Tag Archives: Photography Projects
Shakai-jin. Society and Person. Someone who contributes to society.
After graduating high school I didn’t see much point in going to university. Enough with those stupid books and pointless tests. Hearing some old geezer yak on and on about something that’s so freaking boring! I just wanted to hang out with my friends, drink a Cocktail Partner and play Angelique when I got home.
Although, I gotta admit history class was fun though. Hearing stories of The French Revolution and the killings that ensued. Especially seeing all the gorgeous paintings of the queens and the luxurious dresses they wore. I wanted that. So I got a part-time job at the first department store that would hire me. Saved every yen I could to get my first lolita dress. “Baby The Stars Shine Bright” indeed!
That was about a year ago. Now, I’m working in Harajuku on Takeshita. Been just a few months but things are going pretty good. Keeping the displays maintained, drawing up little signs for what we have in store and watching all the fashionable girls waltz in and out. The best part though is watching all those otaku when I come outside and telling them “NO!” as I walk to and from work. Then going home to my home, having mom cook up something delicious and then I can rest for the next day.
Contributing is nice.
When leaving Rome, keep the Roman in you. Not the part of Empires, pillaging then taxing the pillaged. No, no. That’s too barbaric and I fail to find the joy in that. No passion in destruction. My Rome is Mexico and in Mexico, the Romans dance salsa! It’s even easier to keep being Roman when you happen to be inside a Mexican dance salon. You’d have to be a soulless shell of a father to skip that day in a daughter’s life when she gets married. Not mention dead to turn down the opportunity to go to Prague with her friends from overseas for that event.
I have always loved the Asian mystique. Watching the movies of Kurosawa in my youth, I was entranced by Machiko Kyo’s eyes in Rashomon. So exotic yet full of that unique human beauty, I thought. Even now I don’t think I’ve ever heard her voice without the dubbing, but those eyes said far more than words ever could. The Asian mystique caught in the cinematic mystique. Can you blame me for just walking up and taking her off her chair.
“Wow!” She squealed in not-undelighted surprised, “What are you doing, sir?” Her Spanish was impeccable.
“I don’t know how to dance!”
Her feet said otherwise. Her accent had the flatness and dragged Rs of Mexico City. Who knew the day I would love to hear that accent could have ever come!? I could see my daughter gently shaking her head as she and the other guests watched the spectacle before them. No mind. It was their day and we had all cried all the happy tears we could muster away into glasses of wine and pitchers of beer. Now, it was time to celebrate all those who came here to honor them.
Well, okay, and a petite young lady with inkwell eyes framed by some stylish glasses is something to honor too.
As the newlywed bride readies the camera after recovering from her disbelief, I just look into the young bachelorette before me. Yes, I’ve been married, divorced, re-married and now managed to get this far in life.
Doesn’t mean you have to forget what it was like before all that.
The station was like an imposing castle of concrete, steel, and construction signs. Ever shifting over the past 100 years into spider-web of train tracks and serpentine cars slithering up and down the tracks. It paid little heed to the inhabitants of it.
“All workers report for your daily ration. You have done well, gentlemen.”
Gentlemen, despite the fact that most of the workers nowadays were female. Then again, it was just one of those things were the words employed carried more weight than the implications behind those words. At any rate, she wasn’t a worker so what was the point of worrying about it all? She liked to wander through the columns instead of the main walkway. It was never crowded at this hour, but it was nice think that she was walking down a palace or some forest.
The space between reminded her of a time that she could not possibly remember, but knew to be true.
This picture of Kazuki Yamamoto was taken on December 24, 2008. He was 6 years old.
Half a world away, the Lord’s Resistance Army was busy with the Christmas Day Massacre against the Democratic People’s Republic of Congo.
That same day, Riyo Mori, who had won Miss Universe a year earlier, was preparing to celebrate her 22nd birthday while still pondering what to do for her future.
A day earlier, Chicago had recorded its 500th murder.
