Guitar Boy

Make my heart flutter about oh guitar boy 
Let me breath in the music of your mastered toy 
Strum and pluck those harmonious metal laces of yours 
And make your hushed voice my life source 

When I hear you sing, it's like the first time 
Listening to you puts me on a high, so sublime 
I feel weak in the knees, I get butterflies 
You have me hypnotized, have me heaving a hundred sighs 

Your song reverberates within me, rocking my core 
You're like vodka, so intoxicating, you keep me asking for more 
You got me delusional, like you got me on meth 
So keep your sweet melody going until I am out of breath 

Oh guitar boy, my sweet guitar boy, what is it that you have? 
What is it with you that I crave? What is it with you that I love? 
Is it your voice so angelic it makes the Furies weep? 
Or is it your gentle strumming melody that lulls my world to sleep?



~p.s.b.

The Girl with the Magic Camera

WRITING PROMPT: If the title of the story is "The girl with a magical camera", what is the story about? Who is the girl? Where does the camera come from? Write your story.

~O~O~O~

Part Five

Deeta sat in utter disbelief. She stared at the picture while her hand shook. 'There's more to this camera than empty films.' she thought. 'Does it capture picture from mere memory?' The picture flapped as the wind blew, snatching the picture from her hold. Up it flew, like a dandelion floating in the wind. She got up and ran, knocking her coffee cup to the ground. She wanted to leave it but she bent down nonetheless, her eyes still fixed on the flying photograph. Farther it flew, dancing with the wind, in the direction of the person she least likely wanted it to end up with: Mr Powell. She shot off like a rocket, determined to catch the photograph before he notices it. It was already inches from the the park bench where Mr Powell sat when she decided to lunge for it. She landed on the grass with a dull thud. It wasn't loud but it was enough to snap Mr Powell from his reverie. Deeta put the photograph inside her pocket and was dusting off the dirt from her sweater when she met his eyes. They were reddening at the edge, tears lining his eyes. Her heart dropped, guilt tugging at her chest. 'It's not right.' she thought. 'It's not fair that I have a picture of them when his heart still misses her.' She smiled at him, the friendliest that she could muster. "Good afternoon, Mr Powell." she said.

The Girl with the Magic Camera

WRITING PROMPT: If the title of the story is "The girl with a magical camera", what is the story about? Who is the girl? Where does the camera come from? Write your story.

~O~O~O~

Part Four

The sun was up and its rays were slowly making their way through her open window. But Deeta hadn't slept a wink. The camera had kept her up. She tossed and turned all night, searching her mind for any logical explanation. But she couldn't think of any. 'What was it that Sherlock said? When you have eliminated all the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth?' she thought.'What if all of the probable have been eliminated and all that's left is the impossible?' In a fit of frustration, she threw her blanket to the floor and got up. She paced the floor and, from time to time, glanced at the camera. The camera stood on her nightstand, looking at her squarely, mocking her for the answers she did not have. She jumped when she heard her mother knock on her door.

The Girl with the Magic Camera

WRITING PROMPT: If the title of the story is "The girl with a magical camera", what is the story about? Who is the girl? Where does the camera come from? Write your story.

~O~O~O~

Part Three

Deeta sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the camera on top of her dresser. The brown casing has faded but bore no scratch or marking. There were two dials at the top and a small red button on the left corner. Its lens and flash stared back at her, as if it were studying her too. 
'Who is she?' it seemed to ask. 'Who owned you?' Deeta she asked back. She checked the camera from top to bottom, there was no indication to whom the camera belonged. The chest provided no further clues either. 

The Girl with the Magic Camera

WRITING PROMPT: If the title of the story is "The girl with a magical camera", what is the story about? Who is the girl? Where does the camera come from? Write your story.

~0~0~0~

Part Two

The sun was barely up when Deeta woke up the following morning. Under the guise that she fancied a morning run, she dashed out the house. She trudged the path she took yesterday and found the shrub. She looked around to make sure no one was around. But before she could stop herself, she excitedly dug her arm into the shrub only to feel nothing but empty air. The bucket was gone. Whoever left it there had gone back and retrieved it. Deeta sighed and with a heavy heart, headed back home.

"Back so soon?" her mother asked.
"I didn't fancy running that much after all." Deeta shrugged, flopping herself on the sofa.
"Honestly dear, you can really get fickled minded from time to time." Her mother said. "Well, I'm off to meet Dad at the auction."
"Bye." she replied. "And get something nice." she called out. As soon as she heard her mother's car drive away, she switched on the television and flipped through different channels. She was not paying attention to the programs though, her mind was still stuck on the small chest. 'What a wasted opportunity.' she said to herself, remembering the the chance she passed up yesterday. Lost in thought, she did not hear the knock on the front door. Three more knocks, this time louder, and it snapped her out of her reverie. She dragged herself to door.

