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I picked it up on a minor island, the one with the grimy harborfront, I think, and the spine of useless mountains like a broken back along its northern coast as if it had been stepped on. The guidebook called the inhabitants a joyous and friendly people, and perhaps they are to one another. Their fruit was good if not always clean. They certainly appeared to love Jesus. I pitied them one minute, admired them the next. At home, when I reflect on what I’ve seen, one or the other impression will usually fade, often depending on whether I’ve gotten what I came for. In the dusty general store, displayed along the pegboard, the blades of the local machetes gleamed like garden tools oiled against rusting, and so they were made and sold to be used, though I knew in the hills, in certain hands, they enforced a fearful peace. The local merchant showed me handle styles and lengths of blade. The wooden handle was painful to grip; the hard rubber handle had no understanding of fingers. The handle of bone was warm like something living and fit like a handshake. She saw how much I liked it and while smiling drew her finger across her throat in a gesture that locally must have meant something else. I bargained, got the best of her, and paid. The blade is a razor that sings when I withdraw it from its cowhide sheath; ssssing and it slices the young calf’s throat; sssssing and I skin it by turning it inside out. I’m clearing the poison ivy from my yard with deep hacking cuts when I notice the blood on my shoes, and then on my pants, then my shirt. I put my hand to my neck and I dare not look.

Copyright © March 28, 2010

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We are the family of everyone who means us no harm, whatever the results of what they do. We love Pizza Friday, snow days, and getting into pajamas in the afternoon when we’ve spent the day at the beach. In fact, Gallagher-von-Durfeldom heaven is a Friday snow day near the ocean sharing a pie in our pjs. We hate things too, but nothing in common. Our only prejudice is that there is always a better way. As far back as we can remember, we have held jobs that suit our skills but more importantly suit our temperaments; hence shall ye know us by our satisfied smiles. If we have shortcomings, our bosses learn to deal with them. Now, anyone is welcome to adopt our way without joining the family, but whether by accident or from biological inevitability, we marry from families who act like Gallagher-von-Durfeldoms. Call it a tradition. It’s what we do, not what we say that makes us who we are, and we say what we say only so as not to say nothing. Keep an eye on us anyway. Though no more likely to cuddle with strangers than any other family, we press our faces for comfort or warmth whenever we need either to the faces of other Gallagher-von-Durfeldoms of any age or gender. If that makes you uncomfortable, you’ll never be G-v-D, but neither are we inviting you. We are sufficient. Wives who enter our family become everybody’s wife; husbands too, though this rarely happens, and children are watched by so many eyes they feel as if everyone is a parent. We neither subscribe nor prescribe; instead, we warn our youngsters, if the world begins to look like Gallagher-von-Durfeldom, beware whether it has changed to become like us or whether you have lost your way.

Copyright © November 06, 2009

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299-WORD NOVELS

Character, conflict, emotional impact. And sentences! Everything you want in a novel, without one extra syllable.
  1. davidbdale's avatar

    Thank you so much, anhinga, but I wouldn't want to try it without the other 199. —David

  2. davidbdale's avatar
  3. anhinga's avatar

    All you need is 100 words to make an emotional impact. Touching.

  4. Unknown's avatar

    Brilliant, brother. Just simply brilliant.

  5. davidbdale's avatar

    This Very Short Novel has a strong resemblance to Simple Lessons of War from almost 20 years ago, but is…

Behind the Pseudonym

The pen name davidbdale honors my mother Beatrice (Bea) and my father Dale

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