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The Pink Glove

by Liminality


The pink glove lay on the ground, almost covered by a sheet of snow. But I could see the fingertips peek out just so. I bent over double and pinched one end of the glove between my fingers, holding it up in the light of dawn.

No one in my house owned pink gloves. There must have been some stranger, walking by in the dark, who had dropped this glove and left it here. Where else could it have come from? Maybe a bird picked it up from somewhere and let it fall into my garden. Either way, I thought nothing of it.

If the owner needed to find it, they would. I folded the glove and placed it on the squat square top of my garden fence.

The next day I came out to check on the plants, and the pink glove was right back where it was before. It was startling. Was someone playing a prank? Was my eyesight failing me? My memory? No, for this wasn't a second glove, because the fence was now distinctly glove-less.

I decided to leave it there and see what would happen tomorrow.

In the evenings, my daughter sat in the living room to paint. She liked to paint nature scenes. Autumn leaves on apple trees, waterfalls that shivered with white froth, large snowy lakes; all these and more decorated our otherwise empty walls. That day I came down from the loft to see she was painting a scene of the garden: including the glove.

"That yours, Mama?" she didn't look at me as she spoke.

"No," I said.

"That's odd." And she washed her paintbrush in the cup by her side.

Dawn. The night before we had heavy snowfall. I was in my sweater, groping around in the dark closet for a shovel, when suddenly I heard a noise. I thought about the mysterious glove-bearer.

I walked out. The living room window was frosted over, but I could see a shadow loping over to the middle of the garden. It looked human, thankfully. And awfully familiar . . .

"John?" I poked my head through the door.

My husband looked up from where he was picking up the pink glove. His arms were carrying a basket load of the things, as though he'd meant to sell them at a fair. "Oh, hi honey!"

"What are you doing with all these gloves?" I asked, putting my hands on my hips. If I'd known it was only John, imagine how much worry it would've saved me!

"Gloves? What gloves?" John said. I looked more closely at his cargo and realised they were pink inflatable flamingos.

"These are just some extra stock from work. Flamingos not popular with clowns nowadays, ya'know? It's elephant season!"

Maybe I had more than my eyesight to worry about . . .


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Thu Mar 04, 2021 2:42 pm
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HarryHardy wrote a review...



Good Morning/Afternoon/Evening/Night(whichever one it is in your part of the world),

Hi! I'm here to leave a quick review!!

First Impression: OKay...this was a really interesting story to read...I think its a really fun little short and I absolutely loved that little twist at the ending. Got a couple of places where I think it could get better but for the most part this is really good.

Anyway let's get right to it,

The pink glove lay on the ground, almost covered by a sheet of snow. But I could see the fingertips peek out just so. I bent over double and pinched one end of the glove between my fingers, holding it up in the light of dawn.


Hmm...interesting place to start...a random pink glove out in the wild...well not the most intriguing or attention grabby of starts but not exactly boring either so its a bit neutral I think. Let's see how you continue shall we?

No one in my house owned pink gloves. There must have been some stranger, walking by in the dark, who had dropped this glove and left it here. Where else could it have come from? Maybe a bird picked it up from somewhere and let it fall into my garden. Either way, I thought nothing of it.


Now see this is much more exciting. This one makes me really find out how that glove got there and now my attention is hooked. Hmm...if you made this part of the first paragraph it might actually improve the start here a bit.

If the owner needed to find it, they would. I folded the glove and placed it on the squat square top of my garden fence.


Okay...that's actually a very reasonable thing for someone to do. I like it so far.

The next day I came out to check on the plants, and the pink glove was right back where it was before. It was startling. Was someone playing a prank? Was my eyesight failing me? My memory? No, for this wasn't a second glove, because the fence was now distinctly glove-less.


Ooooooh...well that was a really interesting development. Things be getting very interesting now...this glove sounds like its going to lead to quite some fun shenanigans (or scary shenanigans) down the line.

I decided to leave it there and see what would happen tomorrow.


Hmm...okay...trying to get more tests done to get conclusive evidence. As a fan of the scientific method, I like this.

In the evenings, my daughter sat in the living room to paint. She liked to paint nature scenes. Autumn leaves on apple trees, waterfalls that shivered with white froth, large snowy lakes; all these and more decorated our otherwise empty walls. That day I came down from the loft to see she was painting a scene of the garden: including the glove.


Hmm...okay transitioning into a nice calm little drawing scene here...well that raises quite a few questions for me but oh well, let's keep going before I start asking those.

"That yours, Mama?" she didn't look at me as she spoke.

"No," I said.

"That's odd." And she washed her paintbrush in the cup by her side.


Well..that was an interesting little exchange...I wonder what that's going to be all about.

Dawn. The night before we had heavy snowfall. I was in my sweater, groping around in the dark closet for a shovel, when suddenly I heard a noise. I thought about the mysterious glove-bearer.


Oooh...looks like its time for some midnight investigating...this is going to be interesting.

I walked out. The living room window was frosted over, but I could see a shadow loping over to the middle of the garden. It looked human, thankfully. And awfully familiar . . .

"John?" I poked my head through the door.


Ohh..is this strange glove mover one of her neighbors maybe?

My husband looked up from where he was picking up the pink glove. His arms were carrying a basket load of the things, as though he'd meant to sell them at a fair. "Oh, hi honey!"

