Laura had stunning, straw-blond hair and a perfect face. Not a single blemish was to be found on that baby-smooth skin of hers. No pimples. No wart on the nose. No cracked lip. Not even a freckle. She toured the country with her brunette manager, living out of the back of a van, appearing to aesthetically minded audiences, offering them facial symmetry for the two short hours she stood before them, spotlights trained on her so that no pore should remain in shadows. She'd stand up blinking into the glare, nodding slowly from side to side, so that everyone could see each of her profiles. And they'd sit there, peering and glancing and gazing and studying the harmony she offered them. Spontaneous waves of applause would burst out and bounce from one side of the auditorium to the other. Little did she know they were looking at her legs.
Story #202
12 comments:
i hate to sound like a broken record, but this is a perfect story. i don't want to be one of those guys who read into it and see what's not there and try to tell you what you meant by it, but i can glean some kind of social commentary, even if you didn't mean it...and the ending is just the kind of slap upside the head i love...
You don't have to sound like a broken record. Just keep up those audio posts! P.S. This comment moves me. I'm writing these at a pace in which I don't really have time to reflect on the full extent of meaning. I feel a story has justified itself if it is possible for someone to read something, anything out of it.
A Poem.
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I remember her eyes across the yawning abyss of a week and a half.
I remember their brown glow lighting the room like a shock of azure sky.
Azure blue. They were blue -- right.
Blue as ocean water, in its deepest emerald hues.
Emerald... Green.
They were green. Greeny-blue, sort of aquamarine with little brown flecks...
Okay, I remember her tits.
-- The Frantics "A Poem (#3)"
observation: These folks have quite the odd diet. Notice there's a lemon-lime soda next to both the Kahlua and the wine, there are several cans of beer, there are two jars of herring (I'm assuming), and then there's that plastic cup of pretzel sticks, all served by the illumination of tea-lights. At least Laura took Marie Osmond as her manager... I agree with Retarius, nice twist of irony and I would be staring at her hips instead of her alabaster face too.
LMAO. that's quite a story!
I love the concept! Fabulous! I wonder if I sent you a photo what you could do?
Now this is cool! Royalty is hanging out here. About the photo, there's only one way to find out, isn't there...
Sometimes all the pomp and circumstance is unnecessary after all.... huh...
Hi Livewire! I'm from Ohio, too. Isn't that shocking? Thanks for stopping by and commenting.
Another good one. You never fail to make me laugh. Of course, one of these days, you're probably going to post something that I think isn't your best work...it'll probably be a day when you're feeling under the weather...but what will I do then? Should I be brutally honest should that dreaded day occur? Anyway, good luck on winning on my daughter's blog contest.
I think you're on the computer as much as we are.
Junkies we are!
Jamie: I'm completely open to negative feedback and in fact I'll probably be the first one to agree with you if you find something not up to par, what ever my "par" is. With almost all of the stories I've had the feeling that they were the best I could do, meaning that I've at least satisfied myself. If I write a sour grape, there's always the archives going back to August 2004. Have you tried the "random story" link?
Where Are They Now: HEART
nancy likes to eat, too.
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