Tuesday, January 31, 2012

Stairway To...


  1. Hey Casey! You posted - yay! I was going to email you this AM to see if you wanted to get back into FF again - but it seems that my question just got answered. Terrific photo prompt!


    Adam Elliot always thought that in the end you went into the light. He questioned that now. Echoes sounded. But, all sight ceased to be. Now only seeing through mortified eyes that penetrated the cooper pieces placed precariously over his sealed lids.

    Music. Soft. Pastoral. Celestial in its comfort, it played through unseen instruments by invisible musicians. Adam never believed in it and it still continued to leave doubt of its verity. And yet, Elliot's thoughts found clarity and virtue in the ring of each perfect note played. It must have been his day of reckoning.

    He notices the people now. Or what appear to be people. Shapes of people. Wisps of people. Familiarity dripping from every face in a place without definition. Adam's steps were unfaltering; movements were fluid and ethereal, it felt so real. So damn wrong!

    This is not the place they thought he'd end up. Elliot was a raucous rascal; a roust-about. He loved his music loud and pulsing. Bright lights and vivid colors, not this pasty representation in muted pastel. If he didn't know any better Adam'd think he was in...

    Hell! He had landed his fat ass in hell; to be tortured for an everlasting eternity here. And now he looked pretty rediculous in that AC/DC 1979 tour shirt. "Highway to Hell", the self-fulfilling prophecy. Too drunk to have seen the headlights of the oncoming tractor-trailer. "Into the light" wasn't an option he had expected, but it was chosen for him anyway. That headache will stay with Adam Elliot for as long as the Choir Angelic fucks with his sense of rhythm.

  3. Echoing RJ's YAY! The prompt is great Casey. Thanks for this.

  4. Trying something different with this one; all dialogue instead of none.

    A Night Out

    “Wake up! C’mon, let’s go. Need to be movin’ on.”
    “What? Oh, damn!”
    “Yea, I’m guessing that bright light smarts, don’t it. Get on your feet, pal. I don’t want to be bothered with running you in, but I can’t just leave you here either.”
    “Um, yea. Where…?”
    “Man, that must have been some night. Been a lot of years since I pulled one of those. Heard the Red Horse will do that to you. Crazy place.”
    “The Red Horse? Yea, that sounds familiar. How did you …?”
    “Stamp is right there on the back of your hand, son. Kind of hard to miss.”
    “Oh, yea. So it is. Where am I?”
    “Seventeenth Street, between Downing and West Auburn. Lucky you picked this stairwell too. This place is abandoned. If you had tried to sleep it off one over from here and that little oriental woman would have beat the hell out of you with her broom.”
    “No, would not have wanted that. Oh, boy.”
    “Steady there, hold on to the wall. Not sure how you got down here without killing yourself. Maybe you do need a few hours in the drunk tank.”
    “No, no, I’m good. Just need a cab and a shower. Maybe some coffee.”
    “HAHA, I’ll bet. A few aspirin, too. All right, pal. You seem to be harmless. Head on home. Just remember that Atlanta’s finest let you off when the FOP collection guy comes around.”