Writing

Imagination

The neighbors were not happy about my choice of yard art. Or rather, with the latest addition to my yard. I didn’t understand why— it was only a plastic flamingo.

But they objected to it’s presence, saying that it unnerved them, the way its ‘beady black eyes’ followed them around.

The claim was absurd, of course—who ever heard of a fake bird watching the neighbors? And besides, I had grown attached to it. I had found it in the attic, in a box full of my Great-Aunt Janice’s things. I wouldn’t deny that she had been a bit odd, always muttering to herself and brewing the strangest concoctions in her kitchen–but that had nothing to do with her old flamingo.

And if it seemed that it was in a different spot every morning, or that it looked rather smug the day the Millers’ daughter took a fright and went shrieking to her mother…well, surely it was just my imagination.

~

This is part of the Mondays Finish the Story Challenge! If you like reading or writing flash fiction, you should check it out–it’s quite fun! ^^

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