Thread: 21/3/2011 - LM - Six pictures found on a camera on the side of the road

It's time, again, for the next LM Challenge.

The prompt, thanks to Leyline, is:

-Six pictures found on a camera by the side of the road-

The word limit is 650 words not including the title.
If you go over - Your story will not be counted.

The judges will be:
Caelum
Leyline
Anna Buttons
Like a Fox

There is a NEW RULE this time around, so listen up:

You can no longer edit your entry after posting. There will be a 10 minute grace period, if you want to go in there and edit a typo or something, but really, you should approach this as if you were submitting your work to be published and paid for. If you were doing that you wouldn't email the submission and then email again and say "Actually that t should be capitalised" and then email later and say "Actually, I hate the last sentence, can you strike it?" and then "Actually put it back in."

So when you submit, that should be your final work, the work you are happy with.

This way our judges can confidently start to read through your entries before the challenge has closed and we can continue to turn these things over in a timely manner. I will spell this out again on the challenge thread.

Oh, and one other previously unwritten rule - One entry per person.


There are only two threads you can post your story in:

The LM Workshop Thread ** which is a special thread just for LM entries in the Writer's Workshop. Please do not just create your own thread with your story in it.
You would put your story here if you wish to protect your first rights (in case you want to someday submit the work to a magazine or whatnot).

Or the LM Challenge Thread (Right here)
If you’re not too concerned about your first rights.

** If you have elected to put your entry in the Workshop thread you must copy the link into this thread or else it will not be counted ***

Everyone is welcome to participate.
Judges are welcome to participate but their entries will not receive a score.

Submissions will be accepted until midnight my time (GMT+11), on Monday April 4th.


No comments, please - Only competition entries (or links to) to be posted in this thread.

Sick's Pix

Six Pictures

“Hey, look at this.”
You look up from the couch. “I thought you were getting the car fixed….”
“Yeah, I decided to walk back. Look what I found.”
You offer me your patented tolerant face. “I’m reading. Is it important?”
“Just come here.” I set the camera I’ve found on the kitchen table. It’s pretty banged up.
You sigh and put down the newspaper. Padding over on bare feet, you look skeptically at my find. “That’s it? A busted camera?”
“But it works,” I protest. “Watch.” I press the ON button and it hums to life.
“Keep it if you like,” you say, spinning on a heel. “Once a junk collector, always a junk collector.”
“Wait,” I say, with a hand on your arm. “It’s got pictures. 257 of them.”
You look at me again—a little less tolerantly. “I have no intention of spending my afternoon looking at some stranger’s pictures. Certainly not 257 of them, anyway.”
I’ve already turned away, inspecting my prize. “Well,” I announce, “you don’t have to worry about the first thirteen, anyway. They’re just a black, fuzzy mess.”
You cross your arms, waiting for something interesting.
“Hey! A wedding! Looks like Vegas,” I say, looking hopeful.
You love weddings. Now I’ve got you.
“Let me see,” you say, leaning over with elbows on the table.
“See, there’s the mountains in the background. ‘Little Chapel o’ Love.’ Looks like the bride decided to wear orange.”
“Burnt orange,” you correct. “She looks really happy. Like she’s waited for this her whole life.” You smile at me. “I remember that feeling.”
I smile too. Now we are a team.
“Let’s see the next one,” you say. More black fuzz. Twenty clicks and we finally get our next picture. The bride has a baby now. She’s a little grungy-looking, but still smiling and happy. They must live in the desert. Just rocky hills and dirt as far as you can see.
“How old’s the kid?” I ask.
“Mmm, still a wee one,” you say. “Coming up on her first birthday.”
“Her?”
“Pink socks,” you say, pointing.
“Ah.”
“Next….”
I press the button again. I lose count after fifteen clicks. “Here’s one,” I say, finally.
“Two kids,” you say. “Girls.”
“That looks like Florida. See the swamp and the palm trees?”
You’re busy looking at the woman. “She’s tired,” you observe. “Her life looks hard.”
I’m clicking away again. Close to fifty times before we get another picture. She’s sitting on the hood of her car. This time they’re in the mountains. She’s smiling, but her heart’s not in it.
“Jeez, these people are constantly on the move,” I remark.
“See the shadows?” you reply. “Two little ones and one big. At least she’s stopped having kids.”
I start to click again. You take the camera away. “Gimme.” You’ve gotten involved, now. You’re worried about her.
“Here,” you say. The kids are a couple of years older. The woman has her back turned in this one, and she’s off to one side. You can tell that she’s a wreck. She’s frail and thin.
There’s hurt in your eyes. You feel for this woman and her life. You hand me the camera. “I don’t want to look anymore.”
I click through the remaining pictures. Nothing but black. Then, third to last, there’s a picture of her. She took it of herself. You can see her arm in the photo.
“Found one,” I say.
“She’s alone, isn’t she?”
I look again. “Appears to be.”
“Unhappy?”
“Appears to be.”
You pace back to the couch and pick up the newspaper. You can’t read it. You’re thinking about her. Giving up the pretense, you look at me. “Is that going to be us?”
“God, I hope not.”
“Six pictures. A whole life in six pictures.”




