Last night, a man I have never met but known all my life, told me a story. He fed it to me in twenty-five, 140-character bite-sized morsels. There has never been a man who has done that for me before. Fed me with his words, with his own hand.

This is that man.

 

 

 

This is that story.

 

Thursday 10 March 2011; 00:53

@angadc: may I? what do you want a story about. there is a cat resting on my shoulder, and I can try.

there once was a girl who only lived when she moved through streets that cut through history frozen into buildings, with …

..some joy peering out at her through windows, but many, many frowns. brows would stiffen as she walked – not danced – but

.. through these streets. it did not matter, really, there was the sea; and there were some words stuck between rocks, and

some other words under some carpets. her mother loved her carpets, and kept all her secrets hidden in there …

before i forget, there was an unhappy child. the mother had some many children that she did not know if this one …

…child existed or had been stillborn. there were others, others to feed, and clean, and bather, so this child was not ..

..really a problem. the girl (the girl at the start of our story), the girl who found words, under rocks, under carpets ..

… was hungry one day. she looked at her favourite rock, where the sea blasted words onto the shore, and they knotted into

.. stories under it. it was empty. she took this as a sign (as she had all the time in the world), and walked (not danced)

…back home to check under her mothers new carpet collection.

…she looked under the first set – nothing new. some words had formed a dust cloud that made a story about …

… a grail quest. nothing new. just ordinary. but there was always another room, in this big house. she looked at all her

favourite dust corners. (she even experimented with the places where the maid never cleaned – she was desperate .. )

nothing. nothing. so she decided to do something else. but that is not the end.

walking up to her room, she saw that the staircase was carpeted. she had never noticed this before. so she walked up ..

…and down the staircase looking for a crack into which she could stick her finger, even her tongue, to get the dust story

there was no crack. this was the theme of her day. bored, she picked up a pair of binoculars. she saw a butterfly.

… she said “BUTTERFLY” as this is how butterflies look when seen through binoculars. the creature did something ..

… very curious. she landed on a tiny lump moving under the sofa that she had not seen before.

the lump moved. she though .. oh my god .. dust that moves… it terrified her. a live story. a real live story. she …

… ran through the house, looking for a knife, anything to cut the carpet with. she, as her mother was a superior ..

..house keeper, found it immediately. she began to rip the carpet to shreads, and when the dust cleared she heard a whimper

… A SPEAKING STORY she thought, and waited (impatiently, for once) for the dust to settle.

she saw eyes. she saw fingers. she saw bruised arms. she saw her brother. stillborn. her mothers story.

THE END.

Thursday 10 March 2011; 01:09