The photo at the link and below is a piece of art that a city selected to plop down in a median between busy roads, in addition to a number of other interesting works throughout the city… Click on the link and write a little Flashy Fiction about it. Post your fiction at CREATIVE BLOOMINGS’ FLASHY FICTION FRIDAY
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POETIC BLOOMINGS 
Anyone having difficulty posting your stories at FFF can post them here if you are so inclined. Or you can post a link to your blog or website directing us to your work! Walt.
FOR THE SAKE OF ART
Ed Nelson was not fond of traveling. He got seasick at the mere mention of the ocean. You’d never get him on an airplane. The pressure nearly made him pass out once. It seem that headache would never go away. Trains were OK, but they took too damn long. Having his choice, Ed would have rather stayed put.
That’s why his colleagues found it strange that Nelson decided to drive to the consortium. It was cramped in his small compact car. And the drive would take longer than any mode available to him. Longer than even taking the train.
Ed Nelson did alright for himself in his sales position. But he had run into a brick wall. He hadn’t advanced his station in years; though he’d have been made a full partner by now. Instead he found himself hauling ass down the interstate to cross state lines before darkness set in.
Up ahead in a clearing he saw it. A Farris wheel, he thought. Or the maddening loop of one of those anti-gravity roller coasters. But as he neared the structure, Ed was sure he had no idea what it was. A sculpture maybe? He laughed loudly. It could be a Druid icon! What ever it was, it looked hideous on the side of the road.
Between exits this monolithic doughnut stood, maybe fifty feet high – a monstrosity. Interwoven like a wreath, bars and crosses, spheres that appeared as heads of some civilization climbing to the heavens. He was so taken by the piece of “art”, Ed Nelson hadn’t noticed the line of people.
Standing at the gaping portal were approximately 40 people dressed in white waiting their turn. On this grey and depressing afternoon, Nelson saw blue skies through the opening. There was sunshine. It was a beautiful day. But only inside the ring. He pulled to the shoulder of the road near the median and stepped out of his car to investigate. Apparently not dressed for the occasion, Nelson was stared at and ignored.
Taking a place at the end of the cue, he tapped the shoulder of a pleasant looking older woman.
“Excuse me Ma’am” Ed began. “What’s going on here?”
“Young man, do you see this monument?” she said softly. “It is the way out of your despair. Through that opening… is redemption!”
“Redemption” Ed Nelson repeated. It sounded nice. He was in need of a change. The “rat race” would have to carry on without him.
But suddenly, the crowd stared to disperse. He stood confused.
“HEY!” he called. “Where’s everyone going? What about redemption?”
One man looked at Nelson and then back at the sculpture.
“Redemption? It’s an ugly piece of art!” the man said incredulously! “Do you have any idea how much of our tax dollar are tied into this… this shit!”
‘Then why is it here?” Ed Nelson finally wanted to know.
The elderly woman who have duped Nelson earlier overheard the question.
“You moron, it’s art… for the sake of Art, you nabob!” she stormed away with the rest of the crowd. Ed Nelson felt foolish and greatly let down, standing by himself. He never saw the placard.
“SPHINCTER” dedicated to the people of this Great State by Governor Art Decoupage.
“Art for Art’s sake” he thought to himself. What a waste of resources! It was only fitting this piece was named after it’s patron!
The Circle Thing
I came across an oddity
Something glowing in front of me
I had to stop so I could see
This oddity
What could it be?
I stopped along the highway side
An interruption to my ride
My curiosity would not subside
I must confide
I was mystified
The cold air hit me like a brick
The wind was strong, the air was thick
I wonder why this spot they picked
On which to stick
This thing so slick
I walked toward this circle thing
It didn’t look like anything
But pipes and balls and other things
This circle thing
Was baffling
When I got close I heard a sound
A sound that came from all around
From left, from right, from up and down
My ears did pound
With this strange sound
Then something happened suddenly
The oddity grabbed hold of me
I could not move; I could not flee
What could this be
A hold of me?