On March 2nd, 2010, he would remember the day that he hammed it up for this photo as he started to get into reading abridged versions of Shakespeare plays in his elementary school library. It was at this moment at the age of 7 that he aspired to be an actor in a TV drama sometime.
That same day, the photographer was with his girlfriend having forgotten about ever having taken this photo, where it lay in his hard drive sleeping amongst a thousand other similar files but those were of girls on the street. The kid here was just a crapshoot. Something to pass the time going up an escalator. Now he was lounging on some beach in Mexico with a Corona in his hand.
On September 11th, 2011, Kazuki scored his first role on his 9th birthday. It was a spot for some English branch where he had to wear a pretty elegant suit while speaking cheesy pick-up lines to a pretty blonde girl on the schoolground. He would then wink at the camera as the brand name came up. Of course, at his young age the humor didn’t quite register with him.
The same day, there was a scandal as China had increased defenses around the border of North Korea. They felt the tension there getting higher after Kim Jong-un had declared the DPRK to be preparing for a strike on Seoul. The tensions died down soon afterwards, with China quietly leaving the troops on the border of the Yalu river.
Throughout the reminder of 2012, the commercial proved a smash hit nationwide and created a wave of merchandise that the school profited handsomely from until September of that year, wherein the company announced the end of the “Nanpa-no-ko” CM campaign. He was already starting to look older as puberty started to kick in early and a grown-up pick-up artist isn’t as cute as a little one. The final commercial concluded with him settling down with a porcelain-perfect Polish girl and riding off into the sunset on his mami-chari. The whole saga would be fondly remembered by many, but, forever typecast, Kazuki’s career as an actor was over.
On January 2013, his family moved away from their Kanagawa town to a small apartment in the heart of Shinjuku. Partially it was to be closer to Kazuki’s father’s workplace and partly to allow the “nanpa-no-ko” to disappear. The classrooms where he attended were huge and fortunately the character was far more famous than the actor. “Nanpa-no-ko” was a darling. Kazuki Yamamoto, not so much.
In March of the same year, the Democratic’s People’s Republic of Korea suddenly collapsed. The Chinese soldiers at the border kept the literally thousands of starving peasants from crossing. It’s controversial decision to fire on those who resisted the soldiers lead to the talking heads firing off vitriolic comments and strongly worded statements, but the Chinese behemoth was attached the economic lifeblood of the world and few could find a reason to let go.
November 1st, 2018. His days of stardom far behind him (although his parents loved to bring them up again and again), Kazuki breaks up with his first girlfriend Michiko. She was a 15 year old Junior High student who he kept in touch with as he entered his first year of High School. They dated only for a few months but she had completely immersed herself in him. He never saw her again.
February 2019. China’s builds numerous offices and factories in what used to be the DPRK, now merged into The United Republic of Korea. The local Koreans regard these set-ups with suspicion while the government of the URK in Seoul openly expresses gratitude for the much needed financial support.
April 1st, 2019. Kazuki goes to Shinjuku Gyoen to take pictures of the sakura. He meets a pretty blonde girl and they start to talk. Thanks to the free conversation classes given to him, he is quite confident in English. He is surprised to learn that the girl was Simona, the very same one from the commercials 8 years ago. They go out to Shibuya that night and wind up spending it in Dogen-zaka. They exchange phone numbers.
April 3rd, 2019. She never replies. He gives up trying to contact her.
March 22nd, 2021. Kazuki graduates high school and has been accepted into Waseda University. He majors in Political Science.
April 25th, 2021. Kazuki applies to go abroad next year. He elects to go to Korea, fascinated by the situation there. He figures that his mastery of Hangul will help him there.
April 26th, 2021. Violence erupts in the URK against the Chinese factories following a plant that exploded in Pyongyang neighborhood, injuring 14 people and killing three others. By the end of the night, hundreds of innocent Chinese workers have been either murdered or maimed, ethnicity checked by shibboleth.
