Curtis Perry

Curtis PerryAfter writing a poem in the 3rd grade, Curtis took a 6 year break from the rigors of writing, but then started writing poetry again in high school. He likes to write poetry and short stories. He’s been working on some longer stories, but it’s taking him a very long time, the lazy bum. He started a blog in December 2012, which has actually helped him focus to write more, instead of distracting him and taking up all of his time. Sometimes, anyway. He has recently starting writing flash fiction, not even knowing it existed until the very end of 2012. Even so, he hasn’t considered himself a writer until very recently. (He’s still not sure, sometimes.) His most notable accomplishments to date are being born, being a featured artist on Ponderingspawned’s World Through Ours Eyes segment and being selected the winner for Flash! Friday Week 10.

Follow Curtis on Twitter or at his blog.


 Winner of Round 10

Art for Art’s Sake

“I am alone, but I am never alone!” he shouted.

“alone…” the room said softly.

“The world is a crowded and busy place! Everybody talks, but nobody says anything! And nobody’s listening anyway!” he yelled.

“anyway…” whispered the room.

He pranced and danced, twirling and waving his arms to emphasize his anger.
“The world is crowded, but everyone is alone! No eye contact, no real intimacy! No one understands!” he screamed.

“stands…” the room repeated back.

He yelled wordlessly as he started flinging paint at the wall behind the stage. He stomped and threw brushes and screamed at his work. He kicked paint cans, colors splashing, cans crashing.

“I am nobody and I am everybody!” he cried, fist high in the air. “I am nothing and I am everything!”

“thing…” the room gently echoed back.

When his piece was done, he stood on the stage, breathing heavily, sweat and rage draining out of him. He stood in the spotlight, with his back to his art, looking out into the empty room.

“Art for art’s sake.” He said, too softly for an echo. “Art for an audience of one. An audience of none.”

One last act of self-expression, just before he walked out the door.

The lighting of a match.

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