This week’s DP challenge, talks of the challenge of threes.
“You can choose to write a post inspired by a response to the “Threes” photo challenge, or you can write your post based on three photos you supply.”
I have ‘squared the’ challenge and done three pieces of flash fiction (stories in a 100 words or less…is my endeavor) around,three sets of pictures and have turned it into 3×3 challenge.
Of course! the cubist possibilities lure me…I see possibility where 3 stories in one set and one story that binds the three, hence 6 sets of 4, with one story that brings it all together..a total of 25.(disclaimer: I do not vouch for the math). The story may, may not feature on this blog, but now that the idea has germinated, maybe something shall come out of it..
For now here is my three chosen set of pictures, thanks to the photographers, I hope they like my interpretations of their stories.
Images:Sydney Icons by Debbie
The Sydney Opera House stood mesmerized; everything was silent, except the hypnotic sound emanating from Edvard’s violin. It was a sound more poignant than any other, the stage had heard in a long time and it had heard its share. The reverie broke as Edvard was called to the wings.
He packed away his violin and donned his worker hat. The lunch hour was over and the blows of hammers now filled the aisles. The loudest sound however, was of Edvard’s heart that pounded in his ears, still resonating with his stolen hour of glory.
The seagulls and I have a lot in common; we love the beach. While they scale the sky above the seas, looking at this lone walker …my mind surfs the layers as it reaches heights unknown looking at the sea gulls.
One such sea gull, sits perched on the sand dune by the beach, I approach it, drawn almost hypnotically. A shrill voice interrupts; the gull flies away, as I turn. It’s the guard pointing at the sign shouting, “Keep off the dunes!”, seems the sea gulls and I have a lot in common; we both can’t read.
Images: Marissa Othon
Today was his first day at the fish market. Nidio’s fisherman father had been washed away at sea; fatally pierced by a stingray, a week ago.
Nidio sat motionless by the ocean, recalling happy fishing trips with his father, “The sea is an entire world; it has colonies; colors, dark and light… and layers of life. It seems our colorful boats are the last of those layers…”
The dollars in his fist were as soaked and salty as the sea, “I wonder if the stingray is pawning him at some undersea market for a few notes of sea- currency.”