Sully Award Entry: One Step Too Far for Modern Art #amwriting #fiction 


I wrote this last year for FFftAW and it’s my piece of Flash Fiction with the most likes ever. It’s a strange story, maybe that’s why? Anyways, I’m entering it for a 200 Word or Less Writing Contest on Hey Look Writer Fellow’s Sully Award Competition. It’s open until March 28, 2017 and the rules are in the link above. Thanks to Michael for sharing the contest, visit Michael’s awesome blog Morpethroad HERE. 

——–

Credit: S Writings

“Look at those cows, incredible,” Dorothy said.

“This entire gallery is full of painted cows. Is this the artist’s ‘thing?’ Dorothy’s husband, Stanley, asked a gallery employee.

“Hi, I’m Theresa,” the woman said. ” How do you like The Moo Gallery? Isn’t Shaunda Rose talented? I’m not sure why she chose cows but I adore how every cow is a unique work of art, don’t you?”

“Shaunda is ridiculously talented. Painting plastic cows, she’s brilliant,” Dorothy declared.

“Cows? Really? Who wants a painted cow in their home or office?” Stanley asked.

Theresa smile was unnatural, “You’re right,” she said nodding at Dorothy. “Cows are Shaunda’s specialty. In fact, these cows were once alive. She has the cows sent to a taxidermist and then has them resurfaced so she can paint them. It’s why they’re so authentic, a fabulous example of Modern Art. Each cow sells for hundreds of thousands of dollars.”

Dorothy’s enthusiasm for the painted cows evaporated and she gazed at Stanley alarmed. He simply shook his head at her and smiled because he’d known all along Shaunda Rose was crazy. Theresa attempted a sales pitch again but he held up his hand to stop her.

“ Shaunda Rose is a nut. Tell her Stanley Manet said so. Manet was an authentic artist, he was also my Great-Great-Great Grandfather.”


©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.

Advertisements

Photo (Collage) Challenge: Poem – Tankas – “The Mountain’s Wrath” #amwriting #poetry 


Thank you to MindLovesMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this week’s double prompt:

Laura Bloomsbury

———

Black and white can change, 

Become the most flaming bright of —

Colours; yet we’re like —

Dorothy on her Kansas —

Farm, not realizing life is grey. 

Never seeing technicolor.

——–

If mountains are but smoke, 

No one who said those words knew, 

How burning orange and —

Yellow looks when your skin is —

Seared; the mountain spit lava clear.

Blew her top, melted downwards. 

——-

On to the town who, 

Had little idea but should —

Have known this day, 

No technology clued.

Their mountain could release Hell,

Sulphurous smelling, burnt Hell.

—-

Poisonous gases, 

Leaking down to the town folk, 

No chance had they when, 

Ashes fell like snow.

The worst kind of snow signals, 

The ire of the mountain’s breath.

——-

In stores, on boardwalks, 

Going about their day the same.

When she erupted, 

No one cared at first.

But the ash and gases came, 

Killing to begin, before —

—–

Lava reached familiar,

Buildings, the library.

Homes, grocery stores, work.

Yet the sky was filled, 

She billowed out her smoke rings, 

And she was just beginning.

——-

Threy should’ve known to —

Leave earlier but no one, 

Takes responsibility;

To late to lay blame.

Run far and fast, lava spews.

Keep going magma flows, kills.

——

No Dante’s Peak is —

This; only mother nature’s, 

Roaring and giving, 

Life as she takes it.

Many die unaware, don’t see, 

Never knew today would be —

The end: waiting done, 

Here comes the promised one near.

Yet some survived it.

Never took lightly, 

Those words: A Mountain is noth –

ing but smoke — they lived through it.

—–

Those who rebuilt knew, 

As the lava and fire burnt their —

Homes, loved ones to crisps. 

Beware the mountain;

Geologists trained don’t know, 

When she’ll yield furious wrath.

——

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reseved 

Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: An Alternate Universe of the Wizard of Oz.


Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW.

——

Storyteller’s Abode

——–

Dorothy had a wonderful time with the munchkins in their village. She had been celebrated as the killer of the Wicked Witch of the East. The Good Witch Gelinda sent Dorothy down the yellow brick road with the deceased witch’s ruby red slippers adorning Dorothy’s feet. 

