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Sacrifice (and) Manners

28 Dec

100 x 2 words for Friday Fictioneers this week on two entirely different subjects. Rapunzel Wisoff-Fields just moderates the joint. Don’t blame her. Other stories for the same prompt are here. Gird your loins.

Twofer this week.

Flip a coin if 200 words over amps your circuits.

The first story is an homage to Jean Hays, the stained glass artist whose beautiful door is the subject of this weeks photo prompt. I did a little research and found out that she is still owed money for the work and that her chances of getting paid are slim to none and slim just left town. Let’s fill up the happiness bank account by letting her know how much you like her art. (Think how you feel every time something you write garners a nice comment and share the wealth.)

Interior front door

Sacrifice

Trace, cut, pull glass splinters out of your fingertips, bleed, solder, frame, install. It’s about art, vision and light.

On this job the owner decided not to pay the last $600.00 owed. Coffee for life sounded good but the Health Inspector just showed up and from the sounds of the argument my free caffeine fix is out the window.

And that, I decide, is what the owner needs to be. With a last look askance at the dregs in my cup, I pick up my chair and head for the door. You have to make sacrifices for the light.

Another view

Front door

Second story is for those people out there with no clue how to behave in a civilized society. I don’t care what you believe in, truly, I don’t. I appreciate that you’re enthusiastic and want to share, but if you’re acting like this you’re doing it wrong. There’s a time and a place for everything, but I assure you that it’s not on a busy street corner or bus stop or unsuspecting flash fiction blog. If you insist on doing it, show some courtesy by using your imagination. Be original. Be funny. Proofread. And above all, entertain skepticism.

Interior front door

Manners

Guy out on the sidewalk yammers and waves his holy book while he dry humps passersby with his version of god’s love. Strident voice penetrates the coffee shop each time someone comes in for java or leaves to brave the gauntlet on their way to anywhere out of earshot of his diatribe. I’d tell him to pack sand but it’d be like poking a stick at a wild animal in a cage.

Not sure about heaven, but I know damn well there’s a hell. How’s that?

Guy out on the sidewalk yammers and thumps his holy book while he dry humps passersby….

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Proselytizers