Friday Fictioneers


It’s late. The streets are empty and quiet, people are at home sleeping. Now it’s time for me to get out. Freezing, I walk the streets in my old neighborhood.

The corner store had been sold last week and I can’t wait for the grand opening.

Finally, there will be a gallery in my street -showing my paintings and masterpieces of others just like me.

Why couldn’t they see the beauty in our art earlier?

Unrecognized at lifetime most of us died poor and lonely.

Now, all of a sudden we are famous, all we had to do was die.



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I am not sure what’s going on with my brain these days. I look at a photograph, sit down to write about snow and end up in a ghost story. I suppose it means it’s Wednesday and I once again found myself in the middle of the Friday Fictioneers writing another 100-word tale.


25 thoughts on “Masterpieces”

  1. Dear Lady C,

    This is my kind of ghost story. So true. The great talents unrecognized until long after their deaths. It’s always made me feel a little sad for them. “Starry starry night, paint your pallet blue and grey…”



    Liked by 1 person

  2. Yep. Because then no more masterpieces by that artist will come to dilute the market. Which just makes it all the worse.


  3. It is unfortunate that many a time a person does not get his due when alive. May be he is ahead of his time, may be he is at the wrong place at the wrong time. At least, death brought some glory, now he can watch from the other side and feel happy.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Oh, great idea to have the artist become a ghost. So often the creativity isn’t understood and doesn’t fit the current ‘vogue’ so they’re not recognized for what they are. Snobbery all around.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. That is an interesting idea, that artists might be held back from their final destination in order to enjoy their belated fame awhile after death. I imagine there would always be an unseen artists colony lying in wait, just beyond our ability to sense it…

    Liked by 1 person

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