The Geek (a 700-word flash fiction story) by Oren Shafir

They knew I didn’t do it because I was in Phoenix with my Dad that week and didn’t get back till the day after vacation ended. In other words, the day after the locker bomb went off, and Schuler and Davis were killed. But they think I’m the next geek who might get inspired and decide to blow up some jocks, or even worse, some cheerleaders. They knew what the jocks almost did to me, and after what I said at the assembly, they were all over me.

The Closed Door (a 400-word freaky flash fiction story) by Oren Shafir

A cloud covered the moon, and the room darkened. I’d been so busy trying to clean up before Mom got home that I hadn’t had time to reflect. But the adrenaline rush was completely gone now, and it seemed like it was someone else earlier and not me. Part of me wished Bob were still alive, and we could all be a family together. Part of me knew that was right, the way it was supposed to be. But I had an image of myself with my feet hanging over the edge of my bed listening to Mom and Bob behind her closed door. I sometimes thought I would explode – when that door was closed.  

Dina's Smile (a 450-word freaky flash fiction story) by Oren Shafir

Later, after she was raped by Shechem, I was the one Dina sought out for comfort.

That first time I comforted her, though,  she was around four, and I was around 12. Simeon had accidently hit her with a rock above her left eye. The women stopped the bleeding with some shepherds-purse. Then they passed her around like a loaf of bread, each one trying her own trick to soothe her: something sweet, a rocking motion, a rattling noise, even a breast. But still she wailed her heartbreaking tones.

To Sleep (600-word freaky flash fiction) by Oren Shafir

I stepped on the teenage girl's narrow sandaled foot with my hard black heel. Crunch. She whimpered, and I registered her look of pain and surprise, but I just moved straight past her. I was too tired to speak.

Source - Photography Mojo

A drop to drink (a 100 word freaky flash fiction horror story) by Oren Shafir

For the first time, Jason thought that they might just actually die out there. That his naiveté might have cost him not just his own life, but that of Gina, and God help him, his unborn child. The jeep was far away now. The farm farther. And home farther still. 

Golem (800-word freaky flash fiction) by Oren Shafir

Image from Der Golem film 1920

Heinrich only kept him alive because he amused the men. Eliyahu spoke four languages, and he could tell you the full name, birthday and birthplace of everyone in the camp, be they officer or soldier, Jew or gypsy, communist or dissenter, man, woman or child, alive or dead.

But Eliyahu was an idiot really. A giant idiot, with a coarse and abnormal face, less like man than dog really. He would ramble on incomprehensibly mixing information about errand lists his mother must have given him back in his little Jew village - about what to get at the butcher’s and what to say to the Rabbi - with random passages presumably from the Jewish holy books.

Appointment at the top (180 word freaky flash fiction) by Oren Shafir)

Is this the longest escalator in the universe, or is it just because it is so late? So dark. Because the ceiling is so high? The place so still and empty?  I fight the urge to run back down, but I know they’d only find me – and my family.

I look at the ads rolling by on the side. I see coke, and I think car acid. I see green-pea soup, and I taste vomit. I see a baby in a shiny white diaper, and I picture shit oozing out of the elastic seams and running down its chubby thighs. For a second, I think I can smell it. My stomach burns, and I feel dizzy.

Finally the top comes into view. Maybe, I think, they do just want to talk. I feel lighter. Yes, of course. How absurd am I. We can still work this out. I can make them see. 

The tips of shiny hard shoes appear. Followed by uniform-blue pant-legs. A thick black belt with pouches, lots of pouches. Then, I see the holster.

It is empty.

 

END

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I love the Dutch, that's why I came to Denmark... (short excerpt from comedy play by Oren Shafir)

In this short excerpt from my play, Better Off Dead, Ulla and her friends,  Lars and Lone, are trying to teach Rex, your average Texan cowboy, how to be Danish.

ACT I, SCENE III, ULLA’S LIVING ROOM

(Lars and Lone are just entering)

ULLA

These are my dearest friends, Lars and Lone Lonelarsen. Lars and Lone, this is my new boyfriend, Rex from Texas.

LARS AND LONE

Oh, an American.

REX

What’s a matter, don’t you like Americans?

LARS

Yes, of course. We are Danish.

 LONE

We are very tolerant and extremely non-judgemental.

LARS

But we believe that all Americans are narcissistic, dogmatic hypocrites.

 REX

Why I might take offense with that if I knew what any of those words meant.

 ULLA

Now we shall have Danish hygge.

LARS

Yes, now we shall have Danish hygge.

