The Ultimate Blind-Date Disaster

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…

Detective Morris glared across the interrogation table. “You said you were where, Friday night?” He said, for the umpteenth time. The smug grin on the perp’s face… matched only by the eerie silence. That face, highlighted in red from the light in the hall, occasionally flickered with someone’s passing. Ugh. Hours. He didn’t recall right…

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 sounds have clicks and ticks and various inflections that I just cannot recreate. Ever since I arrived, the natives… let’s call them benefactors… have been incessantly hovering, though, odd enough, their attention is erratic. My food, normally provided regularly, is sometimes forgotten. This means I have to sidle up to the bars of my…

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…

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.