This is the place where sample stories, to whet your appetite, live. For more short short stories, Siân has a Tumblr page which has tiny stories which hope to one day grow up and be exactly the same size.
The Day the Comedian and the Storyteller Met
Once upon a time a comedian was walking down the road. And, clearly, as it was a comedian, it wasn’t so much walking as alternating between swaggering and crawling, weighed down by self-loathing. And, clearly, the road was a pub filled with other comedians doing the swagger/crawling thing and all complaining to each other about the difficulties in swaggering and crawling at the same time. The air was heavy with sweat, which dripped down the bare walls like tears down a clown. A scary, scary, depressed clown.
One day a storyteller walked into the pub. All the comedians turned round and stared at this person who had this whole new way of walking. It was kind of like a folk dance, if people danced to folk and didn’t just sit looking thoughtful. A thoughtful walk. A twisty thoughtful walk filled with a million tales from a million years and the smell of peppermint tea. The storyteller stared back at the murky clan before them, intrigued by their hunches and bunches of bitterness clamped round their eyes.
After a while, the barman got nervous with all the staring and decided to break the tension by clanging a bell and ordering everyone to drink whisky. Not free whisky, it wasn’t Club Tropicana for God’s sake, but he gave 10% off in the interests of bringing the storyteller and comedians together. Nervously, the storyteller sat down and began to sneakily text their friends. (Storytelling texts involve Gaelic songs, smoke signals and a flute from Orkney). Soon more storytellers folk-danced-walked their way into the pub and started chatting to the comedians.
They realised they had a lot in common. Both groups liked entertaining people, both were creative and everyone agreed that Ugly Betty had definitely lost its way as a programme. They all sat drinking, chatting and singing until the early hours of the morning when someone pointed out that it was a school night and, as the pub was merely metaphorical, it no longer existed so they were getting chilly.
So, they all went home. Not together. It’s not that kind of story and, to be honest, the comedians were too drunk and the storytellers too disgusted by their breath. But they agreed to meet again and decided right there that their next meeting would be called Electric Tales, in honour of the spark that had ignited between them.
And of course, everyone lived happily ever after. Apart from the barman. Who was disappointed to realise his bar did not in fact exist. He eventually got over it but there were a few ropey months.