All for Maggie…

 

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This has to be, hands down, my favorite black & white shot.

 

The SQO and I were out walking the tracks on a spring afternoon.  Why?  ‘Cause it was something to do…a way to leave the 4 apartment walls behind, and amuse my photography muse.

Actually, I think there was a bit more to it.  He might have been looking for a new backdrop for photos of the band.  He might have seen the photos I took of the graffiti in that area.  He might have even been just ‘in the mood’ for a walk.

Anyway….

 

I do remember taking a bunch of shots.  Somewhere in that photo session, I inadvertently set the camera to greyscale, and squeezed off – among other things – this shot.  When I got it off the camera?

 

Yea…shocked…but very, very pleased.

 

This shot has gone all the way to Amazon.  It’s the cover for the SQO’s book:

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Flash Fiction – Shades of Grey

Rose lineup Flash FictionAnother Friday – another Flash Fiction piece posted over on Flash! Friday.

I had fun with this one (well, OK, I have fun with all of them :D) – the photo prompt was a black & white picture of a black kid hugging an electrical panel while looking at the busy shopping avenue laid out before him.

magician's taleSeveral years ago, I read a book called The Magician’s Tale.  The character we follow is a photographer who is completely color blind – she sees only in values of black and white.  The story was powerful, and one thing the author did to remind his readers of her affliction was have her ruminate periodically over her inability to see in a normal human spectrum.

So this week, with David Hunt’s book surfacing from the mire that passes for my mind, I wrote this week’s flash fiction entry entirely in black and white.

Enjoy!

 

Shades of Gray

160 words

The pearly-white beetle whistles a merry tune down the slate-colored street, chirping at the enormous silvery bus spewing leaden exhaust as it labors with its belly-full of passengers.  Ladies parade across the granite avenues between street and shop, wearing brilliant ivory suits, clutching frosted alabaster bags straining at their seams.

I cower, my terrified breath ravaging my throat.  I do not belong here.

Yesterday, I fled into the raven twilight – choosing the uncertainty of ebony and onyx star speckled skies for my bedroom ceiling, instead of the resolute beating promised in mother’s alcohol-poisoned eyes.  The reek of cheap spirits and cheaper perfume preceded her down the sooty, cracked plaster hall, her face the obsidian color of guaranteed violence.

Flight, rather than clenched knuckles forcefully sending blossoms of bisque, bone and cream fireworks to explode behind my eyelids, was my hasty decision.

But now, alone in this big, monochrome world, I’m wondering – where do I go when I’ve run from home?