The Art of Words (a 200 word story)

** the following story might be disturbing for those sensitive to domestic abuse**

 

The scars didn’t show.  He made sure of that, yet they were a work of art.  It was hard to cut with such precision, but he was a master of his craft.  He was proud of his handiwork, even if he was the only one to view it.

She bore the scars and wondered why he did this to her.  She also wondered why she put up with it, but she couldn’t make herself leave.  Every time she thought about it, his voice would pop into her head.  It was just words after all, and he was right.  Those words didn’t really cut her and make her bleed, yet she hemorrhaged out her hope long ago, and she didn’t have much self-esteem left in her deflated, marred ego.  Every night she prayed for everything to end, but her prayers were never answered.

He watched her cry herself to sleep.  Sometimes he would feel guilty about what he did.  Other artists maimed themselves for their art.  He knew he lost pieces of his soul for his creation, but it was a sacrifice that must be done.  He was so grateful for his canvas.

He slipped beside her and held her tight.

 

 

Advertisements

Art Appreciation (a 150 word story)

He sat in the chair, transfixed on the clothed canvas before him, hints of what lay beneath poking out at various points.  His anticipation growing by the minute, he was afraid he was going to burst before this was all over.

She slowly revealed her canvas, piece by piece.  The art danced before his eyes, mesmerizing him as more and more of the picture was exposed.  What he originally thought was a collage of disparate pieces began to coalesce together into one masterwork.  Soon everything was revealed and it took his breath away.

She smiled a coy smile.  “Want to have a closer look?”

He was shaking as he approached.  Even mere inches away the art was unbelievably complex.  His excitement threatened to explode.  What stood before him was amazing in every way.

She giggled.  “I knew you liked tattoos, but I didn’t expect this.”

He blushed.  “You’re beautiful too.”

Framed (an acrostic poem)

Filching from the common sheeple was always easy for Mandy

Reaching in and taking a pretty bauble or a thick wallet was second nature

And if she was flirting with someone, well she could take what she pleased

Men especially were susceptible to her charms

Everything was going fine until she decided to move up the food chain

Devon left her literally holding the bag, while he fled with the art

Cold Bones (a 200 word story)

The corpse of the barn lay upon the snow swept field, its sun bleached bones exposed to the elements.  Carter shrugged off his backpack and gently sat down in the snow.  He stared at the remains and wondered when the farmer had given up on the land upon which the barn sat, or had the farmer been committed back to the fertile soil and no one new had picked up the calling.

Carter pulled out his sketch pad and removed his gloves.  He began drawing, using his snow pants encased legs as a cushioned desk.  The cold wind attacked his fingers, causing them to both ache and become frustratingly numb.  This made Carter smile.  It helped him capture the barn in its death throes.  Soon Carter had to admit that was as much as he could do in these conditions and he put away his picture.  With one look around, he tried to capture the rest of scene for adding to his picture back in his warm studio.  Mission accomplished, he began snow shoeing home.  This physical workout had turned into a mental one as well, and that warmed Carter’s heart.  Now just if his fingers would do the same.