May 1st, 2021. Kazuki and his girlfriend Elena are killed along with hundreds of others in a Tokyo metro bombing caused by a pro-DPRK radical group. The perpetrators are themselves killed by the blast.
This SnapStory1000 features some decidedly coarse language. If such stuff offends you, I would advise the reader not to read this one. Also, this story happens to feature Gun Caliber, a character created by my friend Bueno. Gun Caliber is the property of Garage Productions and I’m sure he will take no offense to my use of his character for a silly little juant.
The girl walked on like she didn’t understand. In a sense, she didn’t, but this wasn’t the time to ask questions about why strange men in beat-up armor and holding a gun in each hand were standing by a beach. These things don’t happen and when they do it’s best to not think too hard about it. She’d seen enough of those fools in Tokyo and she didn’t need it invading her town. Amusing enough at a distance but kind of scary up-close.
“Hey. Where you walking?”
Gun Caliber, evil’s Dionysian foe, had just wrapped up his latest round of training, which included a strenuous routine of kicking water bottles, drinking cans and bottles of beer and shooting said bottles and cans. Not necessarily in the order. In any case, the best way to cap off a good workout is a good woman. This one would suffice, given the choice between this fine lass or the fuckin’ eldery men and women waddling down his fuckin’ pavement and the fuckin’ kids who won’t stop gawking at him when he’s trying to fuckin’ concentrate on getting his shit right.
“Hey. What’s your name?”
The pretext of ignorance was gone. Now, the crazy man in the weird suit had a target to his cries and, honestly, she wished that it was with his guns and not his words.
It wasn’t the first time she been called out. There was also that one AV scout in Harajuku that one time. Why her though? She wasn’t exactly the type you’d put in a magazine, let alone in the nude. Maybe that guy was just desperate to get anyone so his bosses wouldn’t get pissed off. She’d just walked away that time.
However, that suit did have just a bit of allure.
“Uhh..who are you?”
He started to approach the girl. He always used the same line. Hit or miss, doesn’t matter. If the bitches liked it then great. If they ran away, they could just fuck off and suck his hairy nutsack. Not necessarily in that order.
“Gun Caliber. You heard of me?”
“I’m sorry. I can’t say I watch sentai…”
“FUCKING HELL, does this armor look like spandex to you!? Those little bitches ain’t got nothing on me.”
If it had been a man he was talking to, he would’ve added the line “Except those pink ranger bitches. Yeah, they got it all on me, or should I say, I get it all on them?”
Even without that extra line, she looked in dumbstruck disbelief at him.
“Anyways…what’s your name?”
She didn’t see the harm. “Uhh…Akiko.”
“Akiko? Nice name. What’re you doing now?”
“Just…seeing the ocean.”
“Can you take it off?”
“Your mask. You take yours off and I’ll take off mine.”
The ocean rolled in and out as Akiko pondered what to do. It was almost as if under some spell. How much weirder could this possibly get? Figuring she might as well twist the blade, she removed her surgical mask. Her face felt a sudden refreshing chill from the breeze running over her plain features. She hadn’t bothered to put make-up on that day. It was supposed to be for herself.
He took his off. Underneath was a balding Asian man with a pair of oversized spectacles. He believed he was half-Japanese – after all, why would he be here all this time and speak fluent Osaka-ben? That was a story for another time though.
“You’re pretty cute, Akiko.”
“Umm… I think I’ll be leaving now. I’m sorry. Please..uhh… take care okay?”
Without saying an extra word, she put her mask back on and walked away as fast as she could without breaking into a run. This was just supposed a relaxed day of contemplation and sight-seeing just before entering her first day at university. Not an encounter with people thinking Halloween is in December.
Gun Caliber put his mask back on and drew out his guns. Workout wasn’t quite finished.
She could just suck his hairy nutsack and fuck off.
