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    7 best short stories - Absurdist
    7 best short stories - Absurdist
    7 best short stories - Absurdist
    Ebook61 pages40 minutes

    7 best short stories - Absurdist

    By August Nemo, H.P. Lovecraft, Daniil Kharms and Franz Kafka

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    About this ebook

    Absurdist fiction is a genre of fictional narrative (traditionally, literary fiction), most often in the form of a novel, play, poem, or film, that focuses on the experiences of characters in situations where they cannot find any inherent purpose in life, most often represented by ultimately meaningless actions and events that call into question the certainty of existential concepts such as truth or value.
    The critic Augst Nemo selected seven short stories of the absurd for his appreciation:

    - A Country Doctor by Franz Kafka
    - In the Penal Colony by Franz Kafka
    - Before the Law by Franz Kafka
    - Ex Oblivione by H. P. Lovecraft
    - Andrey Semyonovich by Daniil Kharms
    - A sonnet by Daniil Kharms
    - Symphony no. 2 by Daniil Kharms
    For more books with interesting themes, be sure to check the other books in this collection!
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherTacet Books
    Release dateMay 12, 2020
    ISBN9783967998450
    7 best short stories - Absurdist

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      Book preview

      7 best short stories - Absurdist - August Nemo

      Publisher

      A Country Doctor

      by Franz Kafka

      ––––––––

      I was in great difficulty. An urgent journey was facing me. A seriously ill man was waiting for me in a village ten miles distant. A severe snowstorm filled the space between him and me. I had a carriage—a light one, with large wheels, entirely suitable for our country roads. Wrapped up in furs with the bag of instruments in my hand, I was already standing in the courtyard ready for the journey; but the horse was missing—the horse. My own horse had died the previous night, as a result of overexertion in this icy winter. My servant girl was at that very moment running around the village to see if she could borrow a horse, but it was hopeless—I knew that—and I stood there useless, increasingly covered with snow, becoming all the time more immobile. The girl appeared at the gate, alone. She was swinging the lantern. Of course, who is now going to lend his horse for such a journey? I walked once again across the courtyard. I couldn’t see what to do. Distracted and tormented, I kicked my foot against the cracked door of the pig sty which had not been used for years. The door opened and banged to and fro on its hinges. A warmth and smell as if from horses came out. A dim stall lantern on a rope swayed inside. A man huddled down in the stall below showed his open blue-eyed face. Shall I hitch up? he asked, crawling out on all fours. I didn’t know what to say and merely bent down to see what was still in the stall. The servant girl stood beside me. One doesn’t know the sorts of things one has stored in one’s own house, she said, and we both laughed. Hey, Brother, hey Sister, the groom cried out, and two horses, powerful animals with strong flanks, shoved their way one behind the other, legs close to the bodies, lowering their well-formed heads like camels, and getting through the door space, which they completely filled, only through the powerful movements of their rumps. But right away they stood up straight, long legged, with thick steaming bodies. Help him, I said, and the girl obediently hurried to hand the wagon harness to the groom. But as soon as she was beside him, the groom puts his arms around her and pushes his face against hers. She screams out and runs over to me. On the girl’s cheek are red marks from two rows of teeth. You brute, I cry out in fury, do you want the whip? But I immediately remember that he is a stranger, that I don’t know where he comes from, and that he’s helping me out of his own free will, when everyone else is refusing to. As if he knows what I am thinking, he takes no offence at my threat, but turns around to me once more, still busy with the horses. Then he says, Climb in, and, in fact, everything is ready. I notice that I have never before traveled with such a beautiful team of horses, and I climb in happily. But I’ll take the reins. You don’t know the way, I say. Of course, he says; I’m not going with you. I’m staying with Rosa. No, screams Rosa and runs into the house, with an accurate premonition of the inevitability of her fate. I hear the door chain rattling as she sets it in place. I hear the lock click. I see how in addition she chases down the corridor and through the rooms putting out all the lights in order to make herself impossible to find. You’re coming with me, I say to the groom, or I’ll give up the journey, no matter how urgent it is. It’s not my intention to give you the girl as the price of the trip. Giddy up, he says and claps his hands. The carriage is torn away, like a piece of wood in a current. I still hear how the door of my house is breaking down and splitting apart under the groom’s onslaught, and then my eyes and ears are filled with a roaring sound which overwhelms all my senses at once. But only for a moment. Then I am already there, as if the farm yard of my invalid opens up immediately in front of my courtyard gate. The horses stand quietly. The snowfall has stopped, moonlight all around. The sick man’s parents rush out of the house, his sister behind them. They almost lift me out of the carriage. I get nothing from their confused talking. In the sick room one can hardly breathe the air. The neglected cooking stove is smoking. I want to push open the window, but first I’ll look at the sick man. Thin, without fever, not cold, not warm, with empty eyes, without a shirt, the young man under the stuffed quilt

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