“She’s a cute kid. It is a little awkward, and I’ll just say it’s a little creepy, but she’s still cute.”
“Yeah, but… I don’t know,” Dave said.
They rewound the tape and watched it a fifth time.
The girl danced awkwardly, reflected in the mirror.
Her gangly and uncertain movements were adorable.
“See? Reflections don’t lie… admit it.”
“Yes, but they’ll just think it’s a fake.”
Karen sighed…
“Probably. It does look strange having just a reflection of her dancing.”
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 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,…
The young waitress sat at the counter, her tips laid out in front of her as she counted. Old country songs, soft in the background, as she felt around for her glasses. A movement from the corner caught her attention. The last booth. The last customer… creepy. The guy seemed to be staring at her…
The light flickered… the landscape, reflected and mirrored, stretches out, filling the expanse. The little pieces are placed—trees and bushes set, and then adjusted perfectly. The intricate details were difficult to manage, but these… miniature, small… diminutive… I am not even sure anymore what to call them. They are detailed and seem perfect for the…
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 fog-laden evening chilled him to the bone as he stood beneath the street lamp. “I am getting too old for this,” he mutters. The juxtaposing hard-soft glow of the lamps created an eerie duality of light on the street. The longshadows dancing in the wind-blown lamplight. The headlights shine on him briefly as the…
