One of my assignments at work today was to write some funny fortune cookie “fortunes.” Here’s my favorite, brought to life with a little Photoshop.
While trying to come up with little narrative arcs — and unexpected endings — I remembered Ernest Hemingway’s six-word story, “For sale: baby shoes, never worn.”
And that, in turn, reminded me of a long list of six-word stories I’d written on a less-busy day at the office. (Sorry in advance for all the mime jokes. I blame my friend and colleague Craig for egging me on.)
In any case, I’ll leave it up to you to guess which one is autobiographical.
True believer; then I lost faith.
Lived on six contents. Died alone.
Whoa! My toes! Damn you, chainsaw.
I truly loved him, in hindsight.
He never loved me. My mistake.
Don’t worry. Maybe it’ll grow back.
Drank beer … lost a few years.
“Potentially lethal”? Make that just “lethal.”
I swerved; tree hit me anyway.
Brilliant magician! She makes money disappear.
Missing one leg; eight lives left.
Paris: lifelong dream! Forgot my camera.
The voices made me do it.
He said he’d delete the photos.
Groom missing. The bride eloped anyway.
That? Oh, it’s just a zit.
Found: Bikini top. Looking for bottom.
“Porcupine. Put it down.”
I never said I was sorry.
An apology would have been grand.
Former mime. Now I’m a ventriloquist.
A ventriloquist, I make mimes talk.
Shot a mime. Didn’t need silencer.
Former mime seeks friend for conversation.
Laughter. Love. Loss. Lawyers. Liquor. Limbo.
I love this! As for autobiographical, I hope it isn’t the one about deleting photos.
Ha, Kathy! Thanks for your kind words. And no, it’s not the one about deleting the photos … that I’m aware of. 😉
one of my favorites by richard brautigan, though it has more than six words.
“It’s tough living in San Jose with a man learning to play the violin,” said the woman as she handed the gun to the police officer.
Gaaa! As someone who grew up with a student of the violin, I can totally understand the woman’s sentiment. Although if I lived in San Jose, I’d probably shoot *myself.*
I think the one about the silencer is hilarious! I’m hoping that the autobiog. one isn’t about being in Paris with no camera, and I’m *really* hoping that you don’t think it’s the one about living all over and dying alone…really H, your black humour worries me sometimes…. 🙂
But talking of cardiologists, as we weren’t, doesn’t that Hemingway story squeeze the heart. I’ve always thought it’s brilliant.