I struggled to find anything funny in this week’s photo, so I went with my first impression. It’s a mix of Alfred Hitchcock and Mel Brooks. It won’t make you spew coffee through your nose, but you might look over your shoulder. I’ll be attending Ozark Creative Writers conference in Eureka Springs this weekend learning how to be creative, so I won’t be responding or visiting blogs until Sunday & Monday. Ya’ll keep me in your prayers.
This week’s photo is courtesy of Jan Morrill.
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Lucinda had always been afraid of spiders. Therapists suggested a variety of treatments including hypnosis. Nothing worked. The only way to overcome arachnophobia was to face her fear.
The streets of Pamplona were empty the day before its lesser-known festival. Lucinda thought it wise to familiarize herself with the course prior to the event.
The white stucco wall bore evidence of past participants attempting to escape the terror. Broken fingernails and dried blood stains littered her path.
Something moved behind her. A cold shiver raced down her spine. A lone gossamer strand trembled in the breeze.
“Tomorrow, Lucinda,” it whispered.
Horror, Psychological Thrillers, Poetry, Flash Fiction
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This is the blog of a woman who is seriously on the edge and I mean right ON the edge…no, not there… just a little bit further… further than that…no, further still…just a tiny bit more… just move slightly to the right a little…no, that’s too much…just move a tad to the left…that’s right, just there…now you’ve moved too far to the left… Damn, what part of the ‘on the edge’ do you not understand? Oh, and her matricidal boy genius, come devil spawn.
Or the three people I guilted into reading this blog, whatever.
Growing older is inevitable. Growing up is optional.
I may make you feel, but I can't make you think.
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AS I TOLD THE GIRL THAT I LOST MY VIRGINITY TO, THANKS FOR LAUGHING AT ME HERE TODAY.
I don't write, I touch without touching.
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Stylistically Abusing Language for the Betterment of Mankind
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