Yeah, I took a vacation not even three days in. Sorry, but it’s a serious pain to write fiction when all you got is an iPhone and you’re vacationing in Hokkaido.
Kazuki looked into Michiko’s eyes. Rather, what would’ve been her eyes had they not been covered by tear-soaked hair.
No response except for the continuous sobbing. Michiko thought, at the age of 15, that this would be forever. She had already picked what dress to wear, what day the wedding would be on and their children’s names. So did Kazuki. It felt so grown-up when he first invited her over when his parents were both out on business. As he saw the tears hit the floor of the station, he remembered how his hands ran down those same cheeks with the same gentle ferocity.
He couldn’t pin-point when it he stopped feeling that way. The way Kimiko would smile at him perhaps? Maybe the thrill after the first kiss had worn off? Perhaps not…the first touch more than made up for that.
“I don’t want you to leave..”
It was a shock to the both of them. First love, first loss. He could just walk away and leave it all behind, but then what? Leave a girl crying? That would make him no better than all his friends who could only look on as their dads had walked away for the last time. No, he had to be more of a man than that. The tears hurt him as much as they hurt her, much as he wouldn’t admit it. But, damn, Akari had those curves and that little Indian girl…Priya? Yeah, that little firecracker had shown some personality in the years she’d been here.
Hard to think about that now though. For the time, there was only the hollow echo of station chimes, conversations and countless footsteps disguising Michiko’s choked sobs.
Mitsuko came with her Louis Vuitton bag into their makeshift home. She gave Alex a kiss on the cheek, as young girls with over-grown and under-exercised libido are sometimes wont to. Alex wasn’t her real name but it was what she asked everyone in the neighborhood to do and nobody could find a good reason to say otherwise.
The search for new fashions can lead to a treacherous road. Sure, it was fun to lead the salarymen on in their desperate, ever-futile pursuit of someone who would give them back the youth they lost to years of cram school and drudgery at whatever outworn spinny chair they sat in at work, but once that gets old, there are choices to be made. Choices between a roof over your head or cutting-edge, name-brand fashion.
Yet, as far as cardboard boxes go, it could have been worse. A worn picture of Arashi was primly taped to the wall and they had enough vinyl umbrellas to keep their make-up – not to mention their 20,000 yen Chanel dresses – dry in the guerilla rains that came in during the spring months. Life wasn’t easy, but at least they could look fabulous.
Mitsuko and Alex held hands as the old guy passed them by. To say why they held hands would be difficult to pinpoint. Largely it was just habit. They had only met a few weeks ago but, with all the guys who would approach them being either lame or AV scouts (you accept one time for some quick cash and suddenly they all think you’ll go with anybody!), it was almost only to be expected that they would be easier say “I’m a lesbian, can’t you see?” and end the conversation quickly.
In any case, the old guy walked by every day. He never said a word but always leered into their tiny abode. After he left, it was the same time-killing conversation between the two:
“God, what a weirdo.”
“I know, why doesn’t he just say something already and get it over with? So annoying…”
“We should totally tell him something next time? Like ‘Hey! 35,000 for both of us all night, wanna go?!”"
“Oh seriously? Then he’d be like ‘Really?’”
“Yeah yeah! Then he just like takes out his wallet and we just brush him off. “Ha! You thought we were being serious!? Get real!”
So the days went. The old guy would pass by; they would alternately cower before him and mock behind his back; and they did their best to get along in the colony of those who have become obedient to the forces of the Cosmo.
Obsession can be a bitch. Sometimes it makes you into one. Sometimes both.
No, I haven’t seen Tron Legacy yet. I’m actually inspired more by Battlestar Galactica, where there were these beings called Hybrids that controlled the ships and used that phrase a couple of times, in turn inspired by Tron. That’s neither here nor there though. What is here is the end of the test run of SnapStory1000! It’s surprising how quickly this week has flown by and how quickly I’ve had to force myself to work to get these things up in time to beat the clock. It was like NaNiWriMo except that the word “tomorrow” doesn’t exist. Instead, it’s “Just get it done now and then you can do whatever you want the rest of the day.”
