Flash Fiction #16

[Note: Skipped prompt #15 from last week.]

“Did you see what color they’re painting the living room?”

“That green is hideous. What’s wrong with the white that was on there already? It made the room look much more airy.”

“They have the worst taste. You should see those atrocious sculptures that the man wants to put out in the garden. I think he made them himself. Trying to be abstract, but it’s just some clumps of clay stuck together and painted all different colors. That isn’t art.”

“We should mess with the walls again.”

“Yeah, but then they’ll burn that stuff to try to get rid of us again.”

“Ha, if they actually knew what they were doing it might work. The woman bought it off the Walmart website, I doubt it’s even sage.”

“Hey, I have an idea. You make a racket in the kitchen, and I’ll hide the painting supplies in the attic while they’re distracted.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

* * *

A loud crash startled Amy, and she nearly dropped the roller brush. She set it down on the tray before cautiously making her way over to the archway between the main room and the kitchen. Greg stood at the back door with a box at his feet.

“Sorry, the box slipped,” he said.

“You scared the hell out of me!”

He rolled his eyes. “Did you think it was the ghooooost?”

“That isn’t funny. You know there’s weird shit going on in this stupid house. I knew there was a reason we paid so little for it.”

“It’s because the bank foreclosed on the previous owners. Why don’t you go burn your sage stuff again if it makes you feel better.”

Amy straightened up, her mouth pressed into a thin line. “Maybe I will.”

Something landed at her feet, bumping against her bare foot. When Amy looked down, she saw a tennis ball that had been in the middle of the kitchen table just a second earlier. She couldn’t figure out how it had moved so quickly without either of them being near it. They couldn’t have bumped into the table, and it would have had to roll a good three feet. As she bent to pick it up, Greg yelped in surprise and the sound of glass breaking followed a second later.

She looked up to see Greg had gone pale and his eyes were wide. Beside him on the floor was a shattered drinking glass. The cabinet with all of their glasses and plates was on the opposite side of the room. Another glass came flying at the wall, narrowly missing her head.

“Let’s get out of here,” Greg said, giving the shards a wide berth as he moved over to Amy.

She nodded. “I need to get my shoes, they’re in the other room.”

Much to their shock, all of the supplies that she had been using were gone save for the drop cloth that covered the floor. On the paint-splattered cloth, scrawled in the green wall color that was nowhere to be found were the words: THIS COLOR IS UGLY.


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