edith zimmerman

A very short story.

Right as I was drifting to sleep, a thumping noise in my bedroom startled me awake, and I gasped. “Who’s there?” I said, sitting up and pulling the covers tight around me. “Who’s there?!” Just then I heard another thump, but this time the thump was followed by a long, slow creak. I know that creaking noise, I thought to myself, That’s my closet door opening! So I looked over and saw that my closet door was opening! “Oh my god,” I whispered—the door seemed to be opening by itself! Finally the creaking stopped and the door was completely open. I held my breath and for a second nothing happened, but then a pale, transparent oval floated out from the darkness within, and it had two empty holes for eyes and a long empty gash for a mouth. It was a ghost!

“Oh my god,” I said. “Oh my god, oh my god, what do you want!?”

The ghost said nothing and just floated around my room, going back and forth, causing all the papers on my desk to flutter to the floor, and my drapes to flap in the wind. Then he came over to the side of my bed and just hovered there, staring down at me with his empty eyes, with that same unchanging expression. “What do you want?” I whispered. “Oh my god, what do you want?! I’ll give you anything. Money, jewelry—whatever you want. I’ll suck your dick, just please don’t kill me!”

So he pulled out his ghost dick and… well, I’m still alive, I’ll say that much!

A very short story.

“Kelly, who do you have a crush on?” I asked my friend Kelly. We were at her house for a sleepover.

“Well…” she said slowly with a shy smile. “There is this one guy…”

“OMG who!?” I screamed. “You have to tell me right now!”

She giggled and blushed. “I don’t even really know his name!”

“OMG I don’t even care, seriously, just tell me!”

“Okay…” she said. “Well, he’s really tall…”

“OMG he sounds hot!”

“… and he’s really thin.”

“Nice!!!”

“Like, a lot thinner than me.”

“Oh, okay.” Read the rest of this entry »

A very short story.

It was the day of my big interview, but I didn’t know whether to wear my nice pantsuit or this gross old t-shirt that I like. There were definitely a lot of pros for each—with the pantsuit I would look professional and smart, but with the t-shirt I would look like a disgusting idiot. It was a toss up, and I was still thinking about it when I went downstairs to make my breakfast, which is usually just a handful of loose garbage I shovel from the trashcan into my mouth. I still didn’t have any answers after breakfast, though, so I kept mulling it over during my shower. (There’s no hot water, so I just crouch over the toilet and spit on myself.)

I wonder what I’ll do.

A very short story.

“Tell me a joke,” I said to my husband George. “I’m feeling really sad.”

“Hmm,” he said. “Let me think.”

“OK,” I said, slumping in my chair with my head propped up on my hand.

“All right, I’ve got one,” he said. “So there’s a car driving along the highway, and the lady driving is on her cell phone, so when another car merges into her lane she doesn’t notice and drives right into it, sending both cars spinning across the oncoming lanes, which causes a bunch of other cars to all crash into one another, and it’s just crazy to think about how dozens and dozens of car accidents and injuries were all caused by just one woman on her cell phone.”

“What’s the punch line?” I said.

“What do you mean, punch line?” he asked.

“I asked you to tell me a joke, but you told me a weird story about a traffic accident or whatever instead, and so I want to know why it’s a joke,” I said.

“Because it’s funny to think about how sometimes even the smallest actions can have huge consequences,” he said.

“George, literally that’s the worst joke I’ve ever heard,” I said, slumping even further back into my chair and shutting my eyes.

“No it’s not,” he said, frowning.

Hi! Some quick self-promotion and other-person promotion: 1) I wrote another Letters to the Editors of Women’s Magazines column for The Awl. I hope you like it!

2) If you like me, you will love Tom Oatmeal if you don’t already love him already. He is a genius and his funny short stories are so good I don’t even want to talk about it!

A very short story.

I saw him just as the train doors were closing. Tall, handsome, perfect. Our eyes locked.

“Wait,” he mouthed, raising a hand. “Don’t go!”

But it was too late. The doors had closed.

“Noooo!” I screamed, showering the inside of the door with spit as I tried to scratch it back open. “Someone open this piece of shit!” I shrieked. “Fucking open it!”

“Bing bing. Next stop, Union Square,” the conductor said, and the train lurched to life, leaving us with just a few precious seconds of eye contact left. Shrieking, I raced to the back of the train as it departed, shoving and trampling people as I held his gaze. He was perfect. Warm, chocolatey brown eyes. Tan skin. Ripped body. When there was no more train to run through, I gave him the most intense stare of my life, and then beat my head against the window hard enough that I cracked it. Blood rolled down my forehead, and it felt like tears.

Do you ever wake up and imagine how awesome it would be if you didn’t have to get dressed? I hate getting dressed. It would also be great if I didn’t always have to brush my teeth. And then instead of going downstairs to eat breakfast, I would just stay lying down and the food would float upstairs and into my mouth. Actually, instead of having to open my mouth, there would be an IV going into my arm so I wouldn’t have to chew. There would also be two tubes in my pajama pants so I never had to stand up and walk to the bathroom. And instead of using my hand to turn the pages of books or pick up a remote control, I would just stay asleep, and my mind would play imaginary movies all the time. And then I would never have to open my eyes again—I could just stay so relaxed and chilled out that instead of breathing I would stay perfectly still and silent forever. The ultimate in lounging. And then I would be so chilled out that they would put me in a box and just let me chill out forever underground.

A very short story.

“John, I just had the best day of my life!” I said to my friend John.

“Oh my god, Mary, that’s amazing!” he said. “What happened!?”

“Just kidding,” I said. “It was normal.”

“Oh, okay,” he said.

“Gotcha,” I said.

Hey guys! If you want to pay $10 to watch me read some of these stories that you can otherwise read for free online, here on this website, I am competing in a Literary Death Match this Thursday, November 19th, at the Bowery Poetry Club in NYC. I’m not even completely sure how it works, and there is a STRONG possibility I will feel really sad or embarrassed at some point, but whatever! There’s booze, too. Come and say hi to me!

A very short story.

“I’m going to the drug store,” I said to my husband Don.

“Why?” he asked.

“I just need to,” I said.

He gave me a weird look. “Why won’t you tell me?”

“Ugh,” I said. “Nevermind.”

“No, now I’m curious,” he said. “What’re you getting from the drug store?”

“Ugh, fine,” I said. “Tampons.”

His expression of curiosity transformed instantly to one of disgust. “Oh my god,” he said, putting his hand to his mouth. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“You’re fine,” I said. “They’re just tampons, Don, and now I’m going to go buy some. See you in a bit.” I grabbed the car keys and headed toward the door, but before I left I gave him one last look. He had slid down the wall and covered his face with his hands.

“Ugh, get it together,” I said as I walked out.

“No,” he said.