Rubber boots and slickers are standard daily attire in my neck of the woods these days. It seems we’re in the middle of a winter monsoon, and I’m wondering if I should’ve started building an ark months ago.
Connie asked me yesterday about the snakes. Did they crawl from their dens and seek higher ground? I assured her they’ve sought refuge in our wood pile and probably the warm, dry confines of the building she converted into her arts & crafts studio.
I doubt she found any consolation in my words of comfort. After all, she’s afraid of snakes and wouldn’t welcome any on the ark.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the slippery serpent of Belton, who dangles a tempting apple from her pool of photo prompts each week, is Roshanna Weeble Wisoff-Fields. If you’d like to participate in this exercise in madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
Poetry, Horror, Psychological Thrillers
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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.
Growing older is inevitable. Growing up is optional.
I may make you feel, but I can't make you think.
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AS I TOLD THE GIRL THAT I LOST MY VIRGINITY TO, THANKS FOR LAUGHING AT ME HERE TODAY.
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