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Painting -- submission

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PostPosted: Tue Jun 29, 2004 10:00 pm    Post subject: Painting -- submission Reply with quote

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Joined: 15 Jan 2004
Posts: 2505
Location: New York

PostPosted: Wed Jun 30, 2004 7:00 am    Post subject: Reply with quote


The attic was warm, very warm, but she sat there in her old batiste dress looking at the picture again.

I called to her but she didn’t hear me, or, if she did, she never looked my way. She simply looked at the picture, from time to time she would brush an imaginary speck of dust from the elaborate frame.

Her favorite things were all about her. The testimonials, the rave reviews and the trinkets she acquired in thirty years on the stage. The paper flower she carried in “The Cherry Orchard,” the Boston Bag from “Saratoga Trunk.” I remembered her taking her curtain calls carrying the Boston Bag in one hand and the white ermine stole in the other.

The atmosphere was not good for her, the heat and dust in the old attic were unhealthy. I should be stern. I should walk up to her and say, “Madam! It’s not good for you up here. Madam, come now. Come with me. Come downstairs where all your friends are.”

Would she come, or would she slowly raise her eyes from the old picture of her in “The Little Foxes” and simply smile absently -- as she always did?

Harry Buschman
We are all apprentices in a craft where no one ever becomes a master.
Ernest Hemingway
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Theresa Allen
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Joined: 15 Jun 2004
Posts: 161
Location: Washington State USA

PostPosted: Fri Jul 02, 2004 8:21 pm    Post subject: Painting Reply with quote

The Curse Of The Wealthy

So much stuff, so much. There was no need for it, really. Who needs all those chairs, vanity mirrors, ostrich boas? It could've been given to those less fortunate. But, hind sight is so perfect, isn't it? It could've been donated to sick children, the Salvation Army. It wasn't. It sat up there crowding the doorway. It blocked the windows. It cluttered erstwhile passageways out. Out. Exit. Such a precious word. When the carbon monoxide leak went undetected all those days, the owner of all that precious stuff couldn't get out and suffocated.
"Ever try to herd cattle on a bicycle?" William Saroyan
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patrick fynes
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Joined: 25 Nov 2005
Posts: 12
Location: sotuth-east England (u.k.)

PostPosted: Mon Jul 17, 2006 1:08 pm    Post subject: Salad Nicoise...! Reply with quote

It was all beginning to come undone. No matter how much he tried, the reality of this place escaped him. Sketched people, blurs in motion, with no substance. 'No.. Damn.. Substance...!!' he barked, through gritted teeth, though he knew no-one would hear. No-one ever heard.
Nearly two weeks ago, Tom had 'slipped out of reality and had tried, ever since, to get back; to rectify his eager error. Two weeks of hallucination, of fractured worlds that lie beneath our own. He knew it wasn't drugs, or some trauma that had sent him slantways across the dimensions, but the work of his enemy. Too quick, he had been, to face Alain once more, to rise to his challenge and defeat his old adversary
'Come on Tomas... come and find me between the worlds, where you sent me. End my banishment and repay my old debt...if you are brave enough..!
Yes. He was brave; but foolish with it and now he was lost and might never return to the world. His home town lay just past the ends of his outstretched hand, yet a million miles away
'Pleeeaasse....!' he stretched agonisingly towards the scene before him, as the swirling colours coalesced into focus. 'Pleeeaaasse...help...?'

Suddenly, as if the surface tension of some large bubble had finally yielded to him, Tom burst through into the living world, lunging uncontrollably down onto the floor of the busy room. A waitress screamed and chaos immediately followed. Glasses were spilled, plates crashed, a child burst into tears as his mother nearly choked on her Salad Nicoise. Panic hit the room as Tomas staggered blinkingly to his feet, tears rolling down his upturned face, blinded with joy
'Where am I?... What day is it..?'
He shook a nearby customer by his shirt collar 'What bloody day is it?'
'Th..Th..Thursday, mate. S'bloody Thursday. Wh..where the hell did you just come from? Bloody out of mid-air, pal...scared the crap out of us, you did.'
But Tom wasn't listening. In one fluid motion, he released the man and strode purposefully out of the door and onto the sunlit street. Revenge was howling in his ears, burning his chest. Blue sparks crackled from his fingers. Victory would be his....and soon. Wink
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