How many of you read the obituaries? Connie thinks I have a morbid curiosity because I like to know who’s still among the living and who’s not. Sometimes you find out fascinating things about total strangers. So far, none of them have bequeathed me a million dollars.
I’ll be reading one of these interesting epitaphs out loud and Connie will ask, “How did they die?” (Like, I’m supposed to know.) “It doesn’t say,” I reply, “but they were only ninety-six, so let’s assume it was in the throes of passion.”
If you are new to Friday Flash Fiction, our 100 word embalmer who prepare the weekly photo prompt for viewing is Morticia Wisoff-Fields. To learn how to participate in this weekly exercise in madness, head over to her blog for instructions. To rent a box in the FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
“This is where you’ll be sleeping tonight,” I point to a cot. “And remember, no sparks or open flames.”
“I drive all the way from Pennsylvania and you make me sleep in this dump?” Perry tossed his duffel bag in the direction of a folding chair.
“Hey, you volunteered. Go green, you said. Avoid dangerous pesticides. Don’t harm the environment.”
“I should’ve known something was up when you and Connie kept shoving brown beans, sweet potatoes, and broccoli in front of me at dinner.”
“It’s just for one night. Once you’ve exterminated the insects here, you’ll move to the garage.”
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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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