The canvas set.
Every stroke vivid.
Every line drawn, nuanced.
Painting with deep, resonant colors.
The tones shift, the lighting rewrought.
Building in layers upon layers, each subject meticulously captured.
Standing back, we look again before changing direction.
Every subtlety intentional.
The canvas complete, the critics arise.
In painted prose—a novel.
The intricacies… independent and unique. He sent the order in this morning. The letter next to her only specified: “Something intellectual and creative.” He often let her have the reins with the eggs, long ago realizing she was more than capable. She sighs, but a smile spreads across her face. She loves this… sort of…
The book lay open on the desk, the cigarette in the ashtray still trailing smoke. The soft murmur of the television barely covered the incessant ticking that filled the room with audible angst. The darkened room filled with a flickering puddle of light from the movie being played. The oasis of light from the desk…
Death, meet Black Hole…
Never did we expect such power. We stood awaiting orders that never came. Night after night, day after day, our numbers grew. We were unaware of the ultimate goals, but our count increased as efforts to grow our numbers through seeds planted subtly and the fluttering immersion that flowed nightly through the city. We were…
The plateau, a mesa of warmth and woven shadow, beckoned to the benefactor and watcher alike, promising sights heretofore unseen in a mystical dance never beheld before, and in dreams never to be viewed again. Forgoing the temptation, the benefactor sat briefly on the edge of the plateau, legs dangling, then slid over and slowly…
The damn birds… the incessant cooing. If Patty could think of a better punishment… she would. She could not forget her little Katie’s laughter from the back seat. Her daughter, so bright and joyful. They had been laughing about something. Try though she did, she could never recall what. The pigeons filled the road ahead,…
