“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.
Reviewing the painting, I smiled. “No,” Timmy said, looking me square in the eyes. “I would rather you didn’t.” “You seem to be my perfect subject, though.” “Yes, and your first painting came out perfect, did it not?” “I suppose it did.” Timmy reached up and poked at his cheeks and twisted his fingers, exaggerating…
We had just left the bowling alley when a distraction by my friend allowed me to slip away from him. Before he could stop me, I was already down the alley and rounding the corner. A strong breeze at my back—a breath of tantalizing freedom. Twice I was able to evade… staying just beyond the…
A yellow butterfly flutters and lands on the dedication sign for the forest green bench. Mother sits on the bench, handkerchief in hand, wiping the tears from her eyes. For weeks, Mother has been angry at me, ignoring me almost completely. Mother looks over and mutters my name. “Sarah.” I look up, grinning. Maybe she…
Last night, I could hear them fighting again. Why she lets him control her like that, I will never understand. I push lightly at the door, just to check. It is locked again. Poor girl. She never leaves except when she takes her car for groceries. I had burst in once, but I was no…
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…
