Your story: Night and Day

This time on Your Story, instead of posting only one photo, I am going to post a series of photos and have you write a story, caption or poem based on multiple photos. These photos were taken today and tonight.  That is all the information I am going to give you. The rest is all yours.  So what’s it going to be this week? A love story? A mystery? No, wait I sense an alien invasion on the horizon.  I look forward to reading your words.

Previous Your Story articles: Your Story, Your Story:Blue , Your Story:Country, Your Story:Blue Bank, Your Story:The view, Your Story:Forgotten

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77 responses to “Your story: Night and Day

  1. I have seen you LIKE at Pairodox Fam on several occasions. Tell me then, why has it taken me so long to drop by Sethsnap? Forgive me. No excuse. It was quite a treat however to visit. Thanks. D

  2. We set off early in the morning, looking for just the right place. The abandoned buildings on a property fifty miles from town looked like a good place. Jeff climbed on the roof to get a better vantage point. No. nobody would see us from here.
    Waiting until it was safe, under the cover of dark, we loaded up the car. It was after midnight, the two bodies wrapped in plastic were placed in the boot.
    No fingerprints…no forensic evidence would be found. The perfect night, for the perfect murder.

  3. And there past the woods, the old barn stood,
    the moon was a ring in a nose you know and the streetlights started to glow..

  4. The photo of the misty moon reminds me of a scene from the movie “Where the wild things are”. Great shot. I stopped by to say thank you for liking one of my posts, I didn’t know I would get to see so many great photos! Thank you for sharing what your minds eye captures.

  5. the sky,
    beautiful, serene sky
    exposed the shabbiness of empty houses
    the grass in front of them
    was virgin green
    the kids did not walk on it
    for too long
    it’s was the Moon
    with its illusive light
    that removed the spell
    and freed the houses
    of the abandoned wantonness

  6. Our nightmare dog, always going missing. Where was he this time? Had he gone chasing rabbits in the copse? or hunting rats out in the barns? or was he whining at the back door of Mrs Humpledinks, hoping that she’d give him another juicy bone. Or worse, much worse, now that it was dark, had he got run over whilst crossing the street on his way back to us?

  7. Thanks for visting my blog. I must say I find your blog very original what a great idea using your photo’s as the vocal point for someone to get thier muse on. Well done! Great photo’s

  8. Silence in me, was reflected all over the endless landscape that had a contingent of trees, bare with no leaves. No rustle, no whispered of leaves. No birds in the vicinity.Silence.echoed.The sky was blue, but had no clue of any movement no mystery, no birds flew.Silence within me, I could see in the serenity. Abandoned houses, huddled together, no children played, nor mommy called, no one came nor left, silence prevailed endlessly. Then came night, brought the four in sight, sky, houses, and barren tree with moon having a dim light. All together, yet no one could hear any songs, not even a nod, No breeze whistled, nothing moved.No motion, no sound. Silence, was deafening. lastly, the moon left the sky, windows got dark and dim , a lonely car was parked and left, in the cold night but a street light , lit brightly insects buzzed, no dogs barked nothing one..anymore in sight. Silence remained forever with me, inside.

