Short Story

On my twenty-forth birthday, the seventh of May, my mother, the eminent, Whitney West Scooter, almost had a major myocardial infarction. After, I told her that her aspiring Michelangelo had withdrawn, that very day, from her alma mater the illustrious J. C. West Academy of Fine Arts. The only reason I attend the Academy, in the first place was to appease my mother, who believed every artist should hold an art degree. I spend the entire day with my mother and throughout breakfast, lunch, and dinner, I tried to penetrate her armor of resistance so she might understand my reason for leaving the Academy at the conclusion of my junior year. As I spoke, her facial expression took on the characteristics of a rabid dog about to pounce. And I swear

Nancy Lee is the best artist in her high school's senior class at George Washington High school. “...her lines so sure, her colors so bright and harmonious, that certainly no other student at George Washington High was thought to have very much of a chance”(8). Inklings buzzed around school that she probably won the scholarship due to her talent in art. Her art teacher, Miss Dietrich, influenced her paintings and made her the best she could be. “Your picture has won the Artist Club scholarship”(117).She officially received a scholarship from the Artist Club Scholarship; Miss Dietrich and Miss O’Shay delivered the news to her.

Wes 1's mom threatened that if he kept slacking off, she would send him to military school.

Finally, Mom and Pop Art reveals the postmodern ideals of phase 3 as described by Gibson. True to the postmodern questioning of defining anything as fixed, the episode critiques the recognition of museums as educators and asks what determines something as culturally valuable. Returning to the discovery of Homer as ‘artist’, the first question of judgment is Marge’s disappointment that she has long dreamt of being an artist, while Homer who has no artistic capacity is the one deemed talented. Ambivalent of this designation, Homer relents when the gallery owner describes his composition as “outsider art”, or in other words “art that could be created by a mental patient or a hillbilly or a chimpanzee” (Jean 1999). We would be amiss here to disregard

"Yes, I do!" Dad shouts back. I barge into the room to see mom with blood coming from her temple and nose, along with sprinkled on her delicate features. He raises his hand just as I push him away from mom. His eyes turn into an icy glare and his face flushes red with rage. Dad pushes past me as he pins mom to the floor and raises his fist but pauses.

“Alright! Here you go sir. Thank you for shopping with us today! Also, be sure to stop by Tuesday nights. That’s when we host our game nights and I know for a fact there will be people around willing to teach you how to play Dice Masters”, he cheerfully tells to his customer.

She surveyed her kingdom. A kingdom of concrete and grey, but as far as she was concerned it might as well have been made of gold. The shine of the windows towering up above were her diamonds, and the taxis driving by were her limousines. Her black raw denim jeans, fitted t-shirt, and sneakers were her ball gown and crystal shoes. She has a quality about her that anybody who crossed her path could see. Her blue eyes reflect the silver city and her smile could make you feel warm on even the coldest of New York winter mornings.

Gradually I made my way back to my seat and as soon as I sat down, a lofty lanky lawyer, who resembled a Weeping Willow, continued with the reading of the will. Instantly a broad smile crossed my face the moment the Willow tree read the part where the house servants, ground keepers and the chauffeurs had received a handsome sum of money for their years of dedication, more like, for tolerating my mother’s idiosyncrasies. Furthermore, I almost laughed out loud when I heard she had left the bulk of her estate to the J.C. West Academy of Fine Arts, as an endowment fund for a ‘The Michelangelo Scholarship,’ based solely on merit and awarded to students with exceptional artistic talent. Oh! That was not all. She attached to the scholarship

“When we opened the doors in the kitchen, we were shocked to find a door leading to the basement. Lying right in the middle of the floor, there were submachine guns, handguns and several rifles along with many knives. We also found a machine used for making false ID’s and driver’s license hidden in the basement that’s why Mathew Morgan’s driver’s license looks so real. Since Mr. Hudson lived alone, no one ever checked on him. As a result, when they murdered him, no one missed him. Pretty smart of Matthew Morgan to find someone like Mr. Hudson and replace him,” Steve said, shaking his head.

Jason looked at the other papers and started laughing hysterically, “YES, I found everything I needed right now!!” Jason shoved the papers in front of Gage’s face and explained pointing to the upper right hand corner, “Mateo’s face is right here!,” he shifted his fingers to the middle, “And here’s classified info that proves he’s a criminal.” Jason took the papers back and read, “Wanted for: theft, possession of illegal goods, assault, evading arrest, and the list just goes on and on.”

Indignantly, I replied, “Oh, Whitney, it would’ve been ‘foolish’ to turn down Tommy’s gracious offer. Maybe you’re not aware of the Ink Revolution rapidly moving forward. In consequence of it, remarkable artwork no longer has to hang in stuffy museums, out of sight, and viewed by a few. Now, it can promenade down the boulevards, and seen by the multitudes, be-cause, so unlike Michelangelo, who used a brush and paint on a canvas or ceiling, a tat artist uses a tattoo gun and ink on every inch of human skin.”

I hesitated before responding and I uttered these words “tell them I am not available.” She hesitated and said ok I will. The phone call ended and I remember looking out the window waiting to see if they had left and they did. I was able for a minute to catch my breath and gain my composure. The phone rang again it was my aunt downstairs. I reluctantly answered and it was my aunt again stating to me that the police left a number to call and I need to respond in 24 hours or I was going to be arrested. I responded to the number and the police detective who was also a D.E.A Agent told me that I needed to come in and talk to them right away. I found the courage to do so and drove to the State Police Barracks. I remember walking in feeling a

“My Lord all divisions are in position,” relays Master Engineer Anzu bowing, and then thumping his right fist against his left chest. He was a trusted engineer and member of the Royal Caste. He endured decades of servitude remembering the Archlord since a Highborn Prince.

When I woke up that beautiful Saturday morning I remembered that my cousin was coming over to help decorate our barn for Halloween. She had to do it for a service project with a friend; also she had to work for five hours. I was excited at first but then I remembered the ladders. “ Here are all the decorations that I want up,” Mom said, “and you have to put all of the garland up high so that none of the teenagers will knock them down.”

A few days after the drop, Marcel drove by to visit the farmhouse—this time during the day and dressed in his Rexist uniform. Inside the farmhouse, he revealed the reason for his visit.