Every so often I post an intriguing photo to spark creativity and then let the Snarky readers write. I post your piece along with a link to your site or blog when it’s time for the next one.
It can be a scene, a plot or just a line! Try writing in a new genre… or give poetry a try. If this picture doesn’t spark something, no worries– we’ll do it again in a couple of weeks. If you’re curious, I have all the past writing in the Scene From a Pic category in the far right column.
Here is the new pic!
And here are the pieces submitted with this last photo:
Hoyeya wrote:
“Dagnabbit! That’s hot!”
“What the hell are you doing?” Lewis said as he entered the van. “You’re supposed to be watching that apartment. And why exactly did you park directly underneath the street lamp?”
Harry dropped the Hot Pocket onto the paper plate and sat in the chair in front of the monitor. “I didn’ park, your buddy Anton did. Besides, ain’t nothin’ happenin’ in that apartment. It’s been dead all evenin’.”
“Death is what we’re trying to prevent,” Lewis replied as he sat in the only other chair. He checked all the monitors for movement then placed a set of headphones over his ears. His gut told him that something was about to happen.
He heard Karen humming but he couldn’t see her. The only way she would agree to the surveillance was if certain rooms were off limits. Lewis could understand the bathroom but he really wished they had a visual on the bedroom. He consoled himself with the thought that they would catch this psycho before he even entered the apartment let alone before he made it to the bedroom.
Karen had been stalked for over a month; her apartment had been broken into but only inconsequential personal items were taken, nothing expensive. She had never seen the predator’s face but was feeling the stress of constantly being watched. He’d overheard her complain this morning about being watched by the bad guy and the good guys.
Karen appeared on the monitor as she walked into the living room. She abruptly stopped and screamed. Harry and Lewis jumped to their feet, eyes still glued to the monitors. Karen stared at the front door and began backing away as her screams intensified.
It was obvious something was happening but they didn’t know what. Lewis hurled himself from the van and ran toward the apartment building; Harry was close on his heels. They reached the hallway to Karen’s apartment within seconds; frightened faces peered from doorways.
Lewis unlocked the door and swung it open as Harry covered him with his gun. Their jaws dropped when they saw the almost transparent figure standing in the middle of the room. It resembled a man but was more rounded; not quite cartoonish but not quite real.
Karen’s screams were becoming hoarse; she looked as if they were being drug from her. The figure turned to Lewis and Harry. They saw no malice. In fact, it looked quite confused, as if it had no idea why Karen was screaming.
Lewis hesitantly moved toward Karen; the figure calmly watched him pass. Karen’s screams ceased when she realized Lewis was there and she fell into his arms like a rag doll.
Harry approached the figure, his gun was lowered but he was ready to aim should the need arise. The figure smiled at him. Harry kept his gaze on the figure but spoke to Lewis. “Whaddya suggest we do?”
“Hell if I know,” Lewis replied. “You think we could get cuffs on him?”
“He’s not real,” Karen said. “He’s my imaginary friend from when I was a kid. He can’t be real.”
Her words wiped the smile from the figure’s face and sadness filled the air. He hung his head and turned toward the door.
“Hey!” Lewis said as his head ping ponged back and forth between the figure and Lewis.
The figure changed direction slightly and walked to the landscape painting that hung near the entrance of the apartment. He began to grow smaller with each step and by the time he reached the painting he had to reach up to grasp its’ edge. He pulled himself into the painting like it was the most natural thing in the world.
The occupants of the room watched, the looks of disbelief were engraved into their features. The figure walked among the trees of the landscape then turned toward the room. He gave a small wave then dissolved into a puddle of water; the water rolled across the painting into a stream near the trees.
Laura wrote:
“Is he still out there?” Sarah asked.
Maggie glanced through the curtains.
“Yeah,” she answered.
Sarah shook her head, disappointed.
“Does he honestly think he’s being stealthy? I mean, he’d have to know we’d recognize the van.”
“I think that’s the point,” Maggie said. “Ever since we got caught going to that frat party, your dad has been sooooo paranoid.”