Friday, March 2, 2012

Theme 9 - Photographs

From @textuallyhorny : She was busy breast-feeding the infant on a roadside pavement amidst a pile of debris and chaos. Dark, pale, fragile, semi-clothed, held the puddle of innocence close to her supple bosom, unaware of the click and flash. A magnificient moment, a captivating composition. The artist raked millions with the photograph. She never came to know.

From @nelsonnium : He looked at the photo he’d won countless awards for. A starving child crawling slowly in the mud, a vulture watching closely, ready to claw in at any sign of death. He remembered taking the snap, shooing the vulture, and walking away without looking back.

From @Freelosopher : He’d been a photographer at the homicide department since thirteen years. Holidays were rare. When he got a long weekend this time, he gladly took off with his family."Daddy! daddy! I want a picture with mommy!”, his daughter insisted. Looking through the lens at his world, his eyes welled up. This was a rare sight for him.

From @akshayabansal : Her moist eyes and wrinkled hands, a beaming smile erupted as she lovingly glanced; memories of the yore filled the room as myriad photographs arose from a trance. Their eager eyes and tender hands, mischievous smiles and innocent plans. This is the day she longed to see; to share her memories with posterity.

From @Oven_Tikka : She was a vision in white, young and shy, standing next to her proud and handsome husband. Behind them, on the church steps, crowded family and friends, the air thick with pink flower petals and confetti. It was the happiest day of her life. Now it was a black and white memory on her wall.

From @Catpricious : "Shh!" said a voice. "Calm down, it's not like Walburga's ghost will tell us off", a second voice sniggered. She shrieked indignantly pulling down the curtain. The terrified faces turned to look at the screaming photograph before running out the door. Weekends always attracted curious teenagers. Not on her watch. Toujours pur, till the end.

From @ChhotaRecharge : Their love story started with a follow, flourished in DM’s and beautified the TL. 2 years of togetherness and one fine day…he disappeared; No call, no account. She knew he’ll be back, *publicity stunt* she thought. She waited. A month later… a mention….“Twitpic or it didn’t happen” is the last we heard from her.

From @TheBigDowg : Small. Large. Colorful. Dull. Lonesome. Congested. Happy. Sad. Old. And new. All look the same. I have grown older, but the pain still remains. I wish it were simple. People smile at me, only to laugh behind my back. Someday, I will learn. I will learn to smile for the camera. Photographs, I hate you!

From @SpinAndSwirl : Come, let me show you my treasure trove. It's made up of a million little sparkles. I have nuggets, chains, strings, statues and more. Boxes of wealth. Collections of memories. Each item a testament to joy, success, love. Come, I will show you. Gold, did you ask? No dear, I’m simply talking about my photographs.

From @Goddamittt : Struggle, always a part of his life. Getting through to Armed-Forces with a weak lung. Marrying against his parents' wishes. In an abyss, he lay down, staring away, at what he had in his hand, a photograph of his love.
Finally at peace, a smile on his face & four gunshots to his chest.

From @iBeingMe : With each sunset, I visit places where I first held your hands, that is where you told me what you feel about me. There is where our reality was, there is where us existed. The reality today is I go there with your photograph so you can keep your promise of living together. Forever.

From @gauravjagwani : I looked at her. Took out my favourite pencil and outlined that almost perfect body. She smiled. I continued. I lit a cigarette as she shut her eyes. I wondered how I could replicate her perfectly. And then, it struck me. I stubbed the cigarette, let out a puff and picked the ignored camera up.

From @nimue_ : She got rid of the letters and the gifts the day she met a prospective groom for the first time. Later one night, she found the only photograph of his, hidden in her favorite book. His smile looked different , heart broken almost. She realized he wanted her to wait. And she did. All her life.

From @vivekisms : It lay on the mantle. The perfect smiling family. Father, mother, and their three children. On a bright sunny day overlooking the lake. The new owner threw the picture away. He did not want remnants of a family that died by committing mass-suicide haunting his wife and children. The photograph was in the garbage now.

From @IndianIdle : All three of them smiled. Their eyes were having a reflection of the joyful, nonchalant life. It all changed with the ticks of the clock. Still their desk bore a copy of me, each. I have trapped their best moments inside me. I am their tear of joy. I am the most precious memory.

From @mizarcle : Valentine's day. They gathered around the centre. I followed the friend who had brought me there. She spoke. I was drunk. Everyone poured their drink in the bin. A fire was lit. One by one, they put in a piece of paper. A photograph. I did too. I let go of your picture. But memories?

From @peckishminx : She walks down a deserted lane; eyes soulless, cheeks dried up from the tears that she cried as she clutches onto something towards her chest dearly. In her lost state of mind, she bumps into a rather large man and drops what she's been holding onto and out spill photographs, of her dead 3yr old.

From @violinraindrops : How precious does it feel to own a camera once owned by someone else? I often wonder if I have been able to do justice to his imagination. What did he see through the viewfinder? Do I see what he did? This beautiful photograph. It’s a different kind of love.

From @thegodlet : Heartbroken, I cowered in the arms of a corner, where the dim light a lone bulb valiantly attempted to infuse into the dark room failed to reach. A black and white photograph, dripping wet, clipped on the line. You and her. Her and you. Together, being what we are. Or what I thought we were.

From @thehumerus : “Shireen, where is the cover?” “Shireen! Can you hear me?” When will this girl learn not to play with my things? “Shireen!” Farhad stormed out, and was about to yell at Shireen, when he saw the newly-born kittens huddling under their mother, and Shireen sitting there, with the camera.

From @_PWN : New Folder(4). New Folder(4). That folder name stared at her. Dared her. Challenged her. To delete it. Ha! She could not. She could never bring herself to do it. She never could and she never will. That folder, the photographs in it, those digital memories... they were all that was left of him. Of them.

From @themodestninja : A click is all it takes. For a bomb or for a bullet. For a pen or for a camera. One click. He froze at the sight before him. It'd make a masterpiece! But he couldn't find a camera. Fuck! He closed his eyes in frustration - a picture from the best camera in the world.

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