The Beast, The Boy, and The Red Shoes

Prompt: Write a scene in which a boy asks for new shoes.

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Ballad of Sally O'Hare

In a land long from here at a time far before, lived Sally O’hare who thought life was a bore. Her only interest? a device in the palm of her hand. It glimmered like ice and it spoke on demand. Each night when she arrived home from her day, before she would sleep and before she would pray, she’d consult the device in the tenderest way.

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Can You Observe The Calving of the Does?

Somewhere on the western slope of the Sierra Nevada, six-thousand feet above sea level, on a hill shaded by giants, my father waits for death.

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The Witch of Ramí

For those of you who enjoyed my last sketch, ‘Is there any work for a young not-a-witch?‘, here is a new segment I wrote for it this morning. Enjoy!

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Is there any work for a young not-a-witch?

Please enjoy this sketch I wrote this morning. And for those who celebrate it: Have an observant Memorial Day.

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A Game of Flap-Dragon

Hard soles clop along the sidewalk stirring up gasoline vapor and sweet oak. A pair of once-black leather bootees with no laces, their vamps deeply worn, shuffle along the cement. A pewter mug, tied through its handle by silk thread, rolls and flops against the holed sides of a gray wool coat with each sway of the hips; its contents shake like a lazy maraca.

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The Summer Faire in Cobblestern Market

All the roads run parallel in the Berzin Straight and are fastened from the slick-black pebbles that bed the Salted Sea. Their dark surface vacillates under the heated nausea of a summer’s day, so from the apartments above you can imagine yourself drifting down Black’s River. Each road is separated from its neighbor’s by towering beige apartment buildings, which themselves are separated within—by thick plaster walls—from the residents of the other through-roads, so as to maintain the ‘integrity’ of each diverse culture.

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About last night…

The man marches to the bedside table and tears open the drawer. “Is this what you want Jadyn?”

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Hell Fire on the Mississippi

Dick saw the boats first and called out in his high weasel’s voice, “Der! Mista’ Sho’man! Deres dem hell fires sho’!” Sherman yanked up the reins on his courser and blocked the sun from his eyes as he looked up river. At first his eyes were thin and still, and the boys began talking low to each other.

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But now I depart from the comfortable realm of earthly reality into dizzying insanity…

Here is a scene sketch I put together for you this evening. Enjoy, and thank you for reading.

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