In the month of February, Connie and I attended two live performances. One was a series of comedic skits entitled, “Almost Maine” at the Arts Center of the Ozarks. The other was an off-Broadway production of “Camelot” at the Walton Arts Center. In the span of twenty-eight days, I absorbed more culture than you’d find in a half-gallon of buttermilk and a pint of yogurt.
Watching those plays was really inspirational. I couldn’t wait to sit down in front of a keyboard and create a classic of my own (won’t Perry be jealous?). So what if I borrowed a few key words from another writer. They don’t call me the Bard of Goshen for nothing.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the hub of our wheel of writers is Juliet Prowse Wisoff-Fields. If you’d like to participate in this exercise of madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
But, soft! What fragrance through yonder window wafts?
It is dog poo, and toadstools fresh upon the lawn.
Arise, fair sun, and kill the grievous odor
Who is sick and pale with repugnance,
Ward off from thy nose the rising effluvia
Be not stricken by the stench that drifts upon the breeze
What leaves the fair maiden both sick and green
And none but fools doth step in it
Would through the airy region stream so bright
That buzzards gag and choke upon the sight.
See, how she plucks them from the lawn
with not a glove upon her hand
~ Wilford Snakesheare
Poetry, Horror, Psychological Thrillers
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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.
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