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Trolley Problems
March 15, 2007 in 299 Words, Fiction, Flash Fiction, Literature, reading, Short stories, Stories, Very Short Novels, Writing | Tags: language, Logic, Philosophy, Rhetoric, Romance | by davidbdale | 4 comments
A runaway trolley is racing downhill. If I hurry to the switch, I can divert the trolley to another track, that is, if I understand switches. Sunlight crinkles on the storefront windows, under a fresh spring sky as blue as a crayon, and I and my philosophical girl friend, with nothing but coffee and little wrapped chocolates and late afternoon lovemaking and ontological nothingness on our minds, are walking arm in arm down the leafy avenue, and now this! But divert the trolley toward what? Undiverted, it will surely crash into a second trolley full of innocents, but what of the five girl scouts on the other track? If I didn’t know better, I’d think I had strolled into a dilemma devised by an ethicist to test my convictions. Should I continue to deceive my girl friend about how I spend my weekends, or would the consequences of leveling with her be perhaps more damaging to both of us? Surely I can’t do Nothing. Two trolleys full of passengers are at stake. On the other hand, the girl scouts, their youth. Is there a way to quantify the downsides? The roasted pungency of deeply distressed coffee beans wafts from the door of the charming café, beckoning us. I think I should just tell her. The fat man, startlingly fat, fat enough to divert a train, has lost his footing at the curb. The merest touch against his back will tip him into the path of the careening trolley. Saving everyone? Except the fat man? And me, of course. Who flips the switch and gets away with it? Who pushes the fat man has to live, too. I will tell her, but probably not today. She looks at me and laughs her little philosophical laugh, that gets me every time.
Copyright © March 15, 2007
Read the rest of this entry »My Eulogy
December 26, 2006 in 299 Words, Books, Fiction, Flash Fiction, Literature, Music, Poetry, reading, Short stories, Stories, Very Short Novels, Writing | Tags: Monologue, Performance, Rhetoric, Speech | by davidbdale | 10 comments
Dearly beloved, and others, we gather today with heavy hearts to mourn the passing of a cherished individual, me. The greatest loss, of course, is mine, but each of you are also now diminished, unless you hold collateral for what I owe you. Lying here mute with my jaws wired shut, I’m still the whole show, a loss you’ll not soon recover from, and it saddens me to take away the better part of you. The current fashion in funerals is a joyous celebration, but I prefer ritual groaning to sappy remembrances, so rend some garments. In order of magnitude, starting with me, we have each of us suffered a devastating loss, for I was father, husband, brother, son (most of those accidentally), cousin, grandson, nephew (no one asked if I wanted to be), a felon, an adulterer, an unnamed co-conspirator, the boss from hell, a karaoke singer, and the author of a will that should infuriate everyone it names. A complete list would require depositions. The deceased was infamous for the roles he played and for his ruthlessness: with creditors, with other men’s wives, with the mostly-female choir that will sing here tonight. I loved you all, not just your voices. But oh, what delicious backing those voices provided for mine. By way of closing let me say, in relationships with every man of consequence, an urgent intimacy needs to be petted and fed or it will jump the fence and flee to the woods. In my case, it was my dog, who I will truly miss. Dear friends, I was more to you than you knew; and you, to me, were parts that blended with mine. It won’t be much of a requiem without me singing, but do your best. You can blame your performance on grief.
Copyright © December 26, 2006
Very Short Novels 