How Iron Came to Rust (A Fairy Tale)

Wallie the Imp has a soft spot for fairy tales. I suppose that has something to do with his being, to all intents and purposes, a horrible little goblin himself. He says this story is fairy-tale-telling at its best. And while his opinion is usually off the wall, this time I quite agree.

Heroine

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“But where do the ideas come from?”

It was a warm summer evening, sticky, stifling, but his aching limbs were somehow relieved by the lulling intensity of heat. He was tired. Very tired. And it was such an old question.

“Grandpa…”

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Wallie on Weather

wallie_seasons_drawingWallie the Imp loves all sorts of weather.  He is not particularly fond of rainy days and clouds, but he understands that they are a part of life without which all goblins and imps would die.  So in honor of the four changing seasons, and to meet today’s Daily Post prompt, Wallie has applied to his penniless artistic friends for aid.  One of them rose to the little fellow’s challenge.  Here we share the result.  It is not what we expected.  To be fair, it never is.

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Mrs. Allan

birdOnce again Wallie the Imp and I have made a desperate plunge.  We have attempted, not for the first time, to complete a “story” in two hundred words, give or take ten, for last week’s “Flash! Friday” prompt.  The requisite location is theatre and the photo prompt is a nineteenth-century daguerrotype.  And of course, my Imp of the Perverse was immediately set to write something (anything) relating to Edgar Allan Poe’s own affection for and relation to, theatre.  His mother, Elizabeth Poe, was an actress of remarkable ability (his father’s talent is occasionally disputed), and it is little wonder that in his own early years he expressed an interest in his parents’ profession.

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