The shoes were heels and uncomfortable. Dorothy soon regretted she could not take them off. She was leaning against a fence, resting her feet, when she thought the scarecrow beside her talked.

“What?” Dorothy asked the scarecrow, “Did you say something?”

The scarecrow continued making funny noises which was when Dorothy, a good Catholic, believed the scarecrow was possessed. She decided to burn the scarecrow and the demon out.

Lighting him afire she watched as the scarecrow screeched and fell in the middle of the yellow brick road, blackened hay and cloth all that remained.

Dorothy smiled to herself. Wicked witch of the East, check. Possessed scarecrow, check. Wizard of Oz here I come!

——

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved

MayDays: Flash Fiction – Monsters #Maydays



——

http://www.mattforney.com

——

Thank to K.L. Caley of new2writing for #Mayday prompts. Today’s prompt is haunting. Also, thank you to The Daily Prompt for the word prompt Shadow.

——-

“What’s that noise?” Robbin said afraid. “Mom there’s something under my bed?” 

Robbin’s Mom, Dorothy, flicked on the bedside lamp in eight-year-old Robbin’s room. She made a grand show of peering under the bed. 

“Come see Robbin, there’s nothing under your bed. A monster couldn’t fit under there.”

Robbin got out of bed and peaked under his bed. “There’s only a few socks and toys here.” 

“Yep. You can clean those up tomorrow,” Dorothy ordered.” Now it’s time for bed. No more reading. You have school.” 

Robbin nodded and flicked off his lamp hesitantly. He snuggled under the covers which Dorothy had tucked him into. That’s when he heard the scrapping sound and loud inhuman breathing. 

Robbin hid is whole body under his blankets, hoping the monster wouldn’t eat him. 

The monster was in the closet this time and Robbin could see his red eyes through the crack in the closet door. The closet door began to creep open and Robbin screamed. The monster’s shadow was visible on the floor.

Dorothy came running. She was tired and wondered when Robbin would get over his fears of monsters. “What now my love?” 

“The monster is in the closet now.” Robbin stuttered his face wan.

Dorothy opened the closet door, flinging it open to show Robbin nothing was there. “See no monsters,” Dorothy said.

“Mom,” Robbin screamed.

Behind Dorothy a monster was waiting to pounce. His red eyes glaring and giant teeth sharp and dripping with slime. His half-furred, half-reptilian body repulsed Robbin who began to cry and beg, “Don’t eat my Mom.”

Dorothy turned around to look in the closet. “There’s nothing here . . . Ah!” The monster swallowed Robbin’s Mom whole.

Robbin flicked on the lamp light quickly and the monster disappeared. “Mommy . . .” Robbin asked. 

But it was too late. Dorothy should’ve known better. The best way to get rid of monsters is to first turn on the light.

——-

©Mandibelle16. All Rights Reserved.

Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: One Step too Far for Modern Art


“Look at those cows. They’re incredible.” Dorothy said.

“This entire gallery is full of painted cows. Is this the artists ‘thing?’ Why has the artist painted all these heavy plastic cows?” Stanley asked an art gallery employee.

“Hi, I’m Theresa. I work here at The Moo Gallery, isn’t Shaunda Rose talented? She painted all these cows. I adore how every cow is a unique work of art. Don’t you?”

“Shaunda Rose is incredibly talented. Who would’ve thought of painting plastic cows? Brilliant woman.” Dorothy declared.

“Cows….” Stanley said shaking his head.”Who wants a painted cow in their home or office?”

Theresa smiled plastically and said: “You’re right, cows are Shaunda’s speciality. In fact, these are ‘actual’ cows Shaunda painted. She has the cows sent to a taxidermist and then she has them resurfaced so she can paint them. It’s why they’re so authentic; a great example of modern art. Each cow sells for several hundred -thousand-dollars.”

Dorothy’s enthusiasm for the painted cows evaporated; she felt alarmed.

Stanley shook his head. He knew Shaunda Rose was crazy. Theresa attempted pitching to Dorothy again but Stanley held up his hand.

“Theresa, Shaunda Rose is a nut. Tell her Stanley Manet said so. And yes, Manet was a Great-Great-Great Grandfather.” 

——

 

S-Writings
 
——

Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW.

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.