The Weekly Photo

A Simple Photographical, Fictional, Experiment

Posts tagged san francisco

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Twenty-Three

Twenty-Three

I am jostled from sleep and spread thin, as I am lifted to the edge of a deep well. I am trapped, secured, immobile.

All at once a flash of light and the cool, open air wrap around me. The sky spans boundlessly above in all directions. I am twisted and flipped, disoriented, and then jarred to a halt, suspended in mid-air, transparent and vulnerable.

An immeasurable blast of heat presses hard against my face, stretching me in every aspect, threatening to undo me. Every fiber of my being strains to keep hold of the bonds that define my existence.

The relentless gust continues and molds me, my shape now distorted, expanded, and ready to burst. I am filled by it, and helpless to it’s force; I begin to tear at the edges as it builds intensity.

I can hold onto my life no longer. I open my grasp and give way to the wind, releasing myself to its will. It follows through, knocking me out of my perch to fall to earth. I close my eyes and wait for the sharp stab of death to pierce me.

A moment of eternity passes. Suddenly it seems I am lifted on a new breeze, floating weightless above celebratory cheers. Streams of laughter emit from nearby and I open my eyes to the sun, flying higher and faster than before.

Rays of light play on my newly shapen surface, creating patterns and waves of color and glinting with the joy of summer. Hosts of smiling faces carousel below me as I twirl and pass into the sky. I am born anew.


Filed under blows boy bubble bubbles man san francisco

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Twenty

Twenty

She neglected the letter opener and rushed to unseal the envelope, tearing the short edge off anxiously. Her eyes scanned quickly for the words she hoped to read. At first run-through, “accepted” was nowhere to be found.

Surely it’s there. She just missed it, right? A second glance at the first paragraph coldly confirmed her fears. This was a rejection notice, not a letter of acceptance.

Frustrated, she grabbed her keys from the hall table and left the house immediately, needing some fresh air and a place to sit and think. Taking off toward the shoreline park, her mind raced. How could they not want her? Weren’t her scores high enough? How many applicants did they accept?

Two blocks down, and she was already tired of thinking. The cut-through to the wharf caught her eye. Maybe the hustle of passers-by and tourists would be a better diversion than the park. She skipped over the first souvenir t-shirt shop and convenience store and entered the fish market on the left side of the boulevard.

She moved quickly through the stands of sea creatures amidst a cloud of consumers and workers in dirtied aprons. Dozens of fish eyes stared without shame and followed as she passed, opposing her clarity of thought. Her feet travelled faster past the next few booths to escape paranoia, then stopped suddenly in front of a table of colorful crustaceans.

A mountain of crabs stood before her. They were laid carefully in stacks and rows and covered in ice, waiting for nothing now but to be inspected, sold, and cooked. Her mind flashed to the bottom of the ocean, and she wondered what it was like down there, covered in deep darkness. She wondered if the crabs knew how she felt: cold, alone, scrutinized, judged.

The sign read “SALE! 50% off - $11”. She reached into her purse, pulling out a twenty and two ones. “I’ll take that one,” she pointed. “At the bottom in the middle column.” She held out the three crisp bills as the attendant wrapped up her selection. He traded, then went to the cash register, looking quizzically at the two singles.

“Keep the change,” she said, and moved on.


Filed under crab san francisco ice shellfish crustacean