“I can’t believe you dragged me to a museum!”
Mary looked at Murray. “After all the places you dragged me? This is the nicest place I could bring you.”
Murray sighed, but paid for the entrance fee before trailing after her. Mary smirked, and led him through all the Impressionist Art before relenting. She turned towards the Modern Wing, knowing how much he would enjoy the display in there.
“Here,” she said, “this is really why we came.”
Murray gasped, looking at the installations of graffiti. Immense and colorful, the art sparked immediate feeling. Reaching out, Murray grabbed Mary’s hand tightly.
This week’s flash fiction for Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers. Please check out everyone else’s stories here
He sat, staring blankly at the gravel. The man lifted his hand, the gauze wrapping gleaming vividly in the sunshine. Anguished, he bent his head again. They were in there, beating, beating on the inside of his head. How was he to get them out now? With only one hand he could do nothing.
It would be weeks. Weeks of torment. Weeks of sleepless nights. Weeks of caffeine fueled days filled with people who didn’t understand. Wretchedly, the artist left the bright courtyard for the dimness of his house.
My story for the Friday Fictioneers, suprisingly well under the 100 word count. Thanks to Rochelle for our most interesting photo this week. As always, make sure you check out all the other stories HERE. In all honesty, my first thought when I saw this was a mixture of Tim Burton films 🙂 I see Edward Scissorhands as well as the Nightmare before Christmas. What do you think?
When I was young and, of course, horse crazy; my parents got some wonderful books called Thelwell’s Horse Box. Norman Thelwell was a British cartoonist in the 1940s-1970s, and while I don’t understand some of the political satire in the books, I giggle incessantly at his on-the-nose portraiture of the equine mentality. As the back of the book says,
“Thelwell’s information is short and to the point and each item is illustrated with deadly clarity. It is designed to be referred to in any emergency–at the walk, trot or canter, or from the depths of a blackthorn hedge.”
I had a little friend living in my car mirror for a while. These appeared every morning last fall. Unfortunately,even when I left them, the wind blew off my daily dose of art. But that little guy kept trying.