When the Decorators Leave
The rock squats, pride of place, in front of the open window, overlooking the windswept bay, intimidating those outside wanting in and those inside not wanting to be pushed out. Ignoring the comments whooshing about the formal dining hall behind it. “Why not me?” mumbles a panel of silk drape trapped behind an open french door. “Because you’re too flighty, too susceptible to the elements,” yawns the door. “What makes it so special, it has no actual use, really?” drawls the chaise lounge. “I think it’s there to scare away intruders, protect us all,” trills a champagne flute. “Well, it’s certainly not there for its beauty, all grey with no polish,” chortles the high-backed chair at the head of the table. “Come now, what’s ugly to one is beauty to another,” woofs a worn leather couch. “It’s so unfriendly though, never says a word,” clatters a silver soup spoon. “You never know what’s hidden below,” bleats a dyed wool rug. “Yes, yes, it could be hiding anything. It could be paper mache, for all we know,” booms the oak dining table. They all stop and squint at the rock. Solid. Silent. Revealing nothing.
Louella Lester loves living in Winnipeg, Canada. She was a teacher for years and then it took a while for her to call herself a writer/photographer, but she does now. Her work’s been published in a wide variety of journals and anthologies. Her quirky CNF book, Glass Bricks (At Bay Press, 2021), is filled with micro/flash length stories about all the jobs she’s done and includes a few flights of fancy.
The Ekphrastic Review
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