Flash fiction: Misunderstood Genius

All objects are art, it just takes an artist to point it out. But my mum literally cannot see that. It’s like she has a piece missing in her brain. Instead she sees all this irrelevant shit. Says stuff like,

“That’s not art, that’s a bit of the hoover. I need that to clean up this pig sty of a house. You’ll have to dismantle your sculpture.”

Dismantle my art? Doesn’t she know anything? That could kill me, it’s like tearing out a piece of my soul. So I say,

“No, mum. Actually that’s a physical expression of all my childhood dreams in a unbroken representative space. Reminiscent of Renoir, as seen through the eyes of a millennial in torment.”

Then she says,

“You don’t even know what half of those words mean!”

“No mum, you don’t know what they mean. I looked them up.” That told her.

11 thoughts on “Flash fiction: Misunderstood Genius

  1. Nice musings. When I think of your mother I recollect my wife who calls all my writing as verbal vomit. Yes the subconscious, the repressed is from where art begins and you have found its beginnings profoundly. Anand Bose from Kerala

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I play with your emotions, I am the puppetmaster! *wraps cloak across face and strides away into the shadows, cackling* *until tripping over cloak and landing on face* *cries* 🙂

      Like

      1. awww all graceful puppetmasters must fall at some point hehe don’t worry it’s just to help lesser puppet masters like myself from having a low self-esteem in your shadow haha!

        Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s