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Tag : FRIDAY FICTION

A Horseman in the Sky

A HORSEMAN IN THE SKY

He lay at full length, upon his stomach, his feet resting upon the toes, his head upon the left forearm. His extended right hand loosely grasped his rifle […]

Skin

SKIN

The old man who was called Drioli shuffled painfully along the sidewalk of the rue de Rivoli. He was cold and miserable, huddled up like a hedgehog in a filthy black coat, only his eyes and the top of his head […]

The Deer in the Dream

THE DEER IN THE DREAM

FRIDAY FICTION [10] from Taoist Teachings from the Book of Lieh Tzu by Lieh Tzu A man was gathering fuel in the Cheng State when he fell in with a deer that had been startled from its usual haunts. He gave chase, and succeeded in killing it. He was overjoyed at his good luck; but, for fear of discovery, he hastily concealed the carcass in a dry ditch, and covered it up with brushwood. Afterwards, he forgot the spot where he […]

True Love

TRUE LOVE

The church too had denied him the right to marry his mannequin. In winter he regularly leaves Lake Garda in mid-December and goes with his beloved, whom he met in a Paris shop-window […]

A day in the country by Anton Chejov

A DAY IN THE COUNTRY

A dark leaden-coloured mass is creeping over the sky towards the sun. Red zigzags of lightning gleam here and there across it. There is a sound of far-away rumbling. A warm wind […]

The Christening

THE CHRISTENING

The old ship’s surgeon, holding out his glass, watched it as it slowly filled with the golden liquid. Then, holding it in front of his eyes, he let the light from the lamp stream through it…

The Cactus

THE CACTUS

The most notable thing about Time is that it is so purely relative. A large amount of reminiscence is, by common consent, conceded to the drowning man…

There will come soft rains

THERE WILL COME SOFT RAINS

…the voice-clock sang, tick-tock, seven o’clock, time to get up, time to get up, seven o’clock! As if it were afraid nobody would…

The Hole in the Bridge a short story

THE HOLE IN THE BRIDGE

There once was a river with a small town on each of its banks. The two towns were connected by a road which ran across the bridge. One day a hole appeared in the bridge […]

The Circular Ruins a short story by Borges

THE CIRCULAR RUINS

NO ONE saw him disembark in the unanimous night, no one saw the bamboo canoe sinking into the sacred mud, but within a few days no one was unaware that the silent man came from the South and that his home was one of the infinite villages upstream…

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