1 - fingers
09/30/08 • -1 min
It is only after I have been at my new flat for some months that I begin to receive mail other than bills and offers to enter prize draws. One of my first personal envelopes contains a scrawled message from an old acquaintance with whom I was friendly many years ago. I am distressed to read that my friend is deeply unhappy, and I am disturbed further to read that if he receives no reply to the letter I hold in my hands he will feel compelled to chop off one of his fingers with a kitchen knife. Days pass, full of inconsequential incidents: until a small parcel arrives. The postmark indicates that it is from my friend. With trepidation I open it.
Underneath the brown wrapping paper is a little box which bears the return address of my friend. There is also a stamp on the box, but other than this the package proves to be empty. I open up the box, but the space within is likewise vacant. A sense of relief floods briefly through me, and my days once more assume a comfortable aspect.
One week later, another identical parcel arrives. It too is empty, and I insist to myself that I will write to my friend. Time drifts past, and eventually I have ten empty parcels. It is on a Friday that I realize what I have to do.
With what I feel is admi...
It is only after I have been at my new flat for some months that I begin to receive mail other than bills and offers to enter prize draws. One of my first personal envelopes contains a scrawled message from an old acquaintance with whom I was friendly many years ago. I am distressed to read that my friend is deeply unhappy, and I am disturbed further to read that if he receives no reply to the letter I hold in my hands he will feel compelled to chop off one of his fingers with a kitchen knife. Days pass, full of inconsequential incidents: until a small parcel arrives. The postmark indicates that it is from my friend. With trepidation I open it.
Underneath the brown wrapping paper is a little box which bears the return address of my friend. There is also a stamp on the box, but other than this the package proves to be empty. I open up the box, but the space within is likewise vacant. A sense of relief floods briefly through me, and my days once more assume a comfortable aspect.
One week later, another identical parcel arrives. It too is empty, and I insist to myself that I will write to my friend. Time drifts past, and eventually I have ten empty parcels. It is on a Friday that I realize what I have to do.
With what I feel is admi...
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2 - photograph
On a calm afternoon, Kristine deftly made her way through the woods. Camera strap over her shoulder, she navigated through the dry brushery that crunched in time with her step. In only a few days, the school year would begin again. Kristine still had at least a year's workload ahead of her until graduation, but her mind was occupied with a more distant achievement. A scholarship for photography at Queens U. Hell bent on fleshing out her portfolio, she used the opportunity of her parent's last outing of the summer to venture into the woods to photograph wildlife. Wanting to ascertain a true variety of shots, Kristine resolved to spend the night in the forest.
After hours of kneeling silently by a toppled oak watching a monarch butterfly and waiting for it to take flight, after perpetual ages of leaning over a boulder trying to flawlessly capture a turtle basking in the sun, she retired to a small clearing to erect her pup tent. Meaning to only rest until true night set upon her, she set her watch to wake her at
The beep...
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