Tug Of War

I wrote the beginning of a short story and then related it to some pictures I have taken. Below is the initial paragraph - if it pulls you in you can click on the link to read more.

I walked out of my old, crumbling Manhattan apartment, just as I had done for the last three years.

"Good morning Jones, have a nice day".

I find it funny that my doorman will never call me by my first name; he uses my last name as though it were my first, I am just used to it now. I smile and nod as I have everyday.
There are so many people in Manhattan, where do they all come from? I have always enjoyed my morning walk to work. I like to notice the various people I come across; some are suit-clad bankers while others are the creative type (I also refer to them as people wearing weird clothes). The ones that get a chuckle out of me are the men wearing oddly matched trousers and shirts or women who are wearing clothes that are way too tight for them; don't they look in the mirror before they leave home? You would never see me wear anything that would make me stand out. I like fading into the background. Observing is what I do best and what I am far more comfortable doing. I can never be like Tina (my half sister), she is always the center of attention, loud and boisterous. Click Here to read more

Jump

Week three of my fiction writing class. I got inspiration to write from the below picture which incidentally was the first pic that I took with a DSLR. Hope you enjoy the little story and the picture!

She could feel the soft breeze tussle her hair; it felt like Marc was playing with her silky strands. Anna closed her eyes and melted away into her memories. She missed Marc dearly; there was not a minute when she did not think about him. She closed her eyes and saw his face; he was so handsome. His blue eyes complimented his brown hair and tanned complexion so well. She still could not believe that he had walked out of her life. She remembered their last conversation, “I cannot take this anymore” he said, “you are not the person I fell in love with; I am sorry I have to go; I am not strong enough to combat who you have become – your black-outs – your multiple personalities, it’s driving me crazy”. That was it – he had just walked out, never to return again. She did black out – at first it was rare, but now it had become an everyday occurrence. She would lose hours in a day; and when she regained consciousness she smelt like she had just rummaged through the garbage or looked like she had been in a fight; scratched all over. She had no idea what had happened or what caused these occurrences. All these events had brought her to this very moment in her life; she could smell the salt in the breeze all the way up where she stood, the sun was shining as though it was beckoning her; she took one deep breath and jumped off; Anna and her personalities took one big jump off the Triboro Bridge into the deep blue water below.

Fiction Writing

I am taking a fiction writing class - this is the first week. I signed up for it so I could write stories about my pictures. My first assignment is supposed to relate to something I saw or read (a picture, a headline) and should be 250 words. Below is the picture and my 250 words ! Let me know what you like about it or not.

It was a hot summers day, my parents were having their annual British party. We had spent all morning cutting perfect little cucumber sandwiches, mom had made her famous coconut macaroons, dad had his Tanqueray and Pimms ready. They had stupid rules at this party; all guests had to wear a hat and everyone had to speak in a British accent for the evening. One can imagine how ridiculous the yanks sounded in fake Brit accents! As a little girl I would sit on my yellow swing under the tree watching the festivities unfold. As the night progressed the accents got funnier and the conversations more bizarre. I was always a by-stander looking from afar, I wondered why my parents would have this yearly shindig that the entire neighbourhood would look forward to for months. Later I realized how much this brought the community together and how much my parents missed their home in England.
Last week my mother passed away so I hosted 'the party' one last time in her memory. Everyone came with their hats and accents, this time around I could not be a voyeur to the party; I had to make sure the scones, cucumber sandwiches and macaroons were up to snuff. I now understood why my mother did this every year; it was so that she could never lose her roots - it made her feel like she was back home in England. T&T in hand, I toasted to her in a thick British accent!