Stories tagged “paint”
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Recruitment
It was so beautiful! Perfectly white and begging for an image. I couldn’t resist. I lugged my brushes, paints, and mixing trays down to the underpass. The moon was full and luminescent. I studied it, tilting my head, looking from all angles as an...
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A Sinister Meeting with Dr. Kud
She could smell the unmistakable odour of wet ocelot, drifting through the air like a giant mosquito dipped in Agent Orange. To her left, the grass rustled. She froze. One cautious step, then another. Slowly. Now she regretted wearing the scuba flipper...
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Paint the Sky
Slow-motion Colors Lovers Let’s go be lovers, in a foreign country. Let’s forget that we ever had expectations, or obligations. Let’s be irresponsible and irrational, let’s forget about things like correct spelling and presentab...
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Painting the Roof
One fifteen in the afternoon of a hot July day, David scampered up the rickety old ladder carrying a six pack of Coors beer. His brother, Allen, was brushing on shamrock green paint over the old shake shingles, spied the beer, “I thought you were...
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The Naked Line
The concrete floor was cold on my bare feet, and I could feel a draft on my bare legs. There were nine of us standing, eyes straight ahead, hands folded over our genitals. I don’t know how long we stood there, it seemed like hours. There was to b...
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Different Hues
It’s not really blue. It is aquamarine, turquoise and cyan in stripes with the roof a striking maroon in contrast. Still, people as a group are a little pushed for time, a little ignorant and rather stubborn, so it has a small plaque in the pavin...
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If you Painted the World
If you painted With every color imaginable The world through your eyes What would you paint? Would you paint your family What means the world to you? The love of your life, Who is the world to you? Or would you paint money? What keeps the world changin...
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Born to be Roman - Failure
The master was stalking along the rows of studious persons, their minds bent and shoulders arched artistically like the paint strokes. The softness of his presence behind them edged into their reality, building a comfort-fraught pressure that gave them...
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The world was never your palette (but you use it anyway.)
The world was never your palette— (but you use it anyway.) The painter paints. He tugs down a corner of the sky— This blue is lovely, he says He takes it. The sun shines, glorious yellow-gold (too bright, too bright.) He searches in the last forest...
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Monet
If painters had the colors to replicate the sky and the trees that tower high above my head, we would all stop and appreciate the painter (with his stained hands and clothes) and we would stop and stare, eyes open, mouth agape, too enamored by the bea...