Contrast

A painting pulled me from across the room. Past spectators scrutinizing other exhibits. Past a man commenting on contemporary art.

I wanted to meet the artist and ask what had inspired him.

Hut alone in a field. The dark evening sky contrasted with flaxen wheat. No people or animals.

“Do you like it,” a man asked me.

“Too depressing,” I answered. “Looks familiar.”

“It’s the toolshed on my parents’ farm. As a boy, I took shelter there during a sudden storm.”

“So, you’re the artist,” I exclaimed eyeing him.

I left the gallery realizing we were once classmates at school.From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. Her work has been published at: Nailpolish Stories, 50-Word Stories, 100 word story, 101 Words, Boston Literary Magazine, From the Depths (Haunted Waters Press), ShortbreadStories, SixWordMemoirs, and Espresso Stories.

Family Under Scrutiny

Spectators looked on with intense intrigue as the judge examined articles placed before her.

“Mister Coroner,” she began. “Did you succeed in contacting the victim’s next of kin?”

The questioned man glanced nervously about him. “No, Your Honor. Records show her parents are deceased. A younger sister ran away from home six years ago. Hasn’t been seen since.”

“Have you tried her extended family?”

“I’m not aware of any members.”

I sat fidgeting in the back of the courtroom.

“Excuse me,” I said rising. “I knew the young victim.”

“Who are you?” the startled judge asked.

“I was her sister.”

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. Her work has been published at: Nailpolish Stories, 50-Word Stories, 100 word story, 101 Words, Boston Literary Magazine, From the Depths (Haunted Waters Press), ShortbreadStories, and espresso stories.