High summer, and it is too hot to sing. A huntsman walks a road with a gun on his shoulder, a bird in his bag, and a dog running ahead of him. A woman steps out of the rye with a sickle in her hand and says his name. She is delighted to see him. He is not.They sit down between two fir trees, and in the ten minutes that follow, Anton Chekhov does something very quiet and very cruel. He was twenty-five, writing fast and for money under a pen name, and he claimed later that he wrote this one in a bathhouse in a single sittingWe are so honored to have been featured by Apple Podcasts as a great source for summer stories. If you don't want to miss our future stories, please Follow or Subscribe. Also, we have over 100 stories in our back catalog. Enough stories to keep you entertained for weeks.Looking for even more stories? Check out all out narrative podcasts at shortstoryverses.comIf you enjoyed this story, buy me an e-book!https://www.buymeacoffee.com/donmcdonald Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

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“What did the council decide on item 42?” — answered with the speaker and the moment.

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