Imagination #WritePhoto

They said he was an artist at an early age but if they thought he would be creative on paper and canvas they were wrong. He painted on walls; huge images of people that seemed to be from other times and places, alien flowers or trees, backgrounds of glass stained sunsets, water reflections and purple fields.

It was hard to know what to make of it all. Most people saw it as graffiti which was just rubbish to be washed off the walls, a few thought they were nice enough and a handful could see the visions behind the art.

 

(Inspired by; https://scvincent.com/2019/01/17/thursday-photo-prompt-imagination-writephoto/ with thanks).

 

 

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Big Art #100WW

The art competition was under way. Artists had started at first light, sketching their master pieces on the closed road. The crowds had gathered, stopping to stare, talk and point. The judges made the rounds, muttering to themselves.

Jason sat back from his grizzly bear holding a rainbow tuna. He had finished and felt, with a glance at the nearest paintings, that he was in with a good chance of winning. And what a prize! A nice payout, his paintings in the gallery and a boost to his name.

The judges came by and Jason held his breath whilst they decided.

 

(Inspired by; https://bikurgurl.com/2018/08/22/100-word-wednesday-week-85/ with thanks).

The Receptionist (Part 2)

Free stock photo of marketing, woman, apple, desk

Emily stayed behind her desk, though her body and mind were eager to get up and go. Pretending to type and look at paperwork, she kept her eyes on the door leading out. She heard the elevator, a few footsteps and passing voices before everything fell silent.

Stealing a last look around, she pulled out her tiny phone again and checked the messages. Nothing flashed on the phone. She closed it and grabbed her voice recorder instead.

‘I don’t think he’s coming back. Time to snoop around his office again. Maybe I can find out why he left,’ she whispered into the mic.

Switching it off and making sure it and the secret phone where in the small pockets of her jacket, she got up. Picking up two files that needed go on to his desk, she walked over and opened the door.

His office looked just like her work space did; spotless. The large glass desk dominated the room and the small white laptop on top was almost unnoticeable. There was a large fake green plant in the right corner next to a row of floor to ceiling windows. Thankfully, the blinds were closed. Two landscape paintings faced each other on the right and left walls, they looked old and expensive.

Emily placed the files on the desk and lifted the laptop. She turned it on with a tap of the screen, remembering seeing him do that once. She sat on his chair, feeling it cushion her back and behind straight away. She smoothed her skirt out and watched the laptop demand a password.

He fingers reached out then she paused. Of course, it would be passworded. She glanced around, pouting her lips, hoping she would spot something that would give her a clue to what the lock was. Her eyes landed on something on the floor she hadn’t noticed before.

Getting up, she walked over and picked it up. It was a napkin from a bar with a number penned on it. Wondering how it got there, she slipped it into her pocket. She walked back to the desk and the wired bin that was next to it.  Emily bent and looked through the scraps of paper and other rubbish.

If anyone comes in, just say you lost an earring, she reminded herself.

She found nothing of interested.Straightening, Emily heard the phone ringing on her desk. Sighing, she walked out and answered it.

‘It’s me. I forgot something,’ her new boss’s voice growled into her ear.

In the background, she could hear traffic and beeping car horns.

‘Oh?’ Emily answered.

‘There’s a paper file, a red one. Do you know where it is?’

‘Yes. I just put it on your desk,’ Emily gushed.

‘Get it and bring to this address,’ her boss uttered then sighed deeply.

Emily snatched up a pen and wrote it down. She nodded into the phone and said, ‘I’ll find someone to bring it to you, right now, sir.’

‘It’ll take you less time to walk there then it will to find someone! And bring my laptop too.’

The phone clicked off. Emily looked at it in her hand then placed it back down. Her mind spun, but she didn’t give it time to develop any of those thoughts. Going back into his office, she grab the red file and his laptop. She went back to her desk and slipped both into her large black fake leather handbag.

She pulled out her recorder, made a quick note then prepared to leave.

