Scene From a Pic–Snarky Reader Style!

For those new to the Snark, you can find out all about the Scene From a Pic (SFAP) here

In brief, every month I invite you to write!

A scene, a line, a poem… take your time looking at this month’s image and share your inspiration.  Next deadline is May 15th, so you have a lot of time.  Share your work here in the comments and when it’s time for the next SFAP, I’ll post your writing along with a link to your website.  Not only is it a great way to spark creativity, but it’s an extra traffic booster.

This months pic.  Talk about moody atmosphere!  I hope to get a lot of intriguing pieces out of this one.  And I’m thinking I’ll play again this time.  

haunted-house.jpg

Now, here is the photo from last month’s SFAP!

discusses.jpg

Heather Harper from Heather Harper wrote:

The mirrored reality in between,
And sorrow for its serendipity
Alone, I sat
Seeing the black of an endless abyss
That pulled me into underworld dreams;

I should never come back…

-Not Robert Frost

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Betty S from Dishin’ the Dirt with my Friends wrote:

The center of the universe, the core of all being, the place where time began —and ends. God sat on the edge of all existence, this time in the form of a child. Time swirled around him like a crystalline river, the trees of life incrementally marking it’s passage. The image was calm and beautiful.

Yesterday he had created this spot as a green field covered with massive dancing sunflowers. But, today god felt calm, almost tired and in need of rest and a tranquil environment. It was a lonely existence, poised eternally on the edge of all that is.

God wiggled his toes beneath the flow of the cool water. “I am lonely,“ he said, speaking only to the void that had been filled with these images from his imagination. “I am lonely”. In that sacred moment he thought, I will make a world. And from his very thoughts and the mists of his words, creations appeared, and he blessed them and said that they were good.

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Kelli McBride from Kelli Blogs wrote:

The little boy flea sat at the edge of the woman’s navel. He was so tired of her incessant bathing and the fear that one day he would be unable to hang on. Dodging the stray bits of belly-button lint was bad enough, but the flea could only speculate in horror at the terror that waited down below in the Inverted Mohawk Forest. Other fleas had ventured there, but only one had returned. Nearly torn limb from limb, the dying flea had muttered incoherently of two great pounding columns that swung like counter-pendulums just below the wiry trees. But the worst monster was “The Claw” that seemed to seek out unerringly any brave flea trying to escape and would rend said flea apart with its red-tipped, razer-points of death.

The tiniest flea shuddered as he remembered the older flea’s last words to him, “Do not seek the Mohawk Forest. Only death and poisonous fumes wait you there.”

So, he sat at the edge of the navel abyss, water sluicing around him. This time when the giant sea sponge swooped upon him, he did not jump. He did not evade. He let its toxic foam encompass him. With a tiny shiver, the flea collapsed, this death surely more peaceful than the dismemberment waiting below.

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Jenn S from Jenn’s Myspace wrote:

Tyler sat alone in the middle of the street as a fog gently rolled in. Everything seemed tinted with blue, almost surreal. He picked up a rock and threw it into the curb across from him. He never had any friends that would just sit on a curb with him. All he could remember was loneliness. His parents said it was a phase and it would pass but being 9 now, he wasn’t sure anymore. He scooted towards the middle of the street, off the curb. It started to rain gently and puddles gathered around him. Tyler sighed. His mind began to wander as he imagined the puddles gathering together and start to swirl towards a bottomless hole that resembled a bathtub drain. He sat at the edge of the hole, to depressed to be afraid he’d fall into it. He looked into the darkness as the water caressed down the sides of the walls. He stared for what seemed like hours.

“Tyler! Dinner!” His thoughts were jerked back to reality by his mother’s call. He got up and walked up the driveway and to the door. He opened the door but stopped and looked back at the street and sighed. His imagination was his only friend now and forever. He disappeared inside the doorway.

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Miri from Miri’s Writing (And Occasionally Life) wrote:

There’s a hole here. Should I go down it?

It’s not a jagged hole, or a crooked hole, or even a shallow hole that I can trip into and keep running. No, this is a deep, deep hole. I can’t see the bottom of it. And the edge is perfect, round and smooth. This hole would let me slide in, nice and easy. Should I?

But I can’t see down it. Once I get past a certain point, there won’t be any light at all. Not blue winter light, or the pale light from the mist. As for sunlight? Surely not. The sun doesn’t shine into deep, deep holes.

I think maybe I should stand up and walk away. But the road fades out so soon, and even if I hold on to the trees, I won’t know when I’ve reached the last one. The trees don’t go on forever, do they? Or maybe they do, but I can’t see them.

I could even climb a tree, and maybe then I could see more, but they fade out at the top, too. Why does everything fade?

So maybe I’ll just sit here, safe in the middle of the world I can see, looking at the fading trees and the deep, dark hole. There’s nothing bad here, nothing that might come and get me. If something comes out of the mist, I can see it and run away. And as for the hole? Nothing can live in a hole like that, or climb up from it to get me. I’m safe here, safe at the edge of this deep, dark hole.

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About Rinda Elliott

Writer.I love unusual stories and credit growing up in a family of curious life-lovers who moved all over the country. Books and movies full of fantasy, science fiction and romance kept us amused, especially in some of the stranger places. For years, I tried to separate my darker side with my humorous and romantic one. I published short fiction, but things really started happening when I gave in and mixed it up. When not lost in fiction, I love making wine, collecting music, gaming and spending time with my husband and two children. I’m represented by Miriam Kriss of the Irene Goodman Agency.
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2 Responses to Scene From a Pic–Snarky Reader Style!

  1. I absolutely love the new pic. Gives me the creeps. Yay!

  2. carol says:

    “Oh come on, Dad. You don’t really expect me to stay up there do you?”
    “Barb. It’s perfect. It has all the privacy you could possibly need to work on your books, a private entrance. You could come and go as you please.”
    “It’s not even connected to the rest of the house. And, what happens to those stairs when it snows or there’s an ice storm. Besides, that door makes it look like a jail.”
    “Now your imagination is really getting hold of you. But, if you don’t want it, rent free, I know I can find someone who does.”
    He was right. What with rent anywhere near Seattle and my lack of money, it might be just what I needed.
    I started up the stairs, which seemed to extend as far in front of me as behind. After a century of climbing, I reached the top. The dark windows revealed nothing of the inside as they reflected the light back upon itself.
    Behind the bars, a wooden door with an old-fashioned iron latch waited to be opened. I pushed open the door, expecting to hear the unearthly screetch of rusty hinges, other worldly beings, but the door opened silently, as if waiting for me to complete something.It closed behind me, without help. Darkness moved in. No light from the windows made it into the room. I felt around for the door to open it. I felt nothing but smooth walls. Darkness smothered me. Panic built up, no deep breath was possible. I turned in circles feeling for the door, windows, light switches. Nothing. Dark was a blanket, a restraint, prison. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t scream or even whimper. It touched me.

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