Thank you to all those who have sent their words and please don’t be afraid to submit more honest ones. It’s probably not going to make me stop writing but it might make it better writing and isn’t that what matters in the end?
I’d like to give a very special thanks to Mijonju, youtube producer extraordinaire, excellent photographer and all-around cool guy. He came all the way down to Saitama whilst nursing a cold to join me and my friend Remi on a cosplay shoot. This particular shot I found as an inspiring take for SnapStory1000 and I hope he doesn’t mind the cruelty I’m going to subject him to below. By the way, you might want to read a little about the anime Angel Beats to get some of this.
When it doesn’t involve a warzone, cameramen seldom think that shooting refers to anything but the click on the shutter.
In the afterlife, such theories about things go out the window very quickly.
“Hey, Otonashi. This guy is really something else.”
“Yeah, I know. Most NPCs don’t get so persistent.”
“It’s starting to really piss me off.”
Mijonju wasn’t too phased as the pistols stared him down the face. He had no idea how he wound up on this purgatory of a schoolground, but he had stopped caring after that first month of despair. As far as things that could happen after you die are concerned, it wasn’t too bad really. After all, if there’s an eternity to be spent taking pictures while forever stuck in the peak of your prime surrounded by cute girls? Well, that’s pretty damn good. Literally. The school’s photo lab allowed him to develop pictures at no cost to himself and the school lunch was actually quite good. Especially the spicy tofu.
That said, being put at the point of a gun really does something to change a guy. Oh, sure, he’d heard the rumors of revolutions echoing through the hallways. He’d see the girls wearing those vaguely militaristic badges – “SSS – Fight against the God.” Weapons and slogans weren’t really all that happening though. Not when the school rock band did such ludicrous stunts as they did. Glocks? Boring? A shower of lunch tickets in a crowded hall shot with nothing but a Diana, an on-camera strobe and a hallway full of lasers? Awesome city.
This time was a little different though. He had seen Otonashi and Hinata practicing their poses and the like. The expressions on their faces were pretty interesting he thought. That mix of a soldier’s precision with a child’s playfulness was the type of stuff exhibitions were made of. Sure, there weren’t any exhibitions in the school but that wasn’t the point. It was a cool shot with motion blur, some gunplay and the reds and blues in their hair would probably pop awfully nice in the tint of that expired Fuji Pro 800Z, especially with the way the sky would blow out at that ISO.
Now, something else was gonna blow out.
“Are you gonna tell the council president about this man? The Angel’s already got us on the run and we don’t need any snoopers on our operations, ya get it?”
Mijonju sighed. Would this be the result if the 2nd amendment got imported to the Diet? Whatever. He’d seen the president unleash her Guard Sonic on these guys before. That sword could be captured surprisingly well with a 400 ISO film at F/4 even in the dim light of the school lamps at night. They’re still around, so it only followed that so would he. Who knows? They didn’t look too bright. Maybe after they got the satisfaction of blowing him away they would just leave the camera there and he could just pick it up in a few hours from the pile of blood that would be left there. Death is just another day in the afterlife.
“Come on now, you NPC spy. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
Well, in a way, he did. One last thing before doing it all over again.
The shutter clicked. Viewfinder got covered in black.
I’m hoping that all two of you reading thus far have been enjoying this maiden voyage of SnapStory1000 for all it’s worth. I also want to take this opportunity to thank the multi-talented and heroic Masafumi Matsumoto for pushing my crazed keyboard clatters at your direction. Doubtless if it’s not my own tweet that lead you here, it’s Masa’s. If you haven’t seen his site, by the way, please do. He’s one of those human beings that somehow reminds of St. Francis of Assisi’s quote: “Preach the gospel at all times and, when necessary, use words.”
