We’re experiencing an unusual weather pattern in the Ozarks this summer. Normally, this time of year we are bombarded with torrential downpours of blistering sunshine and drought so severe that trees are chasing dogs in hopes of finding some much needed liquid refreshment.
The temperature still hovers near 100, but El Swampo has brought rain two or three times a week. Now, we have to carry a chainsaw everywhere we go just to cut through the humidity on our way from the house to the car and vice versa. If this continues, I may have to take an additional bath between now and Christmas.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the author who serves up more historical fiction than her namesake does fruit salad is Carmen Miranda 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.
Satan felt a draft.
“Dameon, get in here,” he bellowed. “Where is all this cold air coming from? Some of our condemned souls are getting downright comfortable. The serial killers and pedophiles are cracking jokes about sweaters and coats. Sinners are even questioning my ability to maintain a tortuous environment.”
“We believe the source of the problem is a woman named Sharon Cox, Your Evilness.”
“Hmm…, didn’t we break her heart a few years ago?”
“Yes, My Lord, and she vowed Hell would freeze over before she fell in love again.”
“It appears she has met someone special, Sire.”
I hope you don’t think I’m going soft just because I added a hint of romance to this week’s story. After seeing the photo, I felt like an idiom, especially in the wake of all the great comments from two weeks ago.
And no, Perry, I will not give you Ms. Cox’s phone number or email address.
Poetry, Horror, Psychological Thrillers
Stories From Within
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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AS I TOLD THE GIRL THAT I LOST MY VIRGINITY TO, THANKS FOR LAUGHING AT ME HERE TODAY.
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