Short Story

This is a short story as I understand it. It conforms to both of the pre-requisites of a short story.

Francis Sandwich was a soft man. He was soft in many senses – as most humans are, he was made of squishy, fragile flesh and he was soft of brain. This meant that whilst many men are courageous and strong-willed, he was cowardly and easily persuaded.

One day Francis was walking through his home town, past the bus station. He lived in a small coastal town where nothing much happened, as such people had to invent happenings and over-emphasize the small things that did happen. A seagull died – it was a plague! Whilst Francis walked past the bus station a loud noise happened. A noise is a certain type of wave, these waves are picked up by the human ear and interpreted by the brain. There are many types of these waves but some can sound remarkably similar. This noise was a bang – a loud bang, it worried animals and people alike. It worried Francis particularly who’d always had weak nerves anyway. He thought that it was a terrorist, which was a thing he’d heard a lot about. A terrorist was a human being who looked different to him and didn’t like him. Terrorists made bangs. Most of those around Francis had noticed that it wasn’t a terrorist it was a tyre that had died. This didn’t stop a young boy taking note of Francis’ fear and shouting at him:

“Run to your shelter, granddad!” Granddad was a term of endearment or abuse.

Being a fragile man Francis was frightened. He ran home and found himself a large cardboard box and some sellotape. He climbed inside and closed the lid. He then set about sealing himself inside. He slept. He slept for a long time.


DISCLAIMER: I am aware that whilst this is both short and a story it does nothing else that a short story should. You'd probably already noticed that was the point. I am rather tiresome aren't I?