The Old Stories

By Alen Kapidžić

"Old Stories" is a collection of short stories written in time before smartphones and mobile Internet. So, they are old. Ancient. They were not written in the last century but it looks like they were. There are eight stories, six of which can be classified as "urban stories". Two of them are a part of the SF short story collection in writing entitled Wintertide. Some of the stories won contests and all of them were published in magazines. Thematically, it's a collection of short-cuts from the lives of twenty-somethings, their frustrations in collision with social forces, strives to change things, to find little happiness if they can and, often, their failures.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alen Kapidžić
• Release date: Jun 22, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301676187

Alen Kapidžić

Meditator. Writer. Samizdat. E-pub pioneer. Aficionado of politically incorrect humor.

Book preview

The Old Stories

a short story collection by

Alen Kapidzic

Translated by

Petra Pintaric

Cover design by

Sanja Kapidzic

Published by Alen Kapidzic at Smashwords

Creative commons licence

Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported

Alen Kapidzic 2013.

Contents

Sunday

The Cell Phone

A Three-Hundred-Tone Rehearsal for EKV

A Handful of Rags

The Gloves

Beloved

The Axe

The Shelter

Biography

Sunday

"Sunday morning I'm waking up

Can't even focus on a coffee cup

Don't even know who's bed I'm in

Where do I start

Where do I begin"

Chemical Brothers Where do I begin

Ding-dong!

Gorki¹ stood at the door peering through the peephole.

Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong!!! He was pounding wildly on the doorbell, staring through the wrong end of the peephole. The tiny light in the hole went dark and he removed his finger from the doorbell. The lock clicked and the door opened wide. Gorki barged into the apartment disregarding the sleepy, half-clothed girl who remained standing in the doorway. He went straight into the kitchen, turned on the radio and started searching for a station.

You have to listen to this shit!

The girl shut the worn-out pale green door and tapped barefoot after him. She sat down at the table, squinting from the avalanche of light. Her mouth was dry, she could hardly swallow, and she crinkled her face even more.

Fuck! It’s over! Son of a bitch! You should have heard it! The worst crap that Croatian folk music ever crapped out! I couldn’t believe my ears when I heard the lyrics! Do you know how the chorus goes? I’m happy with you even when you cheat on me… Can you believe that? She’s fucking happy when the guy she’s with sleeps around! That’s insane! Totally brain damaged! Lobotomy, my friend! Total lobotomy! he said, turning away from the radio and pausing. He looked at her, tilting his head so as to observe her face better.

Do you want some coffee? Huh? Yummy coffee. Dark. Hot. Mmmm… Yes? Okay? Okay! One coffee coming right up!

He started making the coffee as if she had come over to his place and not the other way around.

Sorry for waking you, but I couldn’t bear all that stupidity. I thought you’d be awake by now, he rambled on. Was last night crazy? Did you miss me at your lesbian party? he said, turning towards her grinning. She slurped, her eyelids half open, stretching out her cheeks into something that could be interpreted as a smile.

The tray with the cups on it shone in the morning sunlight. Gorki turned his face towards the window and closed his eyes. He felt the warmth on his eyelids. They were silent.

What time is it? she asked after taking a few sips of her coffee.

Time is irrelevant.

She looked at him.

Do you know that line?

She took another sip.

My buddy from elementary school, Ringo, you know him? I’ve talked about him before. No? Doesn’t matter. He was waiting for the bus once in Opatija but the bus was nowhere in sight. So he’s waiting and waiting, but nothing. And since the retard doesn’t have a watch, he looks around and sees some guy standing at the bus stop as well. He ponders, Should I ask him for the time? Yes, no, yes, no, and finally decides to ask. The guy replies: Time is irrelevant. Ringo becomes super confused. He’s like, how is it irrelevant? What about the bus? The other guy replies, Son, Jesus said, blah, blah, blah… Fuck, the guy was a Jehovah’s Witness! Can you imagine that? The bus finally arrives. Ringo hurries to get on and sits in the back so the guy wouldn’t see him. Then he sees the guy getting on, looking around for him. He sees him and sits next to him the entire bus ride, saying things like, Jesus, judgment day, we all have to repent… Imagine that! Horrible!

You’ve told me that story before.

Really? I don’t remember. Are you sure?

Yes.

Fuck! Looks like I’m going senile. I should think about retiring soon… he said with a worried expression on his face which then turned into a huge grin.

What time is it? she asked again.

Eight.

Eight? she said gawking at him. What’s wrong with you? Do you know when I got home? At 4:30 a.m.! And you go waking me at 8 a.m. because of some stupid song! You’re a total moron!

Eleven thirty.

Huh? she said confused, frowning.

Seven hours of sleep is more than enough, even after a rough night of drinking, he stated in a serious voice, then smiled again.

She