232. Tiny People in the Park in the Middle of the Day
a tiny story contest & the chance to win sneaky art!
Dear reader,
Today we are writing tiny stories for tiny people.
Tiny people are the countless, anonymous people who pass through our worlds everyday. You see them walking down the street when you sat at a cafe window. You see them on the buses and the trains. You seem them waiting under the traffic light. They are the other tables at the restaurant. Their worlds intersect with yours - and yours with theirs - often for just a short period of time. As a result, we remember very little of them. Just impressions.
These drawings are impressions of what I saw, what I noticed, and what I was able to draw. They are a product of the moment - a function of a particular space in a limited time. A complete person with a full life, reduced to some hasty lines of ink.
Writing tiny stories for tiny people is a chance to rejuvenate them. To re-humanize the person by giving them a story, and meaning, and purpose … all the stuff of life. Let us do this together.
On a sunny day of May, I saw tiny people in the park. I was there to draw, because that is what I do. But what were they doing in the middle of a weekday? Who has this kind of time??
The SneakyArt Post is a publication of secretly drawn art of the world. Every week, I share the latest drawings from my sketchbooks, and the best ideas from my journey as an artist and writer.
If you can think of another person who might enjoy writing tiny stories, tap the button to share this post with them!
🛠️ How it Works
Pick a tiny person below.
Give them a reason to be in the park in the middle of the day.
Write a tiny story for them in the comments thread.
Read the tiny stories of other readers and ‘like’ the ones you enjoy.
💌 The best stories win original drawings and prints in the mail!
Uphill Trudge
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Even after all these years, these uphill sections always winded her.
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Would she ever be able to just saunter up, like the sprite-like creatures passing by in their jogging pants and sunglasses?
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One step at a time, they told her. One step at a time. Okay then.
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Of course, she had a step tracker too. But what was the fun in that?
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Now, your turn!
Love this as well, and one of the reasons I'm interested in the Sneaky Artist is to improve my observations skills in order to improve my writing.
Couple on the bench:
He looked away from her. The sun warmed his thighs and the bench insulted one particular vertebrae. They'd come here to talk away from the children.
Sheila sat too close for what she was saying. That it wasn't working. That she wasn't happy. She droned on and on, being diplomatic, while the sun shone and the birds chirped and he knew she would be leaving him in that blunt polite way of hers. He pictured himself taking his visits with the kids here in this very park.
He agreed with her. She pulled her long hair to one side. He pulled his hat down to shade his eyes. It was very bright. The day had made everything clear.
Recording for a future self:
Clarissa was going through some things. She was fresh out of school (and a relationship), feeling jaded, and had just moved to a city where she didn’t know a soul. After a particularly horrid meeting (that really should’ve been an email), she clocked out early and fled for the serenity of a nearby park.
Not knowing what else to do, she pulled out her phone and started recording a voice message (a trick she learned from her always-just-soooo-together older sister) to keep as a reminder for later.
“Clarissa, I know…,” she whispered, almost bursting into tears. She pressed stop, and waited a minute to collect her thoughts. She looked around at the other people. What were they doing at the park at 11am? Were they having an existential crisis like she was?
Gathering up what seemed like the last ounce of emotional strength she had, she pressed record again. She spoke from the heart.
“Clarissa, I know life is hard right now. Growing up can really suck, but you’re tougher than you think. Everything is going to be okay.”