   To Be Continued…

All the Wrong Moves

Manchester Piccadilly was packed on a Saturday afternoon. How was I going to spot my date in this mass of people? I went over to the arrival boards and suddenly realised that I didn’t know which train he’d be on.

At least we had remembered to exchanged numbers. I sent him a text and tried to recall the photos of him. Was his hair black or brown? Did he have a beard? What would he be wearing?

I sent another text. No reply. Twenty minutes had gone.

Pressing my back against the cold glass of a cafe window, I realized he’d stood me up. Sighing, I started walking away. My phone beeped. A message from him; Is that you in the blue coat?

I glanced around and saw a man staring at me. He looked vaguely familiar.  As I went over, the nerves flooded back.

‘It is you then,’ he said.

‘Nick, right?’

‘Yep.’

‘It’s nice to meet you…in person.’

‘You too….I thought you were going to be a man.’

‘Huh?’

Did my photos look that bad or had he been expecting a nasty surprise?

‘This is my first internet date…I thought you might have led me on or something…I just didn’t know what to expect. Guess I prepared for the worse,’ he explained.

I frowned, ‘but you wanted to meet….’

He paused and my defensives rose. I tried to tell myself he was only being honest. We were having a bad start and it could only get better. Remain calm and stop being so self-conscious.

‘So…where did you say we were going again? I’ve never been to Manchester.’

‘To the art gallery,’ I replied.

‘It’s free, right?’

‘Yes and there’s a coffee shop.’

‘I don’t like coffee.’

‘But you like art right?’

‘Suppose.’

Fixing a smile, we walked to the exit. It was a warm day and the streets were busier than the station. I thought over our passed conversations and tried to select a subject. We didn’t have a lot in common and looking at him, he wasn’t that cute. He was avoiding me too.

About ten minutes later, I stopped. I didn’t recognise the back street we were on and I wasn’t sure that this was the right way to the gallery after all. Before I could figure it out and set off again, he spoke out, ‘I thought you knew the way.’

‘Yes, but I think we turned early…or too late…just give me a sec.’

I walked back and looked about. There were no signs. The crowd of people seemed to have thinned and there less shops here.

‘I really don’t like this,’ he muttered.

Feeling panicked, I stopped a woman and asked. Helpfully, she pointed me in the right direction. Calling to Nick, we walked on and I tried to make light of getting lost. He seemed uninterested.

Arriving at the gallery, we spent the next hour gliding through the silent rooms of paintings. When we came to one of my favourites; The Chariot Race by Alexander Von Wagner, 1882, I sat down on the bench before it. Nick followed. I pointed the painting out and begin talking in a whisper.

‘I’m going to the next room,’ he replied.

I pulled a face, which I hope he noticed.

He got up and left. I’d been wrong about things getting better. Maybe it was time to end this? It was clear things were not going well and I doubt there’d be a second date. Also, I needed the bathroom.

Getting up, I walked after him and found the room empty. Maybe he’d left already or just walked into the next one? Doing so, I found it empty too. I walked out onto the corridor and saw that the bathroom was just below. Making up my mind, I headed downstairs and into the toilets.

Just as I’d sat down, my phone rung. Digging out, I saw he was calling. I answered and my phone cut out. There was no signal. As I put the phone down it rang again, but the second I picked it up it stopped. Sensing that he’d keep trying, I hurried up and walked out.

He called another three times, before I was able to phone him and actually get through.

‘Where are you?’ he demanded.

‘I had to go to the bathroom. Are you still upstairs?’

‘Yes.’

‘Okay, I’ll be right there.’

I turned and saw him coming down the stairs.

‘Sorry. Do you want to go for a drink?’ I asked.

‘No…can we…can you take me back to the station?’

‘Sure. It’s not really worked out, has it?’

‘Guess not. You seem nice, but to be honest with you, I don’t think I’m ready for a relationship.’

‘I agree.’