Enjoyed that one. Thanks for the great prompt!

Crash!

I opened my eyes, and saw the blue sky. The clouds floated above as if they hadn’t a care in the world. I got to my feet, shook my head to shake off that nasty fall I just got, and walked around. I saw these suburban houses left and right, with nice, well-trimmed front lawns. One house struck me as really good. It had a red, bricked roof and nice cream-colored walls. It reminded me of Eli’s house. Does he know I’m missing?

Click. I’d better keep that in memory.

I continued looking around and saw this enthralling view of the horizon where the sun was slowly but surely getting ready for nighttime. Eli must be getting ready for the night, too. He’s probably reading a book right now, waiting for his mom to finish cooking his favorite adobo. The sunset was breathtaking. Had to keep this in memory, too. Click.

“Hey, Maggie! Phineas and Ferb’s on TV!”

Uh-oh! People! I dropped down to the pavement and kept stationary. I then tried to open my eyes slowly, check where the voice came from. As I did, I saw this boy, probably six or seven, eagerly waving to this young girl across the street. The boy was probably ten feet or so away from me and the girl was busy playing with this cute cat so she probably hadn’t heard the boy. The girl appeared so naïve, so innocent. She’s what, four? She appeared happy and carefree, like those clouds in the sky. It was a touching scene. I’d better store this too. Click.

“Maggie, we’ll miss the episode!” The boy at the front lawn shouted, louder this time. The girl named Maggie turned around, smiled, and shouted back, “I’m coming!” She trotted towards the boy, who I assumed was her older brother. As Maggie finally reached the other side of the road, his older brother took hold of his sister’s right hand, and said loud enough for me to hear, “We wouldn’t want to miss an episode, right?”

The two ran towards their house and disappeared.

I looked at the sky again, which was slowly getting darker and darker. I turned around, saw the sun already halfway out the horizon. I guess I’d better go home too. But how? I don’t know where I am. As I pondered on the thought, I saw this cat the girl was playing with earlier looking at me from across the street. Despite its threatening gaze, I can’t help but find the cat intriguing. Its eyes were glowing and I found the eyes alluring. Click.

And then it moved toward me. So I ran, away from the chasing cat. I ran as fast as I can, and found myself running past that beautiful house I saw earlier. I tried to look at it again, see its majesty one more time. That proved to be my downfall, literally.

As I tried to catch a glimpse of the house, I stumbled upon a pebble, and fell face first onto the pavement. I heard a crack. And then I saw these slivering lines. I then felt something was behind me. I turned around and saw the cat, its eyes seeing through me. This was it. The cat raised its paws and attempted to give me a thwack. Out of instinct, I caught the action, just in time. Click.

And when the paw was just mere millimeters away from me, I heard this voice that was so familiar.

“Shoo, cat! Get away!”

I remained motionless on the ground, and awaited him to come get me. He soon did.

“Are you all right? Darn, your lens got busted. I’d better send you to the repair shop tomorrow.” There he was, Eli, a smile of relief in his face as he picked me up from the ground. Now that’s something I’d better keep in my memory.

