I will do the normal Flash Fiction Friday but it does seem I am unable to find the right kind of muse for it – so here is a Flash Fiction more seeming for this blog.
I think my bottom is cold but it is hard to tell while my face is on fire. I tell myself this is because I am bent over, hair dangling over my face and tickling my nose.
I know you are smiling at me and I want to be mad at you but I can’t find my rage, it is somewhere below my humiliation at this pose you have me in.
Each strike is sudden and forceful and painful. Please will you stop?
I bite my lip but a small cry escapes each time your open palm finds its target.
I like the notion that a burning face is due purely to a posture which makes blood rush to the head – ha ha. And I think what I like best about this picture is the wedding ring on his hand.
Poppy, so what brought you to that pass.
Great pic, great fundament, needs a bit more colour, matching your red namesake.
Warm hugs,
Paul.
Thank you Casey and Paul. I like his ring too and this is clearly only the start of something.
I always blush (even if he looks at me sternly I blush) and I wish I always had something to blame it on other than my shyness and being such a girl.
xx
Pretty picture; pretty sentiment; pretty author.
May I still be pretty if I have a silly grin on my face?