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Posts Tagged ‘Short Stories’

Book XIII: The First Forty Nine Short Stories, Ernest Hemingway,  1938, 499 pages

Earnest Hemingway is one of my favorite authors.  The guy knew how to write and everything he wrote had some deep hard meaning to it.  Right now in my life I finally understand why he was able to write so passionately and for that I commend him.  Here was a man who went to war in Europe, got injured.  While in the hospital he met a female nurse he feel in love with and visa verse, who subsequently left him for something she thought was better.  “The major of the battalion made love to Luz and she had never known Italians before, and finally wrote to the States that theirs had been only a girl and boy affair.  She was sorry, and she expected, absolutely unexpectedly, to be married in the spring.  She loved him as always, but she realized now it was only a boy and girl love.  She hoped he would have a great career and believed in him absolutely.  She knew it was for the best.”  Hemingway.    This is a decent collection of short stories.  I am about two hundred pages in and at my current slow rate of reading you can easily join me in this one.

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As everyone knows I have been hurting a bit these days.  For a while I was puting all the pain into my novel, but as of late decided to take a step back from that project.  I was finding it hard to get pages finished.  A writer friend of mine told me I should leave it alone for a bit and then come back to it.  About three nights ago I was feeling rather depressed.  It happens to the best of us.  I don’t really know what happen next.  This Stanley Jordan song came up on my ipod’s shuffle and the words started to flow.  I have not written a short story in some time.  Maybe it is a pre-amble to something greater.  All I can say is putting it on paper really helped me to clear my head.  I don’t know if its any good, probably just a string of incoherent garbage.  You can be the judge.  I have not had too much writing on here as of late so I figured I would share something different as an apology for that.  Enjoy.

The Bitter End

 He heard the angry clacking of her heels on the sidewalk. The sound slowly got more faint as she walked off into the distance.  Why did she leave?  Why did he let her?  Why was he not the one to leave her?  Why had his heart just sunk into his chest leaving him feeling weak?  “You have so much potential, but I can’t sit here and watch you destroy yourself any longer.”

Those were the words that stuck with Joe. “I don’t love you anymore, I never really did”.  He did not say a word to that.  To any of it for that matter.  He just sat there and listened.  It was almost as if he was not there, but floating above the whole scene.  All the screaming, arguing and the crying.  He did not even feel the pain or blood slowly trickling down the knuckles of his steadily swelling hand.

No, all he could think about was the fact that he would never see her again, never smell her hair next to him when he woke up in the morning, never experience the warmth of her naked body pressed up against his after being satiated by the heat of the passion they once had for each other.  It was over, really over this time.  Not like all the others when she had walked out and came back a few hours or a day or two later.  He did not know for sure, but was almost certain.

There is this extra sensory that couples develop for one another after a sufficient amount of time passes.  They can just sense the thoughts and emotions of the other.  That is one of the remarkable mysteries of love.  He had pushed her limits too far this time.  Joe knew it.

She had loved him once he thought, even if she said otherwise.  Why is it when two lovers split up they always have to say the most hurtful things.  She had to love him once right?  Why else would she have stayed with him for all those years?  She was there when he was on top of the world and when it all came crashing down.  She nursed him back to health when he was bed ridden with an unknown illness.  She always put his needs first.

She had to have loved him at least once.  Maybe she still did.  He would never know now.  She would not come back.  He knew that.  And he would not go after her.  There he sat paralyzed on the dirty front porch of his apartment, their apartment at one time.  He did not care that the dirt would soil and possibly ruin the designer beige and cream pinstripe suit he had tailored for him.  He did not care about the fact that his hand was broken or the subsequent hole in the wall.

She would not come back.  One tear fell from his right eye.  Just one.  The tin man finally got his heart.  She never really knew how he felt for her.  He was never able to express it.  He thought at times his actions may have shown it.  What did that matter now? Water under the bridge.  She would not come back. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever.

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Book VII: Boule De Suif & Selected Stories, Guy De Maussant, Stories published from 1880-1890, 283 pages

Taking a break from English Literature I picked up this collection of short stories by Guy De Maussant.  I cant remember the last time I read anything from the French and the last time I gave short stories a run was last December.  I get a kick out of short stories and French writing is so erotic, even back then.  Maussant was the protege of the renowned author of Madame Bovary, Gustave Flaubert.  Madame Bovary being one of my all time favorite books I figured I had to check out the works of Maussant.  Im about half way through already considering I started the book before my long trip home and did nothing but read for most of it.  So far I am enjoying it.

Summary of Book VI: Great Expectations

For whatever reason Dickens is an author I have read very scarce.  Considering he is one of the greatest of his time that is rather sad.  That being said I found Great Expectations to be an enthralling read.  I could not put the book down.  The characters are all so unique and the plot amazing to the last sentence.   If you have left this book out as I did for so long it is time to pick it up.  You wont be sorry.

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