I had forgotten all about this very short story, it was originally written as a competition entry - To write a maximum of 250 words inspired by a famous piece of art (there were only two choices available). Why this particular story came from this Van Gogh I have no idea. I mentioned it was short, put the kettle on and you will have read the story by the time it's boiled. Enjoy!
His fingers could just touch it… but no he just tipped it further out of reach. His shoulder almost dislocated, sweat dripping from his nose. Frantic now his mind raced: how to reach it?
‘Give me a hand’ he cried.
‘What?’ came the answer.
‘Give me a hand will you!’
‘I can’t hear you, what did you say?’ he said, poking his head round the door.
‘I said for the umpteenth time, please for the love of Van Gogh’s fucking ear will you give me a hand!’
‘No need to be like that. What’re you doing on the floor anyway?’
‘I dropped it and then it rolled under the bed…’
‘…And you have such piddly little T-Rex arms you can't reach it?’
‘You’re welcome’ he smiled, ‘why don’t we just move the bed?’
‘Alright then… You get that end.’
‘Why do I get the heavy end?’
‘Well you’re the muscle Mary…’
‘…Oh very bloody funny - you need the favour; you get the heavy end.’
‘Ok on 3… three!’ In unison they grunt and sweat and swear.
‘It won’t budge’.
‘I can see that, I think I’ve popped something.’
‘Well was it expensive?’
‘Just leave it then, we’ll get another one.’
‘We can’t just fucking leave it… What if a kid finds it?’
‘Look we’ll be back in the U.K. by this time tomorrow, and anyway, who says it's ours ?’
‘I suppose, but I’m not sure I like the idea.’
(c) Lee Auburn 2010