Click.

A Life in Six Pictures

Unknown, but Never Forgotten

Six Steps to Heaven (under 650 words)

‘Weird man. LOL!’

Abby read the text and studied the photo, taken inside a bus. There were several people in the shot, but it was obvious who Katie meant. One man was staring at the camera. Or rather, staring at Katie. The camera instilled permanency to the ugly split-second. The man and the stare, had a wrong feel about it: his mouth was ever so slightly open, and the paleness of a single tooth was visible, glistening with saliva.

Ooh, Abby shuddered. I don’t like the look of you, mate.

Then she looked at the next picture. This one at the market. The man was looking at some apples at a stall, unaware that a photo was being taken. Abby read the accompanying text. ‘Hey, same man. Doesn’t he look weird? Why do bald, old men comb their side-hair over the top?’

Katie was short. At twelve years old, she could pass for ten. So her low height gave the man size when taking the picture.

Abby texted back ‘ Hurry - get the stuff - come home - bored waiting.’


Moments later, Abby received a third snap. The weird man again, closer, walking along a pavement. ‘Same guy. Do you think he lives near us? LOL! Look at his yellow shoes. Ugh!’

Abby squinted at the vulgar shoes and felt on edge for the next five minutes. Her mobile thrummed again. This time the image showed just an empty pavement. ‘Missed him. I think he’s following me. I turned quick, but no one there.’

A fourth picture was recieved. ‘Missed him again. Am I getting paranoid?’

Despite her unease, Abby smiled. Her hands had spelled paranoid to her daughter yesterday and Katie had immediately opened the dictionary.

Katie wouldn’t hear any footsteps. Looking closely at the photo, Abby saw no one there. Another empty pavement. Or was it? At the side of a wall, there appeared to be a yellow blur; a trailing foot about to disappear.

Then, a closer shot. The man was out of focus but Abby spied the pale, glistening tooth. He was staring straight at Katie. ‘Mum, I’m scared.’

‘Wait in the grove, pet.’ Abby texted. ‘It’s out in the open. I’ll be there soon. Relax.’

Five minutes later, Abby was jogging, then walking to catch her breath, then jogging again while her gaze darted about; hoping in vain for a policeman, especially on receiving another picture. ‘He’s close. I’ve nowhere to run - help.’

Surrounded by the greenery of the grove, the man’s shadowed image looked at the camera again, at Katie, and at Abby. His face was a picture of desperation, need and want. Close enough for Abby to see madness. His arms were raised in a grabbing motion.

If only Katie knew how to scream, or shout; alas, like mother, like daughter. A few minutes later, panicking and breathless, Abby reached the grove and realised it wasn’t as out in the open as she remembered. She received yet another text, pictureless.

‘It’s alright, he’s gone now. I’ll wait for you here. Hurry up, in case he comes back.’

Stanley pressed ‘send’.

He had found it on emerging from the bushes to the pavement. His foot kicked something and he saw it by his yellow shoes. In the next five minutes he perused the girl’s recent messages with panic. For the moment, it ruined the previous, exciting few minutes, and had the potential to spoil the memory. He couldn’t go back to prison; he would rather die first. Dealing with adults was always uncomfortable; he hated adults. The mother, being female, would at least be weaker physically. Deleting the girl’s texts and pictures, he set the phone to ring, and put it in his pocket. He hoped the mother would phone, using sound to locate the daughter.

With ragged breaths and shaking hands, he slunk back into the bushes.

And waited.

649 + Title

Yesterday.

“This is Derek,” whispered nurse Chapel, “he was brought in an hour ago, RTA, we don't expect him to last the night.”


There I sat, beside Derek's bed, talking to God, in the trade we call this 'a vigil.'