Caught firmly in its force field snare
My body lifted into the air
It dragged me through the circle where
I said a prayer
To quell my scare
What I found on the other side
White beaches and an emerald tide
Astonished look I could not hide
I stood wide-eyed
I thought I’d died
I looked about to take it in
Such beauty I could not begin
To put in words what lied within
That circle thing
That sucked me in
Then suddenly with warning none
I found myself where I’d begun
The cold wind like a BB gun
It stung and stung
And more it stung
I wanted so to fly back through
I walked around it and tried hard to
Find that portal, or find any clue
With no way through
I sadly withdrew
Back to my car I trudged once more
Climbed back inside and shut the door
Looked back at the circle thing once more
Where it was before
It stood no more
What happened to this oddity?
Or was it plain insanity?
Had my brain played a trick on me?
Did I really see
This oddity?
This happened many years ago
With blowing wind and falling snow
On a highway heading to I don’t know
What made it glow?
I had to know
I’ve traveled many roads since then
But soon my traveling days will end
I hope my eternal soul They’ll send
Once again
Through the circle thing
© 2014 Earl Parsons
Loved this Flashy Fiction Prompt! I’m a huge Stargate fan – yes I’m a sci-fi geek and no I don’t go to the conventions. 🙂 Thanks for the prompt!
ALONG THE HIGHWAY
copyright 2014, William Preston
“What’s that, Gramper?”
Sharon, Sy’s eight-year-old granddaughter, asked the question. She and Sy were driving through the grape country, on a divided highway. Ahead, still looking like nothing so much as big O, was a large sculpture in the median.
“Oh, that,” Sy replied. “That’s the big wreath.”
As they drove, the big O began to take shape, now looking like a large crown of thorns. In a little while it would resolve into something that looked like vines and leaves and grapes, though it was really a concrete concretion of sticks and orbs, if one could get close enough to see them. Few people did; the highway was a busy one, and the median was wide. The sculpture was enclosed in a circular hedgerow.
“Wreath?” Sharon looked confused. Her curly brown hair fell into her eyes as she jerked her head toward Sy.
Sy sighed. “A grape wreath, sweetie. You know, like your mom makes every fall.”
“It’s grey, Gramper,” Sharon said. “Mom’s wreaths are brown and full of purple grapes and little orange gourds and autumn leaves.”
“Well, it’s made of cement, honey,” Sy replied. Sy sighed again. He hated the thing. It really didn’t look like a grape wreath at all, in his mind, and the artist who made it had been paid thousands of taxpayer dollars. The the county spent more tax money when it erected the thing. And where did they put it? In the middle of a median along a highway where no one could stop to look at it. Sometimes people tried to look anyway, from their speeding cars. Crashes had happened. Sy had admired the late Steve Allen, and he thought of him now. “Steve had the word for it,” he mumbled. “Dumbth.”
“What, Gramper?” Sharon asked.
“Nothing, sweetie. I was just thinking.” Sy sighed again. He was a large man, and his sighs had to be heard; they were never seen.
They came abreast of the concrete wreath. Vineyards stretched everywhere: grapes to the right of them, grapes to the left of them, grapes ahead of them in the shallow valley.
“Why did they put it there?” Sharon asked.
Sy smiled. Sharon was smart. She questioned everything, a quality Sy loved in her. He had been the same way as a child, and so had Sheila, Sharon’s mother. Sheila was a lawyer, and Sy though Sharon would be someday, too.
“Well,” Sy said, slowly. “I guess they wanted to let folks know they grow grapes around here.”
Sharon looked around her. She frowned. “But those are grapes out there, aren’t they, Gramper? Wouldn’t people know it anyway?”
“Well, I guess some folks wouldn’t know they were grapes, sweetie,” Sy replied.”Once, when I was driving in California, I saw some plants that looked like they had snow on them, but it was summer. They were cotton plants. I had no idea; I thought cotton grew in the deep South, not California.”
The wreath was receding now, looking much like a big O again. Sharon looked back at it.”Well, then, Gramper, do people have to know there are grapes here? Why do they have to know that?”
“You got me there, sweetie,” Sy replied. “I really couldn’t say.”