My wife is one of those people who buys a gift for someone then can’t wait to give it to them. It’s like the item is a hot potato and burns a hole in her hands if she holds it too long. Fifteen minutes after arriving home with a present for a future occasion she’ll ask, “Do you think I should give it to them now? They could start enjoying it right away. It’s only two months until their birthday.”
This is a rhetorical question because she’s going to give it to them regardless of what I say. She’s not seeking an opinion, but rather an affirmation to further justify the early gifting. Then, when the appointed occasion does arrive, she’ll buy a second, smaller gift, “Just so they’ll have something to open.”
If you are new to Friday Flash Fiction, the noted philanthropist who can’t wait to post photo prompts three days early is Jean D. Rockefeller 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.
The receptionist led Detective Lowry to the conference room. He hated legal offices. Always too neat, too clean, too well decorated. Beneath the façade of flowers and Lemon Pledge lurked a seedy underbelly that made him want to puke.
The boxes angered him most. Tightly sealed and stacked to the ceiling, they contained tidbits of information held as evidence awaiting the right moment to convict and condemn. Just like his ex-wife.
The prosecutor sat across the table. “We let the mime go.”
“Why? You’ve got fingerprints, face-paint, and a confession.”
“Without the invisible box, we don’t have a case.”
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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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