I am spilled on the spring concrete… Don’t look..! Don’t just look!.. Would I..? Would you..? Wouldn’t you..? Wouldn’t you rather…see?..  azure spring spread on the sky, spray painted  with floating white… A smell of acrylic paint tasting almost bitter but elusively, inexpressibly pleasant-like… Cotton clouds dabbing on my tongue this meta-odor..  Suddenly I felt her talons snatching away the taste of my personal sky… fly.. she said… and I heard… fly…

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Flash 365

"Oh! Take a shit, read a story" - My Mother on Flash Fiction

Little Fears

Flash fiction tales of humor, horror and whimsy


Just another weblog

Uncle Tree's House

Putting music to words, and words to pictures ~

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