Day 16 – A fine old Man

I went through a couple of short stories (that I just couldn’t finish: this one and this one).  This is a short story by Mark Twain called A Fine Old Man. This is a strange short story and I went to find out more about it but I didn’t find anything.  I would love to hear what you think of this short story, and what it might mean in the comment section down below.   Continue reading

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Day 15 – The Beggar

"In the villages people gave him scarcely anything--he was too well known. Everybody had grown tired of seeing him, day after day for forty years, dragging his deformed and tattered person from door to door on his wooden crutches. But he could not make up his mind to go elsewhere, because he knew no place on earth but this particular corner of the country, these three or four villages where he had spent the whole of his miserable existence. He had limited his begging operations and would not for worlds have passed his accustomed bounds."

“In the villages people gave him scarcely anything–he was too well known. Everybody had grown tired of seeing him, day after day for forty years, dragging his deformed and tattered person from door to door on his wooden crutches. But he could not make up his mind to go elsewhere, because he knew no place on earth but this particular corner of the country, these three or four villages where he had spent the whole of his miserable existence. He had limited his begging operations and would not for worlds have passed his accustomed bounds.”

I picked the author and Mike picked out of a list of stories I had of his, which was “The Beggar,” By Guy De Maupassant.  I read it aloud to Mike, and I was disappointed in the story.  Mike thought it to be predictable.  I’m posting it because it is late, and it IS a short story and it counts for the night. Continue reading

Day 13 – The Oak and The Reed

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A great oak would never bow him for no wind, and a Reed which was at his foot bowed himself as much as the wind would.  And the Oak said to him: “Why dost thou not abide still as I do?” And the Reed answered: “I have not the might which thou hast.” And the Tree said to the Reed proudly: “Then have I more strength than thou.” And anon after came a great wind which threw down to the ground the said great Tree and the Reed abode in his own being.  For the proud shall be always humbled, and the meek and humble shall be enhanced, for the root of all virtue is obedience and humility.

 

 

Day 12 – The One Who Waits

Ray Bradbury’s short story, “The One Who Waits.”

I live in a well. I live like smoke in the well. Like vapor in a stone throat. I don’t move. I don’t do anything but wait. Overhead I see the cold stars of night and morning, and I see the sun. And sometimes I sing old songs of this world when it was young. How can I tell you what I am when I don’t know? I cannot. I am simply waiting. I am mist and moonlight and memory. I am sad and I am old. Sometimes I fall like rain into the well. Spider webs are startled into forming where my rain falls fast, on the water surface. I wait in cool silence and there will be a day when I no longer wait.

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Day 11 – Desiree’s Baby

"In the centre of the  smoothly swept back yard was a great bonfire. Armand Aubigny sat in the wide  hallway that commanded a view of the spectacle; and it was he who dealt out to a half  dozen negroes the material which kept this fire ablaze. "

“In the centre of the
smoothly swept back yard was a great bonfire. Armand Aubigny sat in the wide
hallway that commanded a view of the spectacle; and it was he who dealt out to a half
dozen negroes the material which kept this fire ablaze. “

I found a website that provided a story a day, and today’s story was Desiree’s Baby by Kate Chopin.

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