As I wrap up this first small series and move on to a different genre, there is an explanation merited to how this all started. Like many westerners living in Japan, I currently make my living as an English teacher. While I predominantly work in the junior high schools of my small town, I also do some small conversation courses in a nearby community hall.
Since the point is to just keep people talking, I sometimes bring out some pictures of mine – usually just the runts of the litter that I couldn’t figure out what else to do with. Then the students make up a little story about the image. I’ve heard Shinto shrines become private haunted residences; a teddy bear keychain become the key to a long-lost love in New York and the Odaiba Gundam coming to life for a full-scale war against alien invaders. However, I’ve never actually done it myself and figured it’s high time I eat my own dogfood and hopefully kick myself out of my madness while dragging others into it. You’re welcome.
Think that this particular series is starting to be more about the writing than the photography when I want both to play in harmony as opposed to one overpowering the other. So, enjoy the last part of this sci-fi story. Any feedback, positive or negative is appreciated.
As the over-charging Persuader took a bumpy slide to underneath the PAR’s Hover, Mikela knew that the odds were against her getting everything worked out. Even if she took one out of them out, the other was still going to be there to deal with. A hunting-class Persuader was designed specifically to prevent overheating. Fortunately, a few people back in the city who could tinker about with the devices knew that it was a simple matter of soldering a couple of diodes into submission. The problem was knowing how much of a kick it would give. Even at full blast it might only be little more than an overgrown firecracker.
Fortunately, even a firecracker at point-blank range can do some damage.
The seconds stretched long. The PAR’s soothing voices became more agitated, yet they would not move. They raised their weapons, red dots appearing on her chest and head. She was almost awed with respect. ‘They thought of everything.’
“Mikela Sheon, your resistance is ill-advised. We are aware of The Outsiders operations and…”
The whistling of the Hovers was drowning out the whine of the Persuader underneath it. She was hoping that the timing would work out in her favor for this whole thing to work or else.
As desperate measures often go, things thus far hadn’t been working out as they planned. Mikela remembered what brought her to this point. The City was a comfortable existence but as she toiled to keep the power flowing as a maintenance manager at the The Plant, she knew that it was only a matter of time. The power was proving harder and harder to provide for all the machines running the place. Food production had been steadily falling. The writing was on the wall and it was saying “RUN.”
The Outsiders, as they called themselves, shared this view. They had not seen the land beyond the Outskirts but they were convinced that something more lied out there. After all, the PARs were there to prevent that from happening. The conclusion was obvious as the initial reason was inscrutable – if there isn’t, in fact, anything out there, why keep people in? That was the logic and it seemed sound. If the world is going to Hell in a handbasket, then even a failed escape with a few civilian-level hunting weapons and a small supply of food would be preferable to watching all that they knew slowly fall apart within their lifetime.
Ideals are often easier to deal with than the realities they entail. They were a group of five when this started. The idea would be to see if anything was Out There. How that information could get back was a matter of seeing if anything out there could produce a radio wave that would overcome The Tower. Needles in a haystack, but a needle that could undo the stranglehold and allow things to continue. If not the system, then the people.
A group of five to try to continue the chances of hundreds of thousands. They agreed to meet at sunset, among the drone of power surging through the City. Power of the people. Power of the powers. Power of the operation. Power was the cause, the reason and the result prayed for.
Now there was one. The PARs at the border were effective enough to squelch them to two within minutes of even trying anything. It was little time before those two became one. Between the elements and his wounds, he had given up. The last thing he did was throw Mikela his Persuader just after hers ran out of power and provided a distraction to the previous patrol so that she could take them out as they “cleared” Angeli. Now it was Angeli’s turn to save her as she provided a distraction.
“We beg your pardon?” this type of response was not part of the PAR training.
“We’re sorry to say that refus-”
Whatever followed next was lost to Mikela’s ears as she dived between the two officers. The beams singed her back as the little Persuader-cum-firecracker unleashed whatever power it’s draining battery could muster. She could tell that she had caused one of them – the female one – to lose footing and that was about the best chance she could have. Either she would overcome the ghosts or become one herself.
