nothing will disperse it. I already want to forget, have already moved beyond caring for this thing. You are standing around in some corridor packed in boxes, waiting to be moved out at the appropriate time. I will distract myself by being someone for a while; pretending this body is not just the disposable packaging of something that cannot understand itself. While the exit sign will come on in brief flashes behind my eyes, I will breathe: nothing can convince me to believe that either.

A Brief History of the Universe.
And all this is just another ellipsoid curve around your absence. I have asked for none of this. My head is a sequence of chemical flashes inside my head. My body is made up of atoms millions of years old that have been born in the nuclear inferno of stars. The same stars are another sequence of chemical flashes inside the head that is a sequence of chemical flashes inside itself. And this crazy thing, that needed billions of years of universe for it to be shoved into the footlight of existence, wonders: what¡¯s the point of all this.
It is true, things are much simpler then this. I ache for you. I am a pain that is your absence. I am the thirsty sand in the retreating tide of your touches. Your lips are perfect.
Meanwhile Godzilla dances with heavy feet on the wide rooftop while I stand and scream into the wide moonless sky.

Smoke Screens.
The hotel rooms look good, big beds, big windows, big balconies, no TV. Groucho has booked them.
'Always smoke a good cigar while booking hotel rooms', he says. 'Do you want one?'
We light up and five minutes later we are outside on the street.
'Smoke alarm. They have them everywhere these days,' Groucho says looking thoughtful while taking another puff that makes him disappear in an impregnable brownish-gray cloud.
I can still see dense smoke coming from the third floor window.
'Where did you get these things?', I ask him.
'Handmade especially for me', he replies, his body bent slightly backwards, right hand on his back, left hand with cigar hovering around his mouth pointing upwards at an angle of about 120 degrees towards the third floor balcony - 'Like another one?'
I fall into the soft bed. Drifting between the smell of tobacco and the fragrance of jasmine, just before the velvet curtain drops, I think I can hear the faint sound of alarm bells in the distance.
And of course that's what I wake up to: nothing like the sound of smoke alarms in the morning.
At breakfast, which, for some unknown reason, is served on big slabs of granite in the basement, my feet touch the ground. Godzilla watches a rerun of an old war. 'I've seen that face before,' he keeps grumbling, 'I've seen that face before.'

Time frame.
Can't keep going on saying the same thing. There are no ghosts at night. Only in the morning. Like another way of understanding something that has been eluding your grasp. Weather. Location. Time.

Talons beneath the skin
embracing air
now supposed to be built
from minuscule zip code
blueprints also responsible
for the colony of squirrels

inside my head.

The Invention of color.
Colorless. The blue western sky reflected in the glass of a high rise building against the dark eastern sky. I watch colorlessly. I¡¯m not supposed to be here. And - the disappointment of the intellect when it realizes...
Disenchantment? Was I going somewhere? Without you? The sound of emptiness in the refrigerator? Don't be alarmed? Godzilla standing in a triangular glass alcove? Behind a plant? In a hospital? At night? How does this fit in with everything else currently unfolding? Are you sleeping? Did I wake you up? Is love a rain of dead birds? If not where do they keep coming from?

The Words.
'What is it that makes a dream unreal?'
'Where does your face go when I close my eyes?'
'Must we go on like this?'
'Both of us are vulnerable.'
'What have we achieved?'
'I used to understand you. Maybe we would disagree sometimes. Maybe frequently. At least your point of view would remain within the realm of the imaginable. But now...'
'Could you get me out of here?'
'Could you get me another beer?'
'Look a the trumpet player.'
'The giant pianist - my god he's huge - look at his hands!'
'Your personality. It's like a zoo. So many animals.'
'Where were you before?'
'There are so many things, but the loneliness...'
'You are in the street. Yesterday there was sunlight, today it is raining. The weather changes you.'
'And I dreamed, this morning. I made love to her in some mystic ritual.'
'And the blue - endless blue skies inside your head.'
'How can we speak to one another?'
'My weight, suddenly, on the scale of your face. Can I forget?'
'A recurring theme - it happened before - I'm sorry.'
'Am I too serious? I can laugh. Though they have told me I laugh like a madman.'
'A hyena sometimes.'
'Believing too many things. Believing the wrong things. We do too much of it.'
'You. One of your bouts of spontaneous regression. Lying on the couch, your arm over your face.'
'Many things we have to do. Inexcusable things.'
'There is no other way to speak.'
'We have only words. We have to do what we can.'

The mystery of rhythm.
You keep walking in. Goddamn slowly. You walk as if you are never going to get here. Remember when I took you to the funeral? The three guys who were there? One of them was the devil - the one wearing sunglasses. One was the philosopher. The third one was the saint. Only one problem. There was no ultimate meaning. I was just watching. You were curious. There was a fourth one. He was dead. (Hence the funeral.)
The devil is also dead, really. He just doesn't know it because he can't feel it. He doesn't feel it because he doesn't feel anything. He doesn't even feel that he doesn't feel anything. He talks. That's all he does.
  And I must admit, I don't get the point. Later when you sleep I walk out. You tell me I am inside your dreams. Where are your dreams?
I watch your face while you watch something else. It's not that I don't try to get the point. You are still walking in. Is this ever going to end? If it does, then what?

I am still working on the index. You'll get it as soon as I'm done.

(For Paola.)




"The story you are writing is not common, which i have found it beautiful.They are the introspection and phylosophical sense that you dream into life. Then, your words contain much of visions and sounds. Facts turn into dreams and dreams become facts. I just wonder how you could make such those words. I really like your style. Therefore, I'm fond of the way you express. " -- To Anh, Hanoi, Vietnam.


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© 1999 Pepijn Sauer
September 2001

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