My Collection of Short Stories and Poems

So, I don't just write novels. I write short stories and Poetry as well.
I gathered them up for you all and that is what this new Movella is for. To have all my short stories and poetry all on one place.
Tell me which are your favorite and I will make sure to write more like those.
Thank you! :)


14. Flash Photography (Short Story)

“No flash photography!” A stern voice from my right shouted into my ear from a distance.

               “Sorry,” I replied, quick and short, and then went to turning the flash of my Nikon off so I could continue with my business here. I discretely snapped another shot of the painting and moved on to the next painting. I wasn’t much for standing and starring at paintings for hours at a time but that doesn’t mean that I didn’t find them fascinating; I just get tired of standing in one spot so I have already breezed through most of these amazing art works pretty quickly.

Once I got to the end I stopped by a painting that had caught my eye. It was pretty big, covering up most of the entirety of the wall itself. The painting looked as if anyone could have done it, with its many paint splatters here and there and so many colors to balance everything out.

Looking at this painting kind of reminded me of this morning, when I first woke up. I walked straight to my bedroom window and whipped the curtains open without really thinking that I was just in my boxers, but that fact didn’t really bother me because the scenery was just so amazing. The autumn leaves covered the fire escape, not as if they floated my way, but as if someone came and placed them there on purpose. I stood there for a while, just looking at them, starring at them really. I just looked at all the different colors and shades of the leaves. Some were charcoal black, forest green, sunset yellow, crimson red, and even sea blue.

That’s what the painting consisted of in color. There were so many autumn colors and it was sort of mesmerizing, in a way, so mesmerizing in fact that I didn’t notice someone standing next to me until she spoke and I jumped to her voice.

“So, what do you think of the art so far?” She said, her eyes never leaving the painting once.

“One of the best I’ve seen.” I reply, shifting my eyes to her direction every now and then in a way that she wouldn’t notice, and so I wouldn’t freak her out. 

“This one, you mean?” She asks.

“Yes, I like this one the best.” I glance over at her to see the smallest of a smirk spread across her lips. I don’t exactly know why she is smirking, but I play it off and go back to admiring the artwork in front of me.

“Really… You mind me asking what you like of it? Just curious.” She asks me after a couple seconds go by.

“It’s, I don’t know, it’s complicated but simple. It’s colorful but plain, happy but sad, easy to do but very difficult to try.” I know all that probably didn’t make any sense to her, but how else was I suppose to explain this? “There is so much story in this painting. I don’t even know where to start.” I say.

“I can see that. I know what you mean.” 

“Really?” I ask.

“Really,” is her response. I start to examine the woman’s appearance during our silence that follows. She has straight brown hair that falls just to her shoulders, and is wear a plain black tank top with a plain red skirt. Nothing special, but the way she wears it all makes herself look pretty well put together. It suits her, from what I know of her at least, which is barely anything.

“Well, what about you? What do you think of it?” I ask her as I slide my hands into the pockets of my a bit too baggy jeans. I finally looks me in the eyes and I notice all the different colors and shades that fill her pupils, mostly of a bright hazel color that suits her well.


“Yeah, what do you think of it?”

“Oh, my opinion doesn’t really matter. I just wanted yours.”

“Everyone’s opinion matters.”

“Not everyone’s.” She replies with. I don’t really know what she means by that, and I don’t feel like I am obligated to ask her why, but she must be able to see the questioning look on my face because when she looks over at me again, she smiles and says, “One’s opinion doesn’t really count if you are the artist.” Then it hit me why she is asking me all these questions and she lets out a cute laugh to my realization. She is the artist of this painting. How could I have not noticed before, with the small smirk and the questions. It’s obvious now.

“Why didn’t you just tell me that from the beginning?”

“Because if I have told you then you wouldn’t have really told me what you thought of it, now would you. You would have sugared up your answer, just to make me feel better.”

“Not necessarily.” I say, but she hits me with that “yeah right” kind of look that says she doesn’t believe me.

“No, seriously. Giving you the nice answer probably wouldn’t better your art at all now would it. So what’s the use in all that lying?” I say, and she smiles at me again.

“Ok then.” She says followed by a tiny giggle.

“So, is anything else in here yours?” I ask.

“Yeah, I have a few things in this place. Only a few though. I am not that special.”

“You seem pretty special to me.” I see her blush at my comment, which makes me smile to myself, but she does nothing of it and just changes the subject.

“This one over here is mine.” She says and she goes to a painting of a little shitzu drinking water from the bluest of all waters. We talk of it a little before she is onto the next painting, a little girl with golden locks playing hopscotch on the sidewalk.

“All of your painting so the same message. I think that is why I love them so much. They are so… you.” I say, and I catch a glimpse of that sweet smile again.

“A message? And what would that message be?”

“There is beauty in simplicity.” I realized this message when I looked in her eyes for the first time. The simple paint spatters that looked so different from anything I have ever seen that somehow matched her colored eyes, the simple dog drinking the colored water the color of the deepest ocean, and the simple little girl with the flowing curls that were so beautiful; they were all so brilliant.

I grab my phone to check the time and see it is close to dark.

“Well,” I start off, not knowing where I am going with this really, “It’s almost time for dinner. You wanna go grab a bite, maybe?” I don’t know what came over me to ask such a question, but for some reason I did. Maybe it was the eyes? I don’t know, but by the way they sparkled when she looked at me, gave me my answer, and I didn’t even have to wait for her to say it.

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