From: jeff-johnson@usa.net
Date sent: Tue, 16 Dec 1997


                       "A Very Short Story"
                  Copyright 1997 by Jeff Johnson

"Why does uncle Mike talk to himself?" asked the five year old
son of uncle Mike's sister. He was pointing a tiny finger at a
man sitting on a picnic table bench who in turn was staring
blankly into space, mumbling nothing to no one.

"He's trying to be a writer, Casey, you know, the people who make
stories. All writers talk to themselves," she replied, shaking
her head.

"Why?"

"Cuz they're all nuts, honey. Come along, let's leave uncle Mike
to the voices in his head." She took the child's hand and lead
him back indoors where the rest of the family had gathered.

"What's Michael doing, Susie?" came the maternal question from a
woman seated on a short couch. Her yellow pant suit made her look
like a wrinkled banana with a gray, fuzzy head.

"Out back talking to himself again." Susie offered the coffee pot
towards her mother and refilled the empty cup when given the
‘yes, please' nod. "Do you think he's doing the right thing?"

"Mommy, mommy. What stories does uncle Mike write?" Casey tugged
at his mother's overalls.

"Science fiction, dear. You know, like Star Wars." The boy ran
into the kitchen, climbed up on a chair and stared out the
window. Uncle Mike was saying something to no one while swooping
his hands through the air.

"He never shoulda quit his job," said the gruff voice of the
father, breaking away from watching the football game on
television. "Paid good money, benefits."

"Now, dear. He wasn't happy there. This is his dream and we
should support him." said his wife.

"Hrmmph!" hrmmphed the father as he shut out the familiar
argument. He had eaten too much ham and drank too much beer to
care for more than just watching two teams of little interest to
him battle it out half a continent away. His current beer was
empty (he knew better than to ask someone to get him one) and he
didn't want to move. Soon he was fast asleep, snoring in the
background. Susie's husband had long ago dropped off into Sunday
afternoon bliss.

"Have you read anything he's written?" Susie asked her mother
while removing cookies from a package, layering them out on the
whipped topping of a very decadent dessert.

"He used to write a lot growing up. He'd write several short
stories in a day, some were pretty good. Let's just let him be
and see what he can do."

"But can he make a living out of writing?" Susie was concerned
for her big brother. He should really be married and having kids
like herself. Nothing made her happier than Casey, and with
another one on the way she felt her joy was going to double.

Suddenly, uncle Mike came in through the side door, an excited
look was on his face. "I've got it. If the ion drive accelerated
them by 3.375 AUs an hour they could reach Proxima in ten years! 
Sorry, sis. I've got to write this scenario down. See ya. Bye
mom, dad. Bye Casey."

Susie and her mother just looked back dumbfounded. Casey,
however, was very anxious to get his uncle's attention. He was
hopping up and down at the man's side.

"Uncle Mike, uncle Mike, do you really write Stars Wars?" asked
the excited nephew.

"Huh, oh yeah, Stars Wars," retorted uncle Mike absentmindedly as
he hurried out the side door.

"Cool, I want to be a writer just like uncle Mike."