My driver’s license expired last week. In October, Arkansas began offering so-called “enhanced driver licenses” to bring the state in line with federal Real ID Act standards. By 2020 a Real ID card will be required to board commercial airplanes or enter federal facilities.
I was relieved to discover that getting the “enhanced” version was not going to require a surgical procedure to enlarge any part of my anatomy. I would be required however, to provide up to eighteen documents verifying my existence as a result of live birth (rather than divine creation ~ i.e., God’s gift to women).
The process was zipping along at the pace of a snail crawling through a molasses bog until we got to the part where they take your picture. Evidently, the customer ahead of me was a Perry Block look-a-like, causing both the camera and ID printer to crash. After giving the equipment repeated CPR and a cold shower, the DVM personnel were finally able to issue me a Real ID.
If you are new to Friday Flash Fiction, the photo archiver who issues fresh prompts each week, is Mattie Brady 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.
“What’s behind the door, Ma’am?” asked Detective Lowry.
“Oh, just This, That, and Sometimes the Other,” replied the Bobster. “Why do you ask?”
“I’m following up on an investigation. Would you mind opening it for me?”
“Sure. Please Say Kaddish for Me.”
“Huh?” Her response caught Lowry off guard. “Okay, I’ll play along. Kaddish.”
“See that wasn’t so hard.” She flashed an impish grin. Unlocking the chains, she swung the door open.
Inside, he discovered a beret, a purple mime outfit, and a tube of face paint. “Where did these come from?” he asked.
“From Silt and Ashes, of course,” she replied.
Mattie “Bubster” Brady, author of the books mentioned above.
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.
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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