Funny stories in under 500 words.

The Ostrich

funny short story: the ostrich

I finally decided to buy an ostrich. My taste buds had grown tired of old, regular, boring chicken eggs. And I like to eat eggs. A lot. I will have eggs for breakfast, eggs for lunch, a hard-boiled egg in the mid-afternoon and eggs for supper. There’s even an egg-shaped bed in my bedroom. Ostriches lay the biggest eggs in the world; buying one to be my nourishment provider seemed only natural.

I can’t really explain it in full detail, but eggs have helped me to keep my good nature and health. Never has my body been with diseases or maladies; Flu, measles, fevers or the slightest cough are unknown to me and my daily consumption of eggs is, I’m sure, responsible for that.

My backyard had a small shed that would be perfect for the ostrich to live. There was a large bucket of water, a feeder and plenty of sand for it to perform nature’s duties.

The first week it seemed a bit off and often wandered aimlessly as if looking for a way out. It recoiled at my presence and ran away in circles. It kicked the dirt constantly and gave me a look that would have been sinister if it weren’t for the enormous eyelashes and appearance that, rather than a threatening stare, made it seem as if suffering from some sort of untreatable constipation.

It laid no eggs. Two more weeks went by without seeing any results or discernible product that might seem edible. Its diet was a blend of grass and corn, but it did not seem to arouse its appetite.

One morning I woke up horrified to see it standing at the end of my bed. It was wearing my fedora and a pair of purple sweatpants that I used for jogging.

In a polite but firm tone I asked it to leave my belongings and go out. He responded by kicking my 52” LCD screen into oblivion, knocking my framed collection of signed baseball cards into the floor, which it proceeded to stomp until it was nothing but bits of glass and paper.

So the following week it stayed in my bedroom and I took a somewhat comfy love seat as my inn.

The ostrich is pretty picky when it comes to food and clothing. It wants nothing but romaine lettuces and pure cotton threads. Since I have little access to my regular clothing I seldom leave the house, so I’ve gotten used to wandering around half-naked.

I have run out of eggs to eat and the ostrich still hasn’t laid any. I’m starting to feel a bit deceived by the shady-looking person who sold me the creature. I should have known something was off, when he immediately ran away with my money knocking down three old ladies and one street performer in the process.

I’m afraid my good-humored nature and health are dwindling day-by-day. I woke up around 3 AM last night screaming profanities (out of hunger pains, I’m sure) and gnawing the leathery cover of my dining room furniture. I feared my kind-hearted neighbors may be thinking the absolute worst about me, but, much to my dismay, I found them yesterday dining together with the ostrich, who, I must credit, behaved with elegance and good taste. They never bothered to look in my direction or wave their hands in recognition. It was as if I were some kind of strange animal. I was almost tempted to cancel my subscription to their monthly book reading sessions, but I haven’t made my mind about it yet.

I sure miss my eggs. I wonder when will it go away.

Roman R. Orozco (London, 1978) is a writer from Mexico. Has a degree in Communication Studies and a masters degree in Humanities, which enables him to talk about nonsense for hours and get paid for it. He enjoys films and music from all over the world (except reggaeton, he hates the stuff). A year ago he quit his job as a literature teacher and founded with his wife a small company where they do writing, proofreading and translation services. Click here to visit his half-abandoned blog...Hay más cosas >>