A quote: “Celebrity is the chastisement of merit and the punishment of talent.” ― Emily Dickinson
I’ll start with a story …
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The castle glitters at dusk, beautiful. And that depresses me. Why do the lessons of the past fade only to be refreshed in the sacrifice of younger generations? Why are they so enthralled by glamour? Seek it relentlessly. Have they no knowledge of the old meaning of the term?
I shake my head to clear it. I tend to drift philosophical in this pause before acting. Beauty can be a lie. A beautiful lie that fills a novel and feeds a million obsessions.
Crossbow readied, holy water secured. One last curse as I move out, damn her, vamps don’t sparkle.
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Now, it’s your turn.
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featured image, cropped, by psaudio, Pixaby license
Skillyboo says: Nana’s letter memories of papa, the man we never knew but knew so much about, explained why she never remarried. He’d disappeared shortly after this last letter was received not knowing he was the father of a baby girl, our mother. We’d found it going through her belongings.
The last letter from him, a WWII photographer, explained the importance of the black and white photo of an Italian villa Nana had framed on her dresser beside her wedding photo. Our planned trip to Italy now included finding this villa and scattering Nana’s ashes there to reunite them.
Brian Brandt says: My life is perfect. Svetlana, my mistress brings me a cocktail as I gaze out over Lake Como from the terrace. I take another draw from the Cuban Romeo e Julieta grand corona and look over the financial reports of my vast holdings. Later today I will sample the first tasting from last year’s Lacrima de Morro d’Alba. Not a great vintage, but possibly a good one. I’ll let it rest in the cellars until it gains its confidence in maturity. After that I shall grant an audience to the petitioners who seek my favor, and . . . .
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RICKY! Take off those virtual reality goggles and get your lazy ass out of bed! You’re supposed to be looking for a job. In the meantime get this bed made up and the rest of the basement cleaned. And you’ve worn the same underwear for the last week. Change them.
ROBERT J SCHIEBLE says: Like the Ripples of time is this water of Mine…. Blurry is the road behind. How did I get this Lonely Home of Mine? They say I am The Lucky One… I Appear to be Having Fun… My Time is nearly Done, as many others have Begun, … . What you see Here I Hold Not Dear… Trade not Love for Passion, Nor Passion For Glory, or the Picture Here is The End of Your Story. (75words) Bob.
The parents invite me to their villa. At dinner, their two beautiful daughters sit across from me. I feel a warm foot under the table stroking my ankle, as another rubs my calf. Both smile at me while talking in accented English. Bidding me goodnight, Giorgia blows into my ear and Martina tilts her pelvis against my hip. I am asleep in total darkness. An accented, female voice says, “Make love to me.” We do—many times. Which of the two is it? In the morning, I learn about a third daughter: Chiara, a disfigured leper who the family hides.
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