Near one o'clock Derek opened his eyes.
“Hospital?”
“Yes Derek.”
“Who are you?”
“Ted Clooty, hospital volunteer.” I wasn't expecting such clear thinking, considering how badly injured he was.
“I have the worst headache.”
“I can't medicate you, but some water might help.” I helped him take some sips.
“Needs about two pounds of aspirin for this one.”
“I can call a nurse.”
“No,” he paused. “You the padre?”
“Lay preacher.”
“When did you get the call?”
“I haven't yet, this is just a great way dodge real work.”
“Great, a bible thumper with a sense of humour.”
He closed his eyes. About ten minutes later he opened them again.
“You still here?”
“Yes,” me and God.
“Did they find my camera?”
“I have no idea, why?”
“It's a long story.”
“I have all the time in the world.”
He closed his eyes again. This time I thought he wasn't going to re-open them, but he did.


“So much has happened recently, it's a bit hard to put in proper order. Could I have some more water?”
“Sure.” I helped him sip a bit more, and he relaxed back on the pillow.


“Over three years ago I started a small engineering firm on the Trenchard Industrial estate, we had done okay for a bit, but now things are a struggle.”


“Go on.”


“Yesterday when I was locking the door, this kid turned up. He was maybe seventeen, skinny, and had too much hair. He asks if there is any work, I tell him, sorry no. He says he'll be back in the morning, I tell him there isn't enough work for us at the moment, and no matter how good he is I couldn't afford to pay him. He asks me. 'How about if I find you some business?' 'Sure' I tell him, 'you bring us some work, and I'll give you a job.'”


Derek drifted for a moment.


“First thing after I opened up, he arrived with his father. They had a big van full of broken machinery, and twenty thousand dollars cash. The old man even has some software fabrication templates for our machine. So while my team put some of the parts through the scanner, I took the cash to the bank, as I came out of the bank, I saw the van drive past. Without any conscious thought I started to follow them, we drove out past the Mall, and into the countryside. They went to old Jorge's farm, I turned around and came back to the unit.”


He took a shallow breath.


“Usually when you're making stuff, you can see how it works, but this was beyond us. Still the kid knew what he was doing, and seemed happy enough with the end products.”

He paused.


“After we shut down for the night, I drove down to Kates Koffee shop, and hung around till dark. Then I drove out to the farm, parked away from the access and walked up the lane. What I saw was unbelievable. I took six pictures before they chased me back along the lane, that's when I ran in front of the SUV. Where my camera went I don't know, but if you can find it, there are six pictures in it, and they will change the world.”


Soon after those final words, Derek went to meet his maker.


At first light I went looking.


I found the camera Lord, now do I have the right to change the world?

Allergies ( 538 ) - Contains Mild Language
Flap walked down the street, right next to him, Adam chewed on his gum. It had been a long time since they walked down ‘the road’ together; this was the place where they met for the first time. Though they were best friends, they barely met each other. Adam’s parents had been very ‘obstructive’, not allowing them to meet. Although they had kept in touch via the internet, there was nothing like meeting in person. The houses on both sides of the road were practically huge; one of the houses even had peacocks.

“So what are you doing these days?” Adam asked, his house was more of a resort than a house. Flap on the other hand lived in one of the run down flats, which was exactly why Adam’s parents did not want them to meet.

Flap stayed silent, he was not a person who talked a lot, so instead of speaking he just shook his head sideways to tell that he was not doing anything.

“You still don’t talk much do you?” Adam said, trying to make him reply.

Flap was spared answering when he looked at several pictures lying on the ground. Flap moved his head directing Adams attention to the photographs. Adam picked them up and looked at them. Each one of them depicted the political leaders of the world. Flap found the camera lying further away but didn’t pick it up. The first two were of a Muslim leader named Habib Kalim; he had been trying to unite the Muslim nations.

“That guy has done a lot for the Muslim nations hasn’t he? He cleared several thousand villages and rehabilitated the inhabitants in the cities,” Adam said as he looked at his photograph. While Flap thought that, he had only cleared the way for the oil pipelines. He wanted to say something to describe what he was feeling but could not find the words. The other two pictures were of Brian Killian, a businessperson that gave very generous donations to poor countries.