LONE

Yes, we shall have Danish hygge now.

ULLA

We shall explain.

LARS, LONE AND ULLA

(Lars, Lone and Ulla light

candles frantically as they

sing this song)

THE DANISH HYGGE SONG

DANISH HYGGE IS SO DANISH

IT’S AS DANISH AS CAN BE

DANISH HYGGE IS SO SPECIAL

BECAUSE IT IS SO HYGGELIG

DANISH HYGGE IS SO SIMPLE

AND YET IT IS COMPLEX

ALL YOU NEED ARE 500 CANDLES

AND SOME PEOPLE AT LEAST THREE

THEN YOU NEED SOME DANISH HUMOR

WE ARE VERY FUNNY

WE GAVE THE WORLD BLACK HUMOR

WE INVENTED IRONY

DANISH HYGGE IS SO DANISH

IT IS AS DANISH AS CAN BE

DANISH HYGGE IS SO CHARMING

BECAUSE IT IS SO HYGGELIG

ALL YOU NEED ARE 500 BEERS

AND SOME PEOPLE, AT LEAST THREE

REX

Oh, that’s Danish hygge. It’s kinda like...

Read more or download the full play as a pdf.

Listen to the first act read in a live staged radio reading

All for one (350 word freaky flash fiction) by Oren Shafir

What kind of person could beat a man until his bare knuckles bleed? I know you think I’m horrible, but there’s some things you need to understand.

First of all, it was Frank’s idea. He’s the leader, the thinker, the planner. And he has a way of explaining things with that fancy English accent of his so that it all makes sense. Now that doesn’t mean I will do anything Frank says. No sir, especially not something like that. You need to be motivated for something like that.

You see, that poor kid Jamie is so sweet and innocent, and has been hurt so bad, you just want to protect him. Jamie is the best of us. And it’s like Frank says, if someone hurts one of us, he hurts all of us. So you see, I had to do it. I'm the one who get things done that the others can’t, even terrible things sometimes. I am the doer.

Still when I walked up to that man I did not know what I intended to do. But then he smiled at me like he knew me. Almost like he had been, I don’t know, intimate with me. I could see how he must have hurt Jamie. I thought, Jamie is such an innocent kid, he wouldn’t have seen that; he probably just took it as a friendly smile.

“You don’t know me,” I said, and I swung my whole body connecting a hook to his temple so clean it sent him straight down.

How was I to know that Jamie had been hurt so bad before, that he could get so confused, he might blame this guy for something else someone else did to him a long time ago?

I can’t talk to Jamie (or Frank for that matter) all the time, you know. Usually, one of us just takes over and uses the body, and the others disappear for a while. This time it was me, and I used it to beat that man to death with my bare hands.

 

END

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Alone (200-word freaky flash fiction) by Oren Shafir

I’d been trying to remove a painful piece of nut lodged between my upper right molar and the one next to it when I began to suspect the tooth was moving as well. I tested it, and it was loose alright.

I tore off a piece of my rag shirt, the clean one, and dabbed at the area. That’s when I saw the pus and blood. Without thinking, I pushed it as hard as I could ignoring the pain. Back and forth, again and again ,until there was a crack.

I stuffed a piece of the shirt rag in the hole and looked at the tooth.  Tooth? Whatever it now was, I could only admire it. I began laughing. Softly at first, the kind of polite chuckle you would have heard at a dinner party or the library. But my laughter gradually grew - like it was being pumped up inside me.

Soon, it was like the unchecked giggles of a child. Gradually, it became  hysterical. Tears rolled down my beard mixing with gooey blood. Had someone heard me, they wouldn’t have known whether it was laughter or the bellowing of a beast.  Had someone seen me, they would have thought me mad. Would have, if anyone were left, that is.

 

END

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When I Was Brand New by Oren Shafir

On the night I was born
My Dad used one of the two tickets he'd bought
To hear Frank Sinatra sing
Why Frankie decided to perform in Beer Sheva, Israel of all places
I do not know

How a nice Jewish boy like me ended up in a goyish place like this by Oren Shafir

(Originally published in Rambam, Danish-Jewish history journal, 15/2006)

 

I’ve lived in Denmark for 15 years now, and I still feel like an outsider. But, hey, that’s not so strange. After all I am Jewish; we Jews are perennial outsiders. We’re contributors to the mainstream, yet never quite considered an integral part of the mainstream. We’re familiar with all forms of persecution, and we’re always on the move. Oh yes, Jews get around, and I’m no different.