"Yes?" she greeted. But no one was there. "Hello?" she called out, glancing around. She had heard the other day that there were instances of neighborhood kids knocking on doors and then hiding from owners as a prank. 'Some things don't get old, I suppose.' she thought. She walked outside and checked if there were kids hiding in the porch. Then she stopped dead in her tracks. Sitting at the bottom of the porch stairs, like a taunting figure, was a bucket. With tiny steps, she made her way towards the bucket. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before looking inside. But it was empty, no small chest like she anticipated, save for a neatly folded piece of paper. Deeta picked it up. Beige and folded in three parts, her heart began to race. It was the same kind of paper taped to the small chest. She opened it.

"Good things come to those who wait."

She could feel her heart thump wildly inside her chest. It was the same handwriting as the one taped to the small chest. 'Did someone see me come back for that chest?' she thought. 'Did they follow me home?'

Panicked, she grabbed the bucket and went inside the house. She locked all the doors, barred the windows and shut the television off. Carrying the bucket with her, she went to her room and shoved the bucket under her bed. She hid under the covers and waited. She fell asleep clutching the note.

Deeta awoke hours later by the sound of her name being called.

Her mother was standing over her. "Did you sleep off the entire morning?" 

Deeta glanced at her wall clock, it was quarter past one in the afternoon. "

"I got up too early today, I guess." she replied.

Her mother shook her head in disapproval. "Well if you're wide awake now, come down and help me sort the things we got from the auction."

Deeta nodded then saw the note was still in her hands. There was little possibility but she knew she had to ask. "Mom?"

"Hmm?"

"Did you leave a bucket on your way out this morning?"

"A bucket? No, dear I didn't. Why?"

"Nothing. I found one on the porch today."

"It's probably one of the neighbor kids."

Deeta decided to keep the note a secret. "Yeah, you're probably right."

"Now help me downstairs."

"Okay." she responded. She tucked the note inside her pillow case before she followed her mother downstairs.

They found her father already unpacking most of the items from their boxes.

"Hey Dad, found anything interesting?"

Without looking up, her father replied, "We did. We even found something for your grandmother." Then he glanced up. His eyes beamed with excitement. "As a matter of fact, I even found one for you."

Horrified, she peered inside the box, "It's not another porcelain doll, is it?" she asked.

"No. There wasn't one."

"Ah, what a shame." she sighed.

"We can do without the sarcasm." her mother said. "You told us last time you didn't want anymore of those."

"So what'd you get me?"

"I think it's in that box over there." her father said, pointing at a small box near the foot of the table. "A little 'thank you' would be nice."

Deeta carried the box to the sofa and placed it on her lap. "That depends on what's inside."

Her father shook his head but smiled, nevertheless.

"Let's what's behind box number one!"

" Deeta said while opening the box. Her heart dropped. It was the chest, with the engraving 'Open it' staring at her in the face.

"Are you okay, Deeta?" Her father asked as color slowly drained from her face. "It's like you've seen a ghost?"

"I'm fine." she replied, forcing a smile. "I hadn't eaten breakfast or lunch." She stood up. "I think I'll make a sandwich in the kitchen." She took the box with her and settled it on the dining table. She stared at it, wondering how the chest ended up in her hands. "The note!" she gasped. 'Is this what the note meant? Good things come to those who wait?' She lifted the chest out of the box. She traced the engraving with her fingertips, wondering what it contained. Could it be a piece of jewelry? Could it be old letters from old lovers? A music box maybe? She lifted the latch and opened the chest. It was nothing she expected. Inside was an old-fashioned camera.

Disclaimer:
All photo credits go to respective owners.

The Polaroid SX-70 is just the basis for the camera but not the exact camera used.
:)

The Girl with the Magic Camera

WRITING PROMPT: If the title of the story is "The girl with a magical camera", what is the story about? Who is the girl? Where does the camera come from? Write your story.

~o~o~o~

Part One

In secret. It has always been in secret. In public, but always in secret.  

Let The World be Your Canvas

"We are species, addicted to story. Even when the body goes to sleep, the mind stays up all night telling itself stories."
~The Storytelling Animal, Jonathan Gottschall

Hello there, thank you for dropping by this blog. I will be writing short stories based on a writing prompt. I'll try to write one every week or at least two stories a month.

Feel free to critique and/or leave feedback.


Lotsalove,
Spammy~ ♥