"What are you doing with all these gloves?" I asked, putting my hands on my hips. If I'd known it was only John, imagine how much worry it would've saved me!


Oh wow...I did not see that one coming...the husband...well that was a big ol' anticlimax that I was not at all expecting...hmm...will this ending be innocent after all.

"Gloves? What gloves?" John said. I looked more closely at his cargo and realised they were pink inflatable flamingos.

"These are just some extra stock from work. Flamingos not popular with clowns nowadays, ya'know? It's elephant season!"


Ooooh...is there a twist in this tale after all?

Maybe I had more than my eyesight to worry about . . .


Oh dear...well I love that ending. Nice chilling line to close things out with. Lovely little cliffhanger.

Aaaaand that's it for this one.

Overall: Overall this was a really fun little story to read. I feel like that scene with the daughter seems kind of unnecessary in the grand scheme of things because this is just a short and I feel like that didn't add all that much to the story but other than that this was a lot of fun to read. Good Job :D

As always remember to take what you think was helpful and forget the rest.

Stay Safe
Harry




Liminality says...


Thank you so much, Harry! Always love hearing your thoughts <3



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Mon Mar 01, 2021 8:21 pm
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Spearmint wrote a review...



This is an amazing story, especially considering you wrote it in ten minutes! And like stiggy said, it could definitely be turned into a longer horror piece. Remind me never to wear pink gloves again... XD

Okay, diving into some specifics:

I bent over double and pinched one end of the glove

I’m probably being super picky here, but I think the “over double” part throws me off a little because it’s rather wordy for such a simple action. Maybe you could change it to “bent down” or something, if you decided to revise this? Sorry if this is overly nitpicky; I’m having trouble finding anything significant to critique here :p

And about the fingertips part, to me it reads fine, although I guess it could be seen as rather creepy. I think it’s your choice if you want to change that; what I would suggest is to keep it the way it is if you want to emphasize the horror aspect. But if you think it’s a less important part of the story, it might be better to smooth it out. Here’s how I would do that:
“The pink glove lay on the ground, almost covered by a sheet of snow. But I could see the glove’s fingertips peek out just so. I bent down and pinched one end of the rose-colored object between my fingers, holding it up in the light of dawn.”

"That's odd." And she washed her paintbrush in the cup by her side.

I love how the daughter just washes her paintbrush like nothing’s wrong! XD In my opinion, it honestly works so much better than if you’d had her overreact or something. The matter-of-fact-ness sort of increases the reader’s anticipation of whatever’s coming.

And I think the ending is excellent too! The way the narrator assumes that her husband’s basket is full of pink gloves really emphasizes how she’s thinking about the glove so much that it’s even messing with her eyesight. Very well-written. :)
”...Flamingos not popular with clowns nowadays, ya'know? It's elephant season!”

Haha I can’t quite explain it, but for some reason this quote from John combined with the last line just wraps up the story perfectly! I guess the humor sort of gives a contrast to the mystery of the pink glove, and the reader is left with a sense that something strange is going on here....

Overall I really enjoyed this short story, and if you do decide to write more, I’d love to give it a read! :D




Liminality says...


Thanks for the review, Spearmint! Those are some helpful suggestions and I'm glad you enjoyed the story <3



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Mon Mar 01, 2021 2:52 pm
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stygianmoon17 wrote a review...



Hey there :D
stiggy here for a review ^^

Let's play a game, I have to guess what the prompt is.
I'm just hoping it's not one of those impossible prompts like "write about a character living his life" or "write a prompt about a character having an existential crisis and reflecting on life and yada yada". You know, those ones.

"The pink glove lay on the ground, almost covered by a sheet of snow. But I could see the fingertips peek out just so." this sentence here, it's terrifying. It's probably your choice of wording or maybe typos, but when you see you could see fingertips peek out, it means ACTUAL fingertips. And unless you want to write about a missing hand in a glove, than just, don't. It's horrifying.
"the fingertips of the glove" or "the fingers of the glove" would be less traumatising and just more accurate.

I love the ending xD wasn't expecting that at all. But apart from the goofiness, this had a pretty good set up and rising act. Like you should seriously consider writing a horror story. The little girl sensing something is off, the MC feeling slowly spooked by a pretty simple object, but it just gets scarier and scarier every day- like you've got a perfect tone of writing for a airy horror story !

Maybe the dad is playing with her sanity ? or maybe it was actually a glove that she saw, but there's a secret behind it that the dad is desperately trying to hide ? Maybe he's in an affair ? Or maybe it's even darker. There's just so many ways you could've taken this story to, you should totally consider a second chapter :D


So about the prompt..
"Write about someone finding an unusual object" or
"write about a character finding something in their garden"

and if you took it from somewhere REALLY dark, although I think it's just my horror sense taking over telling me this is the idea behind it:
"Write about someone driving another insane"

Pretty sure it's not the latter xD




Liminality says...


Ooh I love your suggestions! Thanks for reviewing! Just for fun, the prompt I used was actually a 'first line' prompt: "The pink glove lay on the ground, almost covered . . . "





almost got it !! :D




The bigger the issue, the smaller you write. Remember that. You don’t write about the horrors of war. No. You write about a kid’s burnt socks lying on the road. You pick the smallest manageable part of the big thing, and you work off the resonance.
— Richard Price