Fiction
The Rabbit
Alex opened the envelope with a trembling hand. You are cordially invited to celebrate the Thirtieth Birthday of our beloved daughter Emily. It sat on his kitchen counter for several days, a doorway he never thought he would see again. There was no enclosed RSVP. A summons. He left the city.
By Ryan Smithabout a year ago in Art
A Boy with Monsters
Niko scanned the dimly lit dining room where his relatives had gathered. They all sang “Happy Birthday” slightly off-key as his dad brought over a cake shaped like a baseball with two flickering candles on top. Niko’s gaze fixated on the wax candles shaped into the numbers one and three, their flames dancing with a gentle breeze. When the song ended, and the cake was placed before him, Niko closed his eyes and extinguished the two candles with a single breath. Smoke swirled around him as his family erupted in cheers and applause.
By Timberly Priceabout a year ago in Art
Loose Bearings
*DING* *DING* *Ding* *di-ding* *ing-ing-ing* A bell whimpered on its string as a young woman burst inside a liquor store. She shoplifted a pair of red sunglasses then found the second cabinet along the near wall. She plucked an armful of glass 40s and dumped it on the counter.
By david loveabout a year ago in Art
Five Stages of Grief
I. Denial When her father died, she denied. She denied him her tears and affection because she wanted to appear strong. She wanted to prove that she would be alright without him, that she wouldn’t become the fragile, weepy stereotype of a grieving daughter - because she knew how much he hated stereotypes! Instead of kind words, she would pick fights with him. She thought she was doing the right thing. If he was angry at her, at least he wasn’t feeling sorry for himself. But he didn’t understand. He died thinking she no longer loved him.
By Morgan Rhianna Blandabout a year ago in Art
Hundreds of Fields, Hundreds of Canvases
Paris. 1874. Olivia sits in a field, before a canvas. She has sat in hundreds of fields, before hundreds of canvases, over a period of hundreds of years. By now, the brushstrokes come as easily as breathing: the force of three centuries of habit. But never before has she tried to keep the motions so loose; to lay on the paint so thick and ridged. Never has she aimed to capture the view as her eye sees it, nakedly and without interpretation—in blocks of color and in fleeting impressions of movement.
By Emma Gardnerabout a year ago in Art
The David
It was late, but the gallery was still full of people, women and men alike, in very fine clothes. The women tossed back heads covered in pearls, let long silken dresses tangle around their heels as they walked, and the men, in dark suits, were mainly responsible for holding the arms of their ladies and acting as an accessory to their beauty.
By Amelia Mooreabout a year ago in Art
Love & Cherish
I saw this picture at an indoor swap meet and was immediately drawn to it. This isn't even the type of art I would normally look at, but it was so beautiful and powerful that this piece just tugged at me. I couldn't keep my eyes off of it. After my husband hung it on the wall in our room, I would lie in bed and stare at it as I drifted to sleep. I would wonder; how did they get to this moment? Their love for each other is so deep. Sometimes I would paint a small story in my mind about them. Hopefully I do this picture justice and give it a story well matched.
By Katherine Dockeryabout a year ago in Art