“This guy gives money to countries for free when no one gives them any money at all, remember when I attended his boring ceremony with my parents” Adam said while smiling to himself. Flap thought that he only gave money to the nations that would give him cheap labor in return as well as overlook laws for him. Again, he could not find the words to describe what he wanted to say. The last two were that of General Smith Keanu, showing him making the declaration of the intervention in Arabia during the uprising of its people.

“He saved the lives of a lot of people when he intervened didn’t he, the king would have slaughtered them otherwise” Adam said as he looked at Flap expecting him to say something. Again, Flap thought that it had all been for the oil, they had ravaged all of the oil wells of Arabia. This time Flap had the perfect statement to make.

“Cough! Cough!” finally a sound came out of his mouth and Adam thumped him on his back.

“Are you all right?” Adam said.

“Sorry man, I am allergic to bullshit” Flap replied, smiling that he finally knew what to say.

We are nearly there. Ahead of us a digger gouges the earth.

They find it difficult to watch us. Our shuffling, motley zealotry is hard for them. Two of us can no longer walk, so reduced as to be bound to wheelchairs pushed by helpers. They cannot do it themselves; the trauma has made them witless. The rest of us are propped and propelled by crutches, thankful that we remain lucid. The rest of us. Such terminology sounds hefty, inaccurate, though when its construction began this was not so. We are only six now.

The road is nearly done (for now, always for now). Surrounded by vegetation it looks a cauterised thing, ugly and idiosyncratic. But progress always does. Like the placental meat-mess that is a newborn child before it is tended to, quietened and incorporated.

In the city roads don’t just end. They are not individual or inchoate. They meld and coagulate, systemise. There they are beautiful, contextualised by amalgamation, by progress. A new road mustn’t remain new for long.

They are lifeblood and the Church reveres them as such. The asphalt and aggregate strips upon which we spread ourselves are divine, as pious and sacrosanct as angels. The Word spreads on the wind but it takes root on the roads.

This is what we give ourselves to, this vascularisation of gospel, of gnosis.

Message is nothing without conduit.

We are not disparaged. To mock, to deem our sacrifice redundant or the product of mental whimsy, is sacrilege and extremely punishable. But it cannot be helped that we are considered mad and that the workers are discomfited by us. This is acceptable, encouraged, and of no concern to us. It is not contemptuous to say that we simply understand the purpose of our church better than them. We are impetus to our city, guarantors of prosperity and stability. We enforce a mindset that bars cessation no matter how tough the wilderness, how redoubtable the natives. The parts of us we give, interred by the road, are to the city as the loss of a popular soldier is to a unit: a fierce stimulant for victory.

We are broken and misfit-bodied creatures but our citizens, these workers, with all their limbs and their strength, who wish they couldn’t even look at us, understand that they exist in our wake. That we are their progress.

Sudden quiet and I nearly vomit. The digger has finished.

We move together, three wide and two deep: an ungainly, staccato last march. For this great new trail I have given my right leg up to my thigh and my left foot above my ankle (the reasoning of our varied reductions remains nebulous, aloof. Our surrender to faith.). I am upright thanks to crutches and a dilettante prosthetic glued crudely to my bloodied stump in a night of agony, sanctified alcohol and blackouts. Some of my fellows have given more. But it was worthy. This is worthy, and that is all anyone can wish their lives to be.

We circle the freshly dug pit. Our grave.

The Church of Industrial Affirmation must live on, must flourish.

Fuck I’m scared.

But we live on, too; the augurs see to it. We shall be documented. One has travelled with us, a sign of the road’s importance and an honorific beyond our expectation. He has become our biographer, our pamphleteer. Our own conduit.

He will take pictures, one of each of us before we die, to be taken home for posterity, for reverence. For advertising.

We live on!

But it is a long way back to the city. There are dangers, thieves and brigandry. I look back down the road, seeing it snake to the horizon. Such distance feels treacherous.

Please, augur, please make it home. Please let them know.

Please don’t let us become just six pictures found on a camera by the side of the road.

Capture

(650 wds)

... didn't realize this was public.

post'd in other thread.

The Five That Followed

Oooooooooookay.

That's it, I'm closing this (albeit a little late).

Judges, have at it - You have a week.
Any issues, PM me.