Three Small Stories
Tommy Cuckoo Clock Face
I call him Tommy Cuckoo Clock Face because instead of a normal face
he has a cuckoo clock face.
His head is a birdhouse with a clock on his face and a little door
where a yellow bird attached to a spring tries to fly away every hour.
He lives somewhere in the city. He takes the subway.
The bartender says... I saw Tommy in the park with his door open and
a different bird flew in and he closed the door and ever since, there
have been two birds attached to springs in his head.
I don't believe the bartender. I've seen him since and I only saw
one bird.
But I do suspect he can travel through time because once, on the subway,
I saw two of him in two different places with different times on his
faces.
The Orange
Two boys who would grow up to be scientists watched television in
their parent's living room. Their father, a scientist himself, having
just returned from work, rolled a gigantic orange into the house.
The boys turned the television off and approached it. Its diameter
was as tall as their father.
"What is that?" they said.
"It's a very large orange," said their father.
"What do we do with it?" said one of the boys.
"Is there anything new about it?" asked the other.
"We shall see," said their father. He left the boys, went
to the basement and returned with a box full of scientific instruments,
and the three of them set to work learning everything they could about
the gigantic orange.
One of the boys began counting the number of dimples. Another used
an instrument to measure the frequency of light that reflected from
it. Their father used a drill to extract some of the juice and pulp
and measured its nutrient content.
After a time, they came to their conclusions:
"There are as many dimples on this orange as there are on a regular
orange."
"The color of this orange matches the color of most any other
orange."
"The nutrient content of this orange matches a normal orange."
"Except for its size, there is nothing new about this orange."
They rolled the orange into the corner and turned back on the television.
Little Devil
There once was a boy who was good and righteous. His parents raised
him well. He always obeyed.
One day a little devil, six inches tall, came to visit. The boy's
father answered the door and let him in.
"We have a guest for dinner, honey," he said to his wife
who was already preparing a turkey.
At dinner, the little devil walked around on the dining room table,
ate turkey and pie, drank wine, chitchatted.
"What's it like being a devil?" the boy asked.
"It's great. All sins are okay. You get to do what pleases you
and not worry about anything."
"That sounds fun. Mom, I want to be a devil."
"Okay, honey, you can be a devil," his mother said.
"Hooray, I'm a devil!" the boy said.
Then it was time for the little devil to be on his way. He said goodbye,
thanked them for the wonderful meal, and was off.
And the boy remained good and righteous for the rest of his life,
never disobeying, because his parents raised him well.
Darby Larson's fiction has been published at Mcsweeney's Internet Tendency, Opium Magazine, Bullfight Review, .ISM Quarterly, Eyeshot, Eclectica, Pindeldyboz, and other places. He lives and works in Northern California.