  9. It wasn’t so much that he enjoyed the idea that he was from the “boonies” after all, during the school-year he was a generation and a couple miles behind everyone else, as the crow flies; but he endured the summers back home better than most. The city was a mad cap circus of entertainment for the young and naïve, and he had managed to corrupt himself in all of the essential ways one must if they are to survive through to their junior year of college, but something about this little po-dunk town just seemed right to him. Warm gray wood on the deck, it had this smell, like the sun, like his childhood, grass stains and dirt and all good wonderful things. This place had a perfect quiet if you listened long enough. It was hidden under the whirr of harvester blades, the drone of grasshoppers and crickets, and little overarching squeaks from red-tail hawks. A quiet that supersedes sound, and thank you, college, for the expansion of vocabulary.
    His best friend was a whole three years younger than him and he had missed him for the first year away. Now as he looked down the gravel road he could barely make out the top of the barn they used to play in. He had broken his leg in that barn, had his first kiss from Beth, his best friend’s cousin. He’d never told Mitch about that little gem. Mitch didn’t ever want to go to college, and was already hardening into the halted stereotype-cast shell that those who stop growing up so often embody. They hadn’t spoken really since the summer after his sophomore year.
    As it got dark, he wandered around his childhood home inspecting his mother’s bizarre coagulation of creepy porcelain angels, set up in a macabre vigil on the mantel as if praying for the soul of the deer whose taxidermied head jutted listlessly from the wall above them. His old room was pretty much as bare as it had always been, with the addition of a few boxes labeled x-mas with a sharpie running low on ink. He walked over to the corner and turned on his mini-TV, a relic from the nineties, and it fuzzed on, filling the room with a blue glow that begged him to plug in a gaming console. He heard the rest of his family through the wall, a comforting hum that reminded him of being five, and falling asleep on the couch listening to the company on thanksgiving.
    Outside he heard his sister’s piece of shit pickup stagger and grind its way home to leak oil all over the driveway. He had no idea why she still drove the thing as it was a shoddy bit of machinery when he had bought it years ago, and seemed to age eons every year. She had enough to buy her own by now, but she said she really, really liked the pickup, and besides, it reminded her of her big brother. She was the real reason he could stand to be home, because his moments spent with her were all the moments of his youth.

  10. Roger’s Racks
    by Douglas Black (With images from Sethsnap)
    November 15, 2012

    Just like every year, around one in the morning, I pulled out of the driveway. No rain tonight, that’s good. No snow though. That’s too bad. Roger lives halfway there.
    He got into the truck around 4:30 with coffee and two dozen donuts as usual.
    “They didn’t have any of those apple glazed”, he barked. I reminded him that it was the same last year, and the year before.
    “Well dammit, it’s only November 15, what the hell they gonna do, make us take Christmas cookies next year”? I laughed at him. “Christ sake” was his last word on the hunting donuts, as usual.
    Then he shocked me. Roger pointed to the crescent moon and said, “I thought there was an eclipse the other day?”
    That wasn’t the shock. This was. “Oh, I know. It was in Austria, so the moon is pointing over there”.
    I smiled, not wishing to correct him. Australia, Austria, close enough for Roger. Not the brightest bulb in the box, but a great guy. Since the 70’s five of us all went hunting on Roger’s family farm up north. Only me and Rog left now, and he’s lucky it’s not just one of us. He got tee-boned by a Silverado while riding his Harley a while ago. Not right since.
    The farm is north, nearly to the Bridge. We’ve always gone up opening day, sometimes coming right back that night. We decided to stay a few days this year, being retired and all. And Roger’s been, well, not working since.
    We each got our bucks by mid morning, neither one spectacular. Roger’s was a decent six point. Mine an eight, but Rog insisted it was only a seven. He argued the point all the way back across the fields to the barns. Too bad there wasn’t any snow – easier to drag.
    The house was long gone, but the barns were still sturdy. A couple of kids from downstate moved up and lease some land. Roger says they have money and just pretend to farm, just rent some space to keep equipment. And they lease one of his 40 acre fields. I think they grow weed.
    The barns looked sorta picturesque with all that grass still green. “Haven’t seen them without snow for a while”, noted Roger.
    Then he added, “Goddam global warming crap”. I laughed and grabbed another donut.
    Inside we strung up our pair, and did what we do. You know. We pulled out our lawn chairs, lit the BBQ, and popped a beer.
    As the fire blazed in the darkening barn, the ceiling and walls lit up our two fresh racks with the dancing shadows of nearly 100 sets of antlers. Former comrades, cousins, ancestors of our fresh kill, in an annual wild, frenzied spiritual release. The same fire dance they practiced every November 15.
    “My racks” said Roger quietly. I nodded and smiled.

  11. There were five days like this one every week. Other than its name, today is no different from yesterday. Just like yesterday, I wake up early, eat breakfast and travel to work passing the same fields and trees that I did yesterday.

