My apologies fellow WEP'ers.
I'm rather late to this party! I've just been soooooo caught up in a-million-and-one things… but I won't bore you with the details!
This month the theme is New Beginnings. Remember how it works? You are welcome to submit any of the following – flash fiction, poetry, non-fiction, playscripts to a word count of 1,000 words OR artwork and photographs accompanied by your written inspiration in creating your works. There's something to suit every taste! Check it out!
I've decided to go with a piece which I wrote a few months ago. It's approximately 333 words. I'd appreciate a full crit. Thank you.
It was tucked into the bottom right-hand corner, on page four of the local Art Newsletter.
Dusty Sloane will be remembered as the poster girl for 21st century retro-women, with her quirky out-dated style and kitschy art collection. She died at the age of 28, a free-spirited and larger-than-life character, linked to a string of eligible bachelors; a hard core philanthropist, who gave tirelessly of her time and money. The Sloane Foundation has set up a trust fund in her name, to assist struggling artists.
Let me give you the real version.
Dusty Sloane was a troubled and uncontrollable woman. An adrenalin junkie, with a penchant for living on the wild side, and an uncanny knack of beating the odds at every turn. Possessing the wiles of Cleopatra and the je ne sais quoi of Marilyn Monroe, she had me chasing her like a lemon after a strong shot of tequila.
She was a conservationist too, always saving something. Save the whales, save the rhino, save the children. But she couldn’t save herself. My gut feeling? She chose to die. Self-destruction was inevitable.
I shuffle verbal snapshots like a deck of well-worn playing cards.
Pick a scenario.
“You know what’s your problem? You need to lighten up. Live in the moment!” Carpe diem… her mantra. One of many plucked from an overflowing arsenal.
“What do you really want from this relationship?”
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“Why can’t you enjoy it for what it is?”
She was under no illusion. It began, it would end.
The writing was on the wall. Always had been.
* * * * *
I picked up the pieces and decided to make a fresh start. Sold the condo. Moved into a new neighbourhood. Grew a beard. Created my bucket list. Bought a dog. Not just any dog, mind you – a German Shepherd. I've always wanted one. Six months later, I enrolled in a part time art class at the local gallery. Time to pursue my own dreams. Or maybe I just can't walk away…