Tag Archives: #writephoto

Serenity #writephoto

Photo by Sue Vincent

It was one of those blue days.  The sky hung low, the clouds wafted off of the perfectly smooth ocean, half masking the ghost of a sun.

It fitted Matt’s mood perfectly. Yes, calm, almost serene, yet blue.

Why do people have to die? And young people who have done no wrong?  Why?

His eye cast down; he kicked a stone.

“What’s this?”

The glint mixed in with the pebbles on the beach seemed to more than reflect the outward light, it glowed on its own. Continue reading

Token #writephoto

Photo by Sue Vincent

Edna sat down at her favorite bench, giving silent thanks that it was open.  She had seen it occupied at other times of the day, but it was always open for her late morning breakfast and had been for years.

How long had it been?

She thought back.  She had started to come down to the park the year after Ed died.  Let’s see, that was in ’98.  And it was two years later that she settled on that one bench.

So there it was, 18 years of sitting there with her lunch every day.

She spread some crusts out, as always, before getting up and doing her the bit of walking she did every day.

There were a few paths that curved around the lovely garden that she loved to take.  Her favorite, though, went through a little hidden grotto.  Not a cave, just a little nook in the wall.

But what a magical place! Continue reading

Crescent #writephoto

crescent-moon

Photo by Sue Vincent

“Hey boy, get me that crescent wrench.  The middle sized one, now, ya hear, boy?”

“I’ve got a name,” Mark grumbled to himself as he dug through the pile of greasy tools trying to figure out which wrench was the “middle sized one”.

As Mark compared seven different wrenches, he inwardly cringed.  Dad would mangle the car and make it worse.  No use telling him that he needed the right tool, and that the crescent wrench, even the exact one he wanted, wasn’t right.  He’d heard it before. Continue reading

Clouded #writephoto

Photo by Sue Vincent

This is a continuation of a story I wrote last year, Rift.

Everything had seemed so simple!  Jeg had received word from Ashna herself, queen of the godlike Atonee, that he was the key.  All he had to do was go back and mend the rift with Dalph and all would be good between their peoples.

Well, she didn’t say it quite like that.  And healing the wounds between himself and the beautiful Iniyan princess would not be easy by any stretch.  And that was the least of his worries.

Jeg’s mind clouded over. Continue reading

Fantasy #writephoto

fantasy

Photo by Sue Vincent

“How have you been doing during the lockdown?”

“Not bad, not bad.  It’s a good thing we are all readers!”

“Even Chad?  I can’t picture a 17-year-old being content to reading all day.”

“Oh, yes, he happily stays locked in his room, book in hand.”

“Really.  What does he read?”

“Fantasy, I think.”

“Fantasy? A modern 17-year-old boy?”

“Yes.  When I was a kid, I couldn’t put down a book if there were dwarves or elves in it.  Anything even slightly medieval and magical, from Merlin’s Britain to Prydain to Middle Earth to Earthsea, I read them all.  I think Chad is really into it, which is great, though I have to say, I haven’t heard of any of these modern authors.”

“Hmmm.  Have you read any of the books, these so called fantasies of his?”

“Well, no, but I’m sure he said ‘Fantasy’, so I know I’m safe. Here, he accidentally left this downstairs.  I’ll open it randomly and show you by reading a few lines.”

“Fine.”

“Let’s see, page 82, ‘Claudio continued to climb the steps of the castle’s tower, gaining strength with each footfall. He could make out the lush, fertile valley through the occasional window, the moist dew dripping off of the wine-yielding grape vines, and the rounded, forest covered hills just a little farther from the little villa. A mist played over the forbidding lake, though not enough to cover the sensual curve of  Maiden’s Isle.’  Sounds right.  I like the name Claudio.”

“It sounds Italian, not Middle Earth… And some of the language, uhm.  Continue reading.”

“OK, where was I?  ‘Heart pounding in his chest like a war drum, Claudio finally arrived on the top floor. A window stood open allowing the fragrant breeze to tousle his long, chestnut hair, though it did little to cool his sinewy, pulsating muscles. The one door at the top of the tower was closed. Claudio took a confident step towards the closed door, walking like a well oiled machine. It was locked.  He flung himself into it, shoulder first. Nothing.  He took two more steps back, and readied himself for the onslaught, every muscle of his strong, masculine body tensing. But then, a soft word was heard from within, and the door silently slid open with a whiff of perfume.  He didn’t know what destiny had in store for him, yet the feminine scent portended good fortune.  He stopped just inside of the doorway, his rock-hard muscles glistening in the sweat of his effort. Princess Morgan was on the bed, covered only in a translucent silk. He could see the naked form of her body, guess at the treasures hidden beneath. Princess Morgan waved a hand, inviting the daring knight forward. Her hungry eyes devoured him. “Quick, Claudio, before they find you,” she said in a husky voice. He took three large steps towards the bed, shedding his leather armor and armament as he strode towards the princess.  “Yes, my lady.” She smiled and threw the sheet off, revealing her ivory skin.  Claudio feasted his eyes in delight on the soft curves. He raised his weapon of love as his gaze landed on her uncovered…’ Chad! Get you butt down here now!! And I mean now, Mister! Move it!”

“Yep, just what I thought, a fantasy.  Got to go. Bye!”

***

This was written for Sue Vincent’s writephoto challenge.  The photo at the top is Sue’s and she gave a key word, Fantasy.

