i have to read one to my short stories class tomorrow and i cant find any thing worth reading

oo yes! read them babycakes by neil gaiman.

you can probably find it online somewhere or there's video of him reading it on youtube.

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i think there may be something on my head.

Find one of the many dozen unpublished Salinger stories that are on the net.

This link might not have been taken down yet, as it's in hungary

http://www.terebess.hu/english/salinger.html

ahhhh okay im gonna look online for the text of this!
thank youu!

The link I gave works. If you're into Catcher, then Slight Rebellion off Madison is a Holden Caulfield story.

thanks for that. \

aw thank you guys so much!

i love that babycakes one, im thinking about reading that one.
i hope my teacher doesnt think it's gross

you could try 'a story of an hour' by kate chopin if you're still looking for one.

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Black Shapes in a Darkened Room by Marshall Moore is a wicked collection of his short stories. Really cool twisted queer dark fiction. Very romantic and weird.

Collections of good short stories:
"Dogwalker" by: Arthur Bradford
"Jenny and the Jaws of Life" by: Jincy Willet
"Bad Behavior" by: Mary Gaitskill
"Jesus' Son" by: Denis Johnson
"Hot Water Music" by: Charles Bukowski

The Necklace by Guy de Maupassant


The Most Dangerous Game by Richard Connell

short stories collections:
distortions - ann beattie
wilderness tips - margaret atwood

every story is a gem.

The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner by Alan Sillitoe

That's an incredible collection of short stories. Really bloody powerful.

Read the Master of Rampling Gate that Anne Rice made before any other book. It's a really good short story

quitters inc.
-stephen king

out of all his short stories this one fascinated me the most..

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My mind is like a plastic bag.

what did u end up reading?

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i think there may be something on my head.

The Metamorphosis by kafka wooo hoooooooooo

I think all the short stories in 'the wonderful story of henry sugar' by roald dahl are great.

i like most of the ones in 'the informers' by bret easton ellis. they all connect though, so they're like short stories but not.

Heres one i made earlier;

The Womble staggers across the threshold and into the thread, a trifle bemused.... 'Hang on a mo,' he slurs,'This thread isn't the one I thought it was what I thought it was' he continues, slightly inchoherently ' Some beggars gone an' spiked my Gin and Campari, I bet that rotter Cribbins is responsible, he's 'shroomed me drink'. As he makes a valiant attempt to regain some sort of composure, he swears blind to himself that the Beer Fairy with the landing gear by RJ Mitchell and norks by Barnes Wallace who he spent a large part of his youth wrestling with (prior to the installation of her chastity belt) has morphed into The Bugblatter Beast of Traaal, and has lost all her usual allure in the process.

'Christ on a bike, love', he intones with as much gravitas as he can muster under the circs, 'whats 'appened? You would appear to have a face like a bag of spanners, give us a Snowball in a tall glass with a straw, umbrella and cherry up the monkeys a**e, and a double shot of grappa on the side' he requests, 'an' a pickled egg in a pack of salt an' vinegar, I've missed me dinner'.

Tamara Norksville, the Fairy in question, prepares The Wombles' chosen liquid refreshment and light supper. Remembering the good times they had once shared, prior to Cribbins eloping with the royalties and leaving her beloved destitute she had done all she could for him, even to the extent of selling her nubile, voluptuous body on the Caledonian Road whilst they occupied a squalid bedsit above a bookies, saving the money she earned towards their shared dream of a liveaboard narrowboat and residential mooring on the Battlebridge Basin. Recalling these hard times, when they had nothing except their love and a tick ridden duvet for warmth and comfort. A faint, but unmistakable look of love lost flickered across her now raddled features.

The Womble breaks away from deep conversation with the juke box, 'Give us another Snowball, but forget all the umbrella b*****s, and do us a favour flower, throw the grappa in with it, it'll save on your washing up'. Tamara sighs, but has learned from long experience that at least if she serves him she has retained a modicum of control.

In her own deeply confused way she feels partially responsible for the wreck of Wombleness that staggers before her. The Womble downs his drink in one, as the concoction hits his stomach lining, a deathly pallor and sickly sweat overcomes him, he has been here before and knows he only has moments to remove himself, too late , he spews a vivid yellow plume of egg-nog around the bar, coating the carpet in a foul and permanent layer of chunder which no steam cleaner yet invented has a icepops chance in hell of removing.

He turns away and heads for the door, 'That will give Moley something to gripe about, the charmless nerk, I'm sorry my sweet but I must go for a long walk, I may be some time', he wails miserably, dribbling the last of his regurgitated refreshment over the newly recovered pool table ' If you bump into Cribbins, tell him it 'aint over' and with that The Womble staggers into the cold night air.


FIN