The Enchanted Doorknob

Some of you may have already read it, but my short story, The Enchanted Doorknob, was published on Altarwork.com today. If you have a few minutes, please check out the Altarwork site and provide feedback on the post there.  Here is the link:

The Enchanted Doorknob

Thanks,
TheDaddyBlitz

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Parachutes Upon The Wind

My short story, Parachutes Upon the Wind, was published on Altarwork.com yesterday. If you have a few minutes, please check out the Altarwork site and provide feedback on the post there.

Parachutes Upon The Wind

 

The Plight of the Long Nose

Guilty! Guilty! Lock her up!

The crowd’s chanting cut her to the bone.

With a trembling hand, she tucked her black hair behind her ear and stared at the ground, shame repelling eye contact with her accusers, whose judgmental stares traveled long along the haughty nose.

Guilty! Guilty! Lock her up!

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The Black Ribbon

His burden was heavy, but if he could just get to the black ribbon, things would be better. Great things happened on the black ribbon, at least that’s what was promised, and it was time great things happened to him.

With slow and deliberate steps, he eased his way through the underbrush, which snagged and pulled at his bulky body. Everything he owned he bore upon his back, which was not much, and for that, at that moment, he was thankful. And yet, for not having much, he was seduced by discontent, and the ribbon whispered hypnotically to him.

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The Haunting Gaze

He has figured me out, I think. His hasty escape to the other side of the street betrays him; his soul laid bare through his nervous peripheral glances. He’s busy. If I had a family and demanding job, I might not have time for the likes of me either, I suppose. If I see him again, I might ask him. Wonder if he will look me in the eye?

man-crossing-street

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The Well-Worn Bone Guitar

[A SIMPLE SHORT STORY FOR YOUNG CHILDREN, WRITTEN AS ENCOURAGEMENT TO MY WONDERFULLY ARTISTIC AND TALENTED NIECE FOR HIGH SCHOOL GRADUATION]

A young cricket, mouse and frog were the best of friends and dreamed of forming a world famous band.

But father cricket told his young cricket, “Work hard and you can be the best chirper in the meadow.”

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M.A.S.K.D.

Booming, throbbing bass bludgeoned her brain while blackened goth revelers thrashed and bobbed about in a daze, a grotesque menagerie bewitched by the darkness and the dead. Garish locks and bloodied bodies blazed beneath demonic strobes spiraling above the dizzying hoard worshiping in the night’s mass. A macabre brew of black and sweat dripped and smeared across Clisby’s blanched face, rendering a vision of walking death, a coveted ticket to conformity. But the bedlam disturbed the nauseous beast bathing within her sloshing belly, and she bolted for the dark passage through which she had descended into the gloom, bombarded and bruised along the way by blurry, bumping bodies pulsing and gyrating to the blaring cacophony.

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The Enchanted Doorknob

[A Mother’s Day Message]

The doorknob is an overlooked wielder of magical wonder, which from strangers secures intimate secrets and mystery but to guests and those noble enough for a key opens to a world of adventures and dreams. Whether one passes within or without, it matters not, for on either side, that which is shut in or shut out, is a fascinating story just waiting to be lived in or found out.

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The Street Peddler

[My first response to the Daily Prompt: Hope]

A street vendor swept down from the yellowish mid-day sky, alighted on a wobbly, graffiti-covered park bench, which caused him to buck and sway for delicate moments as if on a precarious tightrope. When he finally acquired his balance, he unfurled like a bat, displaying the dollar wares tucked tightly within the inner folds and secretive pockets of his checkered and multi-layered cape. His smile was uncomfortable, his eyes shifty, and he reeked like swine with a spritz of patchouli. He adjusted his blood-red and soiled cap, which read, “MAGA Man,” in gaudy golden script, and hollered in a raspy, yet hypnotic, voice,

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Treasures of the Wooden Chest

Tock-tchhh . . . . Tock-tchhh . . . . Tock-tchhh . . . .

He repeatedly tapped and scraped the wooden cell door, to the point of digging a trench with his slender finger, seeking the wandering attention of his keeper.

Tock-tchhh . . . . Tock-tchhh . . . . Tock-tchhh . . . .

The rhythmic sound was interrupted only by the deathly quiet, when he strained for the slightest sound of curiosity.

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