As a child, I was always loved to draw. One year, I got a Jon Gnagy instructional book for Christmas. It was full of projects designed to teach young artists how to draw a chubby-cheeked Mexican boy standing outside an adobe hacienda. I also loved those ads that challenged us to draw Winky” or “Lucky” and win a $10 cash prize. Somehow I always lost out to that short, little Jewish girl from Kansas City. Fifty years later, she bests me at writing too. Some things never change.
The last time I exposed myself to art, I was arrested for indecent exposure and destruction of public property. Who knew that a 300 yr. old marble statue could laugh? When I threw open my trench coat in front of the sculpture it cracked up—literally. I’m just glad the Mona Lisa wasn’t there. They’d still be trying to get that toothy grin off her face.
If you are new to Friday Flash Fictions, the curator of Literary Art is the esteemed W. C. (Wilmena Claudette) Wisoff-Fields. To learn how to participate in this weekly exercise in madness, head over to her blog for instructions. To rent a booth in the FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
Lucinda unlocked the back door and entered the kitchen. The furnishings had been rearranged and the oil lamps were burning. An eerie glow filled the room.
She took a quick inventory of her belongings. The only thing missing was a large invisible box she kept next to the refrigerator. Who would steal that?
The police dispatched Detective Lowry to investigate the crime. He checked for fingerprints. They must have worn gloves.
After taking Lucinda’s statement he started to leave, then noticed a white smudge on the mirror. It was face-paint.
“Damn those mimes,” he muttered. “I should have known.”
Here’s a blast from the past.
Horror, Psychological Thrillers, Poetry, Flash Fiction
Stories From Within
Finding ways to make words sparkle
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.
All the Blogging That's Fit To Print
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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And the worst things. And all that weird stuff in between.