Worn #writephoto

Photo by Sue Vincent

Through the stiff rhythms and the sprinkling of wrong notes, the tune stood out.  It wasn’t quite right, but it was very recognizable.

But then that last chord, F-A-B, instead of F-A-C, rung out in all of its wrongness.

Timmy slammed his fists down on the keyboard.

“I hate playing the piano!  I’m no good and never will be! I hate it!”

He scrunched over, his arms crossed, his lemon-kissed face showing its displeasure.

Mt. Roberts shook his head.

“Well, Timmy, with that attitude maybe you won’t, yet I can hear a subtle improvement since last time I was here.  You need to try again.”

“Don’t want to.”

“Why not?” Continue reading

Darkness #writephoto

dark-clouds-on-a-sunny-day-darkness

Photo by Sue Vincent

A cosmic switch went from “on” to “off” and the darkness followed.

Of course it didn’t feel that way to the people living at the time.  To them, the race to the end was an imperceptible crawl. The Final Event, the “switch”, had been decades in the making and many years in the execution.  Even after the “switch”, the light still hung on for decades and the people were deluded into thinking all was fine as they slowly died out.

But to the planet Earth itself, the span of a few human lifetimes was as nothing, less than a cosmic blink of the eye.

The remaining crew of the spaceship Endeavor, having aged less than five years in the over three centuries of travel at close to the speed of light, looked over the barren landscape of what was once home. Continue reading

Shimmer #writephoto

Photo by Sue Vincent

Spiff watched the clock-slaved workings of the tides.  He stared fascinated as the shimmering water rushed over the land.  He had seen it all before, but the speed still took him by surprise.

Once again, as it had every other day, a strangely shaped figure approached just in front of the water’s edge.  He waved as always, but the figure ignored him.

Ignoring the figure in turn, Spiff set his focus past where the tides had shredded his ship as it pushed it against the rocks, and out towards the horizon.

The sky began to shimmer orange and yellow.  It wasn’t a strong effect, more like a mist, at least at first.

But then, as the star left full noon and began to set in the west, the form of the gas giant, filling the entire east side of the sky was visible beyond the blue atmosphere.

After watching the huge planet grow more distinct for a few minutes, Spiff turned to go back to his makeshift camp.  He had to hurry to beat the water, which, pulled by the immense planet, rose over a hundred meters at every tide, before receding back down, many, many kilometers away.

“Wait!”

The odd figure advanced past the onrushing water and strode up to Spiff.

“Perhaps I can help get you home.”

The sea shimmered read and gold as Spiff’s starship rose above the surging ocean.

Spiff climbed up the ramp just as the water reached him.

As the door closed, he heard the creature say, “Next time you stop for a visit, be more careful where you park!”

***

If Spaceman Spiff” doesn’t sound familiar, maybe it should…  It was Calvin’s alter-ego in some of his best fantasies (comic strip Calvin and Hobbes)  Spaceman Spiff was either crashing his spaceship on distant exotic worlds or being captured by aliens.  Occasionally, the alien would turn out to be his mom, and actually help him (it was humiliating enough to be rescued by the alien without that kiss on the cheek!)   For some reason, every time I looked at the photo, I saw the huge gas giant in the sky, back beyond the clouds, and can hardly believe it isn’t there!  So I wrote it in…

***

This was written for Sue Vincent’s writephoto weekly challenge.  She provided the photo at the top, as well as the key word, “shimmer”.

Vista #writephoto

vista

Photo by Sue Vincent

Looking down, all I can see are the chalk lines of my life.  There is a path of memory behind, and I can make out that there might be a path cut into the Earth ahead, but what does it mean?  An ant on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel will have more idea of the design than I.

But then, perhaps, I am more like Michelangelo, flat on his back, quickly applying the pigment to the chalk-white plaster as it dries all too quick.  Each stroke of the brush took into account all of the others, even if they were impossible to see.

But then, he knew where he was going, didn’t he?  Do I?

Perhaps it isn’t important to see this chalk drawing of life in its entirety.  Perhaps it is better to look out and search for the distant sea.  Perhaps it is best to understand the setting.  Perhaps it is better to drink in the fragrant summer air and enjoy the view.

Perhaps it is about the vista, not the ground below my feet.

Perhaps I need to look up, not down.

Perhaps.

***

Written for Sue Vincent’s writephoto challenge.  The photo at the top is her photo-prompt.  She also provided the key word “Vista”.

Dream #writephoto

dream

Photo by Sue Vincent

I walk down the lavender path
Under rose petal skies
Scents of lilac and cinnamon
Permeate the clear ether
Each step in the heather
A
nd the heath
Peels away a century

Each step reawakens a memory
Present and past collide with…

“What in the world are you talking about?”

“You asked me about my dream, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, but this sounds like an acid trip turned to song. “Picture yourself in a boat” and all…”

“Well, perhaps an acid trip is a type of waking dream.”

“Right.”

“Anyway, the dream is simple.  Everything is vibrating, from the quarks and leptons to galaxy clusters.  We all have our own frequency with our own harmonic spectrum above it.  Sometimes we find ourselves in harmony with someone else.  Love. Or something else. Belonging. Or sometime else…”

“I was right, an acid trip.”

“A dream. And I found my harmony as I walked down the lavender path under the rose petal skies.  The scents of lilac and cinnamon permeated the clear ether.  Each step…”

“Oh, never mind.”

***

This was written for Sue Vincent’s writephoto challenge.  The photo at the top was taken and provided by Sue, as was the key word, “Dream“.