By Carla Collins
Mary unlocked the storage room door. “Look at all these paintings!” she exclaimed.
I see them examine the unsold work lying back to back against the temperature-controlled wall.
“I’ll take this one. It’s not too bad,” Angela said.
Sean smirked. “This green would go with my curtains.”
Andy held up an oil painting of large red circles. “Basement bathroom?”
I heard Angela mutter how she needed firewood.
These were my friends who felt free to trash my life’s work in my presence. Understandably from my ghost-like situation they weren’t too concerned with my feelings. I’d only been dead for a week.
With friends like these….
Ouch!
Nice buildup. Friends or not, you can’t buy taste.
Wow.
Oh yeah … well played.
Liked this little tale!
GREAT twist at the end. Guess it’s true: When you die, you discover what your friends REALLY think of you!