Your Story: City stroll

It’s been a long time since I’ve had you write me a story. So, I think it’s time we hear from your creative mind.  A few weeks ago, I had a meeting in downtown Columbus.  It was cold and I was short of time but I was able to get a few snaps.  Create a story for me.  One week left to buy your SethSnap 2014 Calendar. 

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6 responses to “Your Story: City stroll

  1. As always, Raymond Chandler said it best: She had a body that would make a bishop kick a hole in a stained glass window.

    But that wasn’t quite right. The bishop hadn’t kicked the hole in the stained glass window. The bishop had made the hole–made it when he was thrown through it.

    The way I figured it, one of the blonde’s boyfriends had figured out that the bishop was giving her a different kind of sacrament. He’d paid a visit to explain to the bishop how things stood.

    And to explain to the bishop how things fell from a high window: a high, stained glass window.

    I was sure that I was right. When I stepped into the bishop’s office, I had seen the big man there. He pointed out the hole in the window and said, “My god! He fell!”

    “Who fell?”

    “The bishop! He stumbled and fell through the window!” He shook his head, uttering a low and mournful noise.

    I moved toward the window. He stepped away from it–helpfully, I thought.

    And then it felt as though the whole cathedral fell on my head.

    Now I was standing by the window, my head still throbbing from the sap that the big man must have slapped against my skull.

    And I was alone there in the room, with the cold air blowing through the hole that the bishop had made in his hasty exit.

    At least I was pretty sure that it was the bishop down there. It was a bit hard to tell, given the distance and the strange shape that the body had taken when it finally came to rest–a shape that a dancer might take in some modern production that confuses the crowds and delights the critics.

    But I figured that the big man knew who had gone through the window. And I knew, too, that the police would finger me. I’d been set up to take the fall.

    Best thing for me to do, I thought, is to get out of town–take the first thing smoking . . .

  2. Was it the tracks that called me? Or, the gentle saw of city trees in a soft breeze? Or maybe the old stone building? Those stones have seen so much. They have felt the kiss of rain, the bite of ice, and the warmth of the summer sun. They have witnessed the ebb and flow of humanity – the good, bad, and ugly. Around them, the city has grown from playing at the old buildings knees to towering above it. Still the stone building sits and watches. It knows that long after the young buildings grow old and fade away, it will still stand – at least in part. For it is made of the bones of the earth and can never truly die until the earth gives up its last breath. This is what has called me. This carved bone of the earth has summoned me here and I cannot deny it my presence.

  3. My poem, to go with your railway picture is called

    The Trains Aren’t Running

    Oh no! Yet another “leaf on the line”,
    Which means that I won’t get home in time,
    It’s some railway manual paradigm,
    That means the trains aren’t running.

    We’ve been waiting in this siding here,
    For reasons not entirely clear,
    Waiting for a miracle to appear,
    Because the trains aren’t running.

    We’ve been stuck here now for half an hour,
    And all my passengers are feeling sour,
    I, myself, am feeling somewhat dour,
    Because the train ain’t running.

    At least the weather is fine today,
    If we have got some time to while away,
    Until we discover what’s caused the delay,
    To make the trains stop running.

    You’d better sit back and close your eyes,
    Another hour here’d be no surprise,
    So just wrap up warm and acclimatize,
    Because the trains aren’t running.

    It seems the train infront has caught on fire,
    Quite how it happened, I don’t like to enquire,
    But my train’s now caught in the resulting crossfire,
    Because the trains aren’t running.

    How do I tell my passengers now,
    That they have to climb down from the train somehow,
    And a bus will take them onward, this I vow,
    Because the trains aren’t running.

    I’m disgruntled myself, this I do confess,
    I will have to phone my wife I guess,
    And tell her I’m stuck here, with no sign of progress,
    Because the trains aren’t running.

    Just when I’ll get home, I haven’t a clue,
    When it comes to that, I’m at the back of the queue,
    I’d quite like to be travelling to Timbuktu,
    Rather than on a train that isn’t running!

  4. I’m not sure why but this site is loading incredibly slow for me.
    Is anyone else having this problem or is it a issue on my end?
    I’ll check back later on and see if the problem still exists.

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