Secrets and Piles of Money
Money is hidden throughout this house, piles of it.
This house is full of secrets.
I know. I put them there.
Look in the bottom of the dog food bag, under the onions in the crisper, behind the painting of the blues musician, in the twisted coil of maidenhair fern on the patio. Hundreds of bills, thousands of coins, a myriad whispers, the lists of my lovers, all right there for the finding.
But first, you have to get inside: no cakewalk, my friend. You have to slip past the gargoyles, front and back.
The dog awakens at the sound of a petal falling, sure that barbarians are at the gate. She opens wide her yellow teeth.
Go home, shake off your larceny, watch TV with a glass of port, concoct a plan. Try Fort Knox or the First National Bank, instead.
Think of them as your training wheels.
|
7
favs |
1206 views
12 comments |
170 words
All rights reserved. |
Author's Note
I self-described to my hairdresser that I am secretive. Then I came home and wrote this to prove it.
Other stories by Gita M. Smith
Tags
Comments
You must
log in
to post comments.
I can feel this one ticking. Good one. *
A wondrous short stack of what seems to me American woe.
We got the same dog.*
"Go home, shake off your larceny"
Love this, Gita!
Where's the money already?*
I am adding a tag: FICTION.
Good flash. Enjoyed the read.
I could see these stanzas being mixed around and being more effective as a result:
This house is full of
secrets
Money is hidden throughout this house, piles of it.
I know. I put them there.
Look in the bottom of the dog food bag, under the onions, behind the painting of the blues musician, in the twisted coil of maidenhair
fern on the patio. Hundreds
of bills, thousands of coins, a myriad of whispers, the lists of my lovers, all right there
for the finding.
But first, you have to get inside: no cakewalk, my friend. You have to slip past the gargoyles, front and back.
The dog awakens at the sound of a petal falling, sure that barbarians are at the gate. She opens wide her yellow teeth.
And I am armed: knives above the doorframes, a crossbow under the pillow. The game is rigged. You stand no chance.
Interesting edit. Thanks for taking the time to think about it.
When I think about it I am always sincere, otherwise, I don't think about it.
Go home, shake off your larceny, watch TV with a glass of port...
My fave lines...
*
*Not many words, but this is BIG. I immediately thought of E.L. Docterow's "Homer & Langley, A Novel."There's a feel.