Hello

Literary types call me Flash. I move faster than the speed of light. Brevity is divine! Before you know it, a whole universe passes by as you read and hopefully leaves an impression that heightens your awareness.

Umbrellas Lack Imagination

As Natasha Fatale, the villain from Rocky and Bullwinkle, sprang from Morticia Adams' guts in René's imagination, the eight-year-old drew an octopus talons hanging over her back. The child did not care for Gomez, Cousin It, Uncle Fester, or a silly hand named Thing. She was more a Wednesday, arrow aiming at the annoying nosy boy tied to an old chair with a red apple over the head, arm-stretching the bowstring, eyes fixed on her target.

"Don't be a baby, little rascal. I know what I'm doing," René said, imitating Wednesday's harsh tone.

On gloomy days, René played chess, traded a useless pawn for a witty Queen to slay the morose lazy king, and rushed to fly her blood-red kite after a Jake mate. What is typical for a giant mouth frog is chaos for a flying roach. René thought.

Eager to erase the bitter aftertaste left by her asthma inhaler, René put on her rubber boots and rescued the black parasol covered with tales of dust. Heart racing, the child headed to the back patio, climbed the propane gas tank, and reached the cement fence. Once on the roof, she faced the gusty wind and squinted at the sun. Logic dictated that the instrument would work at her command. The black umbrella will take her to extraordinary places in Mary Poppin's fashion. Well, gravity had other plans.

An urge is an urge, is an urge! René got encrusted with thorns thanks to the rose bush but did not break any bone.

Despite her mother's reproach, René tried the experiment from a different rooftop days later. Kaboom! This time, she earned a concussion.

That evening, Rene's shaky calligraphy recorded the flawless conclusion. "Umbrellas lack imagination. Try a blanket!"