Every picture tells a story... Writerly.

[SweetWitch]

There's a painting that I saw on the internet. I often use the pic as my AV, as I'm doing now. This picture tells a story and it would be interesting to see how the story differs from person to person.

Here we have a woman, standing in the beam of a single lamp on a dark night. She could be standing on a balcony or in a doorway. She's smoking a cigarette, looking off in the distance, clad only in a black silk shift as she leans against a wall.

Borrowing from a recent post by rgraham666, there are a lot of questions surrounding this picture. Who is she? Why is she standing there? What is she looking at? It must be a warm night, right? She’s barely dressed with her hair pinned away from her neck. Why does she look so empty? What happened to her?

This is an experiment. We could write a collective story as an exercise. Here’s how it goes: Each person posts no more than one or two lines in the sequence of the plot that starts from a picture and an opening sentence. Let’s see what happens.

Once this story goes stale, someone else can post a new picture and we start anew.

Let's give it a try. Here's the pic:

http://i252.photobucket.com/albums/hh34/Molly_Wens/third/2539535481.jpg

And here's the first line:

He's always gone before morning.

 

[Darkniciad]

I suppose it's better that way, though I wish it could be more.

( Can be switched to third if everyone feels it's better that way )

 

[Zeb_Carter]

I just wonder where he is now? Is he with her?

 

[fieryjen]

Maybe it's better that I don't know.

 

[Zeb_Carter]

But I could love him more if he would just stick around for awhile.

 

[glynndah]

He thinks I don't know where he goes, but I do. Oh, I do.

 

[TE999]

What is it about men that they seek the taboo, the forbidden, what society condemns?

 

[Tricialen]

I want to hate him but I know that I'll be back in his arms.

 

[Sluggy2975]

.....

 

[lesbiaphrodite]

Most of the time, I wish I had never met him; but, I cannot stop this craving for him.

 

[SweetWitch]

I tell myself, No more, but when I see him, when I feel his touch, all vows are forgotten. I'm weak.

 

[dr_mabeuse]

I wonder if he remembered to leave the money on the table?

 

[lesbiaphrodite]

It was a game we often played together; he would leave money behind to further humiliate me after a night during which he made me his slave.

 

[dr_mabeuse]

It was a game we often played together; he would leave money behind to further humiliate me after a night during which he made me his slave.

If he only knew what I really did with his money, what would he think of me?

 

[jomar]

He can never find out, or he would leave me, and I couldn't bear that.

 

[The_Fool]

It's him that I crave, but it's her that completes me.

 

[lesbiaphrodite]

Trying to be loyal to two lovers is exhausting work.

 

[dr_mabeuse]

To him I'm his slave, to her I'm her mistress. And now on the island they're certain to meet.

On top of all that, I really have to find an ashtray.

 

[lesbiaphrodite]

I need one ashtray to keep out for people to use and one to hide.

 

[dr_mabeuse]

I need one ashtray to keep out for people to use and one to hide.

If he ever saw her lipstick on the cigarettes, he might remember her, might remember how he loved her more than he loved me. That's something she must never know.

Meanwhile she serves me and I have my revenge.

 

[jeninflorida]

one artist that I really like is Jack Vettriano, he has some things that gets my mind thinking

There's a painting that I saw on the internet. I often use the pic as my AV, as I'm doing now. This picture tells a story and it would be interesting to see how the story differs from person to person.

Here we have a woman, standing in the beam of a single lamp on a dark night. She could be standing on a balcony or in a doorway. She's smoking a cigarette, looking off in the distance, clad only in a black silk shift as she leans against a wall.

Borrowing from a recent post by rgraham666, there are a lot of questions surrounding this picture. Who is she? Why is she standing there? What is she looking at? It must be a warm night, right? She’s barely dressed with her hair pinned away from her neck. Why does she look so empty? What happened to her?

This is an experiment. We could write a collective story as an exercise. Here’s how it goes: Each person posts no more than one or two lines in the sequence of the plot that starts from a picture and an opening sentence. Let’s see what happens.

Once this story goes stale, someone else can post a new picture and we start anew.

Let's give it a try. Here's the pic:

http://i252.photobucket.com/albums/hh34/Molly_Wens/third/2539535481.jpg

And here's the first line:

He's always gone before morning.

 

[christabelll]

But thats a problem, this revenge. If served who will pay the price? Her? Him? The questions did little to ease the aching hollow in her chest, where once - once - they had both resided with out pain.

 

[jomar]

It began to drizzle. She didn't move inside, her black silk shift becoming sheer and clinging to her skin. As she tried to light another cigarette, she heard the plaintive wail of a distant coyote.

 

[JackLuis]

She wonderd, "Is it him out there in the dark calling to her?" She lit her last cigarette and crumpled the pack thinking,"That bitch!"

 

[jomar]

She brushed a strand of wet hair off her face and thought, Enough is enough! Now, where did I put that pistol?