‘How much for this?’ Sadie asked, handling the purple, green and yellow coloured-glass bead necklace. ‘That, my dear, it’s nothing but a cheap glass trinket of no real value. If you’re looking for jewellery, we have some beautiful jet necklaces or pearls.’ The woman moved across the junk shop with a grace and speed that
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She saw the circus flyer pinned to a lamppost on the corner of the dilapidated street where she lived. She paused, only for a moment, it wasn’t the kind of neighbourhood it was safe to pause longer in, but she was hooked. Now, all they had to do was wait and one thing the damned
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Armando Venzinie had been a very bad man when he’d been alive. When he was a child, he’d tortured animals and other children, as an adult he committed crimes against property, stealing from the rich and poor, beating any who stood in his way. Everyone around him, including his parents, knew he was evil, but
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‘Will they come, do you think?’ I ask my beloved bonded other. He smiles and shrugs his shoulders in an obvious gesture of resignation. He and I have come a long way from our childhood on Earth, so far in fact, that we’ve become famous, become freaks. ‘You know they’ll come, Astrid, they always come.’
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I’m afraid my #fridayflash is a little bit of a cheat as I wrote this poem some years ago. When I accidentally entered the artwork I produced for this poem in this months artwork for horrific visions I decided to give the poem a quick edit and add it to the painting.
She heard the music, Danse Macabre, and then she knew, she wasn’t alone… Sadie Gray entered the competition by accident really; she was having coffee alone after a long morning shopping for a new, but cheap, sofa when she heard someone at the next table reading an article from the local paper. When they’d left,
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‘Shut up, woman,’ he snarled at the thing, his wife, who sat on the bed sneering at him as usual. He’d spent a lifetime listening to her, before her it had been his father carping and griping day after day about his shortcomings. He sat at the dressing table mirror putting the last touches to
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Imelda Watson sat looking out of the window, this and nothing more. She never spoke or looked directly into the eyes of the people paid to look after her. Hour after hour, she stared at the woods surrounding the house, her wood, filled with memories and so much more. Rich, but old, what use was
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