Other stories for this prompt

My life has always been a mess. First, my parents get into a big fight and are now divorced. Then I had no choice but to go live with my cruel mother. But life changed when she gave me that hug. When she made me feel loved. Ha, that rhymes! But it was when my college axeption came that my mom started to show affection towards me. It was uncomfortable, at first. But now it's part of what makes me move on from all those times she made me feel small, and unimportant to her. Now, that I'm married and...

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It was his job to paint portraits of people. They'd give him huge sums to paint them. Just look in the mirror, idiots! But it was his living, and he did it well. He lifted his brush to the canvas and glanced back at the young lady, who smiled. He smiled back weakly and started to paint. He loved the way the brush flowed over the canvas like ink out of a pen. It was beautiful. He painted slowly but surely, letting the paint take him where it needed to go. Soon the painting was finished. He showed the young...

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Whoever said a picture was worth a thousand words had never met Frank.

The man had never met a camera he didn't like, a paintbrush he couldn't weild with the skill of an accomplished demolition man. He didn't just fail to capture his subjects, he mutilated them, butchered their faces on canvas or in gelatin print to the point that the destruction itself was an art form.

Shadows cast a sinister light on the angelic face of his little girl. Brush strokes created abhorrent textures in the golden halo of his wife's hair.

Artists were said to put themselves into...

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I looked through my photo album, my fingers flipping the pages quickly, as I looked for that one photo.
There it was, towards the back.
I stopped and smiled.
I could still hear my voice demanding to have this photograph taken.
A woman stood to my right. Her smile shining with pride as her hand held mine. She had always been there for me. Almost as far back as I could remember now. I often thought of her as the source of my conscience because she always seemed to give advice that pointed to the moral north, but at the...

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"I hate these."

He had remarked snidely to his friend.

"What? These paintings?"

"Yeah, who wants to get themselves painted anyhow?"

With a clear hint of jealousy, the boy bellowed about his contempt for the rich, slamming them at every chance he could, criticizing their ways of life, their philosophies and outright opposing any sort of politic that would allow for such a social class to exist.

"Well, I like them. They remind me of, you know, like the Victorian Era or something. It's not cause of their wealth that they had these made, it's a family thing, you know?...

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Portraits of this generation stand on the top of the grand piano, making it impossible to open the thing and get a good quality of sound out of it, not that anyone dare play in the sanctuary. Portraits of the previous generation hang on the wall in the family room. Portraits of the generation before that hang in the dining room, while portraits, just four of them, all that they had, hung in the living room, huge ovals of ancestry cluttering up what might have been a nice space. The house would have to be remodeled before another generation came,...

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Portraits. Hanging in the gallery; all her own work. Self-portraits, and ones of famous people, she had finally found her passion.

Buyers, on-lookers, and art collectors alike all came to marvel at the paintings. The gallery was on Main Street in the City. Nashville had always been her home, and her dream to have her portraits on display for the Country Music Capital dwellers.

Her favorite portrait was one she had painted of her and her brother Damien. This one in particular, Leila was sitting on Damien's lap, looking up at him while their cat, Josephine was sitting at her...

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Portraits lined the hallway. No matter where you stood, it seemed like the eyes were following you, staring at you in disdain. Freddy didn't care for the effect, so he hurried his way through the hall to the sitting room.

A large statue stood in the center of the room. The white marble figure resembled a famous historical figure, but Freddy couldn't quite place just which one--perhaps Ben Franklin. Ben Franklin 1.0, to be exact. Ben Franklin 1.2 was currently going through some new, more rigorous testing because Baron Von Bonn's steambot army made short work of the original. Luckily,...

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About the prompt

Originally displayed on:
January 19, 2011


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