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It was unusual air that day as the ravens landed on the nearly straight silver incline of the dry streetlight outside in the morning. They were lined up as black feathered messengers of God, observers of atrocities in Virginia, and felt like her birds.

This is flash fiction I have written about life in the United States of America. I created the Flash Fiction category.


Submitted:Mar 12, 2011    Reads: 30    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   



Unusual Air

For the Fatima My Love Writings

© 2011 Patricia McGurk Martin

Hearst Himmler

It was unusual air that morning as the ravens landed on the nearly straight silver incline of the dry streetlight outside. They were lined up as black feathered messengers of God, observers of atrocities in Virginia, and felt like her birds. One lifted his head to shout from his open beak, his lungs expanding to support his terrible message with his black eyes flashing. Sparking.

The unusual air of atrocities seemed fresh, and that is the contradictory essence that the putrid air is very fresh. People - even neighbors - breathed in the early morning air as normal air every day in the United States, passing by on their focused way to work in offices.

Waving at you in bondage as they always do, Normal In the Bondage Slavery landscape was expressed as "I'm OK You're Ok". They smile at you while you are dying on schedule in the U.S.A. It was putrefied that day in Virginia, but no one noticed. The air seemed fragrant and exhilarating, even invigorating to the walking dead or those without immunity to the widely broadcast dangers of the Avian Flu.

Atrocity Immunity had spread like a virus in the United States. She breathed in the sweet putrid air of the decaying grass under the warm morning dew, her eyes resting on the rigid painful shackles on her extended legs on the Mirot farm she had painted - with layers underneath of slavery encompassing her frozen legs. As she listened to the white men singing her stolen music, she contemplated flying away to another futurist Dali landscape. No one noticed her burning giraffe warning them, just the fried eggs, always the damned food.

She melted the shackles with her visor hood on, not the holocaust gas mask this time. Remembering her expertise in metallurgy, she starts praying with her stolen metals such as copper, gold, silver and platinum. Praying with her tools available, such as her miner's lathe and drill handy, her smooth stones, seashells, and clean desert sand. The important objects were all ready to go in her toolkit, accompanied by her compass, pocket watch and geometry tools. She tucked in one or two candles and a Bic lighter - to light her prayer.





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