Mikela rolled over to the source of the explosion and grabbed the PAR from behind, trying to get a hold on its neck while there was still confusion to profit on. Despite the thickness of the weather/velocity-proof uniforms they wore, Mikela found the body to be surprisingly light. In his rush, the PAR on the other side reflexively aimed and fired at their direction, striking his female counterpart in the chest. Mikela instinctively screamed at the mutually shared shock of the Persuader’s beam and groped the fresh corpse for one of her own as she felt her strength draining.
The soft fibers gave way to cold steel. Bingo. The weight compared to the one she had just detonated was unexpected. These sorts of things can make the difference in a life-or-death scenario. Change one variable and everything goes nuts. Fortunately, for once, the guys on the chase were having far more to contend with than the one on the run.
The other PAR had given up on the pretense of negotiation. The next shot would’ve found its mark had Mikela not already moved towards him and not the left as he was anticipating. She had a weak, but clean grip on the trigger.
She closed her eyes and pulled. She felt consciousness slipping from her.
Silence took hold on the Outskirts once again.
Finally, Mikela opened her eyes again to the red hues of the rising sun.
In the rising sunlight, all there was to see was wasteland, and two dead officers.
Along with a practically intact Hover.
She scrambled to take the magnetic boots off of the body that had become her unwitting blanket for the night and strapped herself into the device. Certainly even when at half-power, she had more of a fighting chance with this than her feet, clad with shoes that were already giving out to terrain they were wholly unsuited for. Of course, she also strapped the Persuader on her belt.
The Tower could still be sighted in the far distance. Why hadn’t it already sent out reinforcements wasn’t for her to think about. After all, it had been two days since the last one that got Angeli. There was only one thing to think about: In the Outskirts, there were no roads.
She had to make her own.
“A Running Stand” End.
I shouldn’t be one to talk about creating ambitious photography/writing/art projects. After all, this humble site languished for nearly the whole of 2010 until I threw $80 at the good people at Photocrati.com to let me use one of their templates. Plugs aside, I resolve something to myself for 2011, and I propose something to whoever may be reading this for January of that same year. I’m calling it “SnapStory1000″ until I come up with a better name or someone else does.
The idea is simple:
- Upload a photo, that you have taken, to your blog once per day and write a story involving it.
- NOT the story about how you took the picture, what techniques you used, what did the model say to you, etc. No, that’d be too easy, too cut and dry.
- HOWEVER, it has to involve the image in some way.
- Other than that, go nuts!
While I’m calling it “SnapStory1000,” that is not to imply that there’s any word count rule of any kind. Indeed, if there was a 1000 word rule, I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to meet my own expectations! I guess if the number has any meaning beyond easy googlability, it’s that I wish there to be at least a 1000 people engaged in this meme. While it’s most likely a pipe dream, it’s best to not let aspirations be constrained by reality.
To get myself revved up, my first entry into this blog will be the start of my own SnapStory1000, taking over the course of a week:
“Roads are just lines on a map. You gotta make your own.”
Those words echoed into her ears. Over and over again. The irony didn’t escape her – to be able to make her own roads she had to shown the road to making her own road. A Möbius strip of advice. Creation begging more creation. Life will find a way, she once heard some science program telling her. Life will find a way.
Her breath weighed heavy in her chest. It’d been at least a week since she’d been able to stop running. Life had found a way, alright.
The asphalt before her was surprisingly intact. Then again, this patch of land was a former part of the Outskirts Research City. What a disaster that turned out to be. Still, the vague reminder of the home she was running from couldn’t help but compel her. The zebra stripes of the street seemed to dance in her blurry eyes, shifting up and down in a dance that swayed to the melody of the wind whistling through the stillness.
Still, this road was not hers to walk on. You gotta make your own.