The Washington County Fair opened yesterday. I suppose the reason they call it a Fair is because it’s only slightly above ho-hum, average at best. It would be nice if they held an exposition that was knock-your-socks-off fantastic, but I guess we don’t want to set the bar too high, now do we?
There are two kinds of weather at the fair—dust and mud. Some years we get both. The fair is always a treat for the senses. Flashing lights, barking carnies, Popcorn, cotton candy, and the scent of fresh vomit beneath the rides. What are some of your favorite memories?
If you are new to Friday Flash Fiction, our barker of 100 word stories is “One Crayon” Katy Wisoff-Fields. To learn how to win a stuffed teddy bear 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.
PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bulltot
Olive studied the photograph of a middle-aged woman with dark curls wearing a T-shirt and matching high-top sneakers. She had been committed to Belton Sanitarium after being diagnosed with an incurable affliction.
Surveying the overgrown, supposedly haunted ruins, Olive imagined her grandmother, a victim of addiction, imprisoned behind the granite hospital walls.
“Grandpa said they had a hard time finding a straight-jacket small enough to fit her. It must’ve been terrifying,” Olive whispered. “But haunted? Nonsense.”
“Iz es itst, grandoter?”
Olive whipped around in time to see a tiny imp, dressing in purple, vanish like a fart in a whirlwind.
Note – The translation for the Yiddish is “Is it now, Granddaughter?”
They say imitation is the purest form of flattery. That’s my intention this week, as I honor our fearless leader in my own twisted way.
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.