Tell me a story (4)…

Happy Monday.  The weekend was too short.  I’m grumpy.  Hence the moody picture for this week’s picture story.  Write me some words and maybe I’ll feel better.  As always, comment with your story, poem, jib, whatever…  And check out last week if you haven’t already.  I like my story.  Is that narcissistic?  Ok, I’m word vomiting now.  Go on with your business.

Have a picture that you think would make an interesting story? Email me: sociableink@gmail.com

P.S. Anyone recognize the model?

Advertisements

7 thoughts on “Tell me a story (4)…

  1. After all the Hallmark moments of Suzy’s too-short life and prom arose in her mind’s eye, she thought to herself: I wish I had D.A.R.E.’d to be drug free…

    • Would you like it back? I mean it’s been on your sister’s corpse now, but it’s cool. I mean, If that’s what’s important to you I’m sure arrangements can be made. I wanted to be buried in it, but ok.

      • No…I just thought it was an interesting story in one line. Why would she think that? Is it b/c her sister killed her or is it b/c she loves her sister so much her last thought was of her fabulous sibling.

  2. Many years have passed since I’ve allowed my mind to reflect upon that fateful day. Now, fixating my tired eyes on that aged photograph, I can’t help but feel the same chaotic fluttering of emotion that I experienced so vividly that afternoon. It’s funny how time can mask repressed emotions and deceive you into thinking that maybe, just maybe, it never happened at all…
    It was a Sunday, if I remember correctly. There was a nice, cool breeze and a few wispy clouds stretched across the sky in a feeble attempt to block out the morning sun. Even now, I can’t help but daydream of how stunning she was in that blue, polka-dot dress. We spent the morning hours concocting banana pancakes while discussing philosophy, life, and our philosophies on life. Despite my best efforts, I struggled to concentrate on her words as I battled my nerves into submission. That day, four years after our eyes first met, I would ask for her hand in marriage.
    As the sun rose higher and the temperature swelled, we lounged by the pool sipping frozen margaritas and reminiscing of previous vacations. You see, this quaint beachside condominium had become our annual home away from home. After some time and an adequate dose of liquid courage, I decided it was indeed the right moment to pop the question. My cue was one of her particularly coy smiles. God, I still miss them as I am writing this now…
    She watched with great surprise as I lowered myself to one knee and professed my love as beautifully as I could. I still feel better believing I spoke eloquently, despite my usual fumbling with words. Waiting patiently and hopefully, I watched as her countenance shifted from utter shock to tearful joy. Watching her mouth echo the affirmative response I had hoped for, I felt a wave of happiness flow through my body like no feeling I’ve had before or, sadly, since.
    Smiling from ear to ear, I handed her a dark red rose and reached for the diamond ring nestled in my pocket. However, just at that moment, I heard, for the first time, a sound that would wake me from every nightmare I’ve suffered since. As the shot rang out and reverberated down the quiet coast, I saw a man on the balcony above us scramble to get out of sight. I had seen his face before, but couldn’t quite place it with a name. It pains me too much to go into much more detail, but as my love fell lifelessly into the nearby pool, it became all too obvious who was to blame. You see, I had confessed that I was going to propose in a discussion with her best friend just days before. This had apparently, and quickly, traveled through the grapevine to her ex-boyfriend. Discounting the recent incessant phone calls and angry text messages as his typical jealous and aggressive nature, she quelled my worries and told me it was “no big deal.”
    As I sobbed uncontrollably, my tears streamed into the water where she had drawn her last breath. Within minutes, the police and emergency crews had pronounced her dead at the scene. I screamed and cried in anger, sadness, and panic. How could it be that the one with whom I had hoped to share my life had become the only lifeless body my eyes would ever witness?
    Years later, I relived that moment for days and days in a court of law. After months of testimony, ballistic evidence, and psychological evaluations, it was decided that her killer and previous fling was not guilty by reason of insanity. At least, I thought to myself, he will never be allowed the freedom to hurt someone again. Before exiting the courtroom, I walked with my head hung low to the judge’s bench to shake his hand. Turning around, I saw one of the crime scene photographs used during trial as evidence. As morbid and macabre as it may seem, this particular image somehow managed to grant me the closure I had needed for so many sleepless nights. Slipping out of the courtroom with the photo in my breast-pocket, I felt as if I could start life anew.
    Today, my face appears older and my heart burns with a cooler flame. Wiping the sleep away from my eyes, I sat down this morning for my usual breakfast of cereal… and bourbon. Stumbling away from the lonely kitchen table, I pushed myself along deciding to finally clean out the attic as I had been planning to do for months in anticipation of my upcoming move. Under the cardboard cover of the first box I unpacked was the evidentiary photo from years ago in that stuffy courtroom. It sat covered in dust. I couldn’t help but stare at her listless body floating effortlessly in the warm water.
    As they say, a photograph is a moment frozen in time. I feel as though I have too have been frozen in that particular moment for years. Love’s spark has failed to make its way back to me. Perhaps it is karma, perhaps it is fate. Perhaps, it is simply my own stubborn nature. The only claim I can make with complete certainty is that this particular photo captured a moment that I know all too well was both the best and worst of my entire life.

    P.S. I know this is really long… I chalk that up to an incredibly boring day at work. Hope you enjoy, and I love the photo, Morgan! -Cody

    • Fuck, dude. I like it a lot. And I don’t mind if it’s long. I hope it made your day less boring! I read the comments when my word day gets boring so I know I appreciate it. 🙂

Leave some Words

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s