    Just like yesterday, I pass the same things on the road on my way into the office. Save a bit less paint every year, that old barn hasn’t changed much since I moved into the area almost a decade ago. I’m told it still stands because the land is of little value so selling it has proved nearly impossible.

    I put my time in at work; have the usual chats with the usual colleagues in the coffee room. Listening patiently while the new girl, fresh from university with more education than experience, carries on about how bad things are and how nothing is going by the theories her professors taught her. I could get angry with her, but she’s going through what every fresh graduate goes through. I, as sagely as I can, let her in on the differences between theory and practice and tell that the boss isn’t as bad as some think and regale her with stories of far worse supervisors and managers that I’ve had to answer to in my employment history. It’s hard to tell what she may take away from our exchange, I hope she’ll swim; but I know she could just as easily sink. Time will tell.

    Work ends for another day and I go home. I see the familiar roof lines of my neighbours’ homes illuminated by the misty autumn moon as I turn onto my street and coast to a halt in front of my own home.

    After a shower, I have dinner and settle myself in front of the TV for a bit. I idly gaze out the window to the homes across the street while the commercials run.

    Tomorrow isn’t like today or the four days before. Tomorrow is one of those two other days in the week which can be quite different. I don’t have plans for it and I don’t really want to have plans for it. Five days out of my week are done by a schedule and a schedule is the last thing I want to involve myself with for the next two days.

  12. A rust ridden silver Grand Am races down a road that appears deserted for the most part. A couple abandoned barns and farmhouses randomly appear from the roadside.
    The Grand Am harbors three middle aged men. One is in the front driving. Two are in the backseat; one is sitting up and the other is reposed with his head laying on the lap of the other guy’s. There is blood all over the backseat. The blood is coming from a tangled mess of bloodsoaked rags that are being applied to some ghastly wound on the reposed man’s leg.
    “JJ… Where the hell are we?” said the man iaying in the backseat. He winces in pain, as if the very action of speech was to much for him to bear.
    “I…I don’t know Mike.” answers JJ as he nearly swerves off the road.
    JJ’s response seems to infuriate the man craddling Mike’s head.
    “Bullshit you don’t know! Your the driver. You said you could do this with your eyes closed!” said the man sittin up.
    “HEY! You told me this would go smooth. You told me the guns were just for show. If this crap is anyone’s fault it is yours Paul.” JJ yelled back.
    “My fault uh… Well let me remind you that we wouldnt be alive now if it wasn’t for me. And on….” said Paul before being interupted.
    Mike reached a bloodstained hand up to Paul and grabbed his shirt collar. He wanted Paul’s complete attention.
    “I can’t die man. I can’t. My baby girl and Shannon are alone…” said Mike before losing consciousness.
    JJ peered over the fraont seats.
    “Oh my god! Is he dead?” asked JJ
    “No. He’s not dead. He passed out from a loss of blood” replied Paul
    “But he very well may be soon if we don’t find a proper place where he can lay down and get his wound properly dressed.” said Paul
    “He can’t die Paul!” JJ exclaimed.
    “I know. Trust me I know. I was the one that had to look Shannon and Mike’s little girl in their eyes and promise them with my life that I would not let anything happen to him.” said Paul
    Paul looked over the front seat and through the windsheild and fortune smiled upon him, or so he thought it was fortune.
    “JJ, look to your right.”
    “What the farmhouse in shambles?
    “Yeah, the farmhouse. Find your way in there”
    “You sure? What if…”
    “What if what J? We have no choice. I can’t even tell how bad the gunshot wound is, crammed in this backseat and all. Plus, it’ll get us off of these roads.”
    “It does look abandoned.”
    “Finally some sense comes out of that thick ass skull of yours JJ.”

  13. We live in Stanford, South Africa and have been in the USA several times and all over. If we had a more American mindset we’d like to live there (“happily after”….); it looks/feels like Stanford but than the American way. Love small American towns BTW. Ever been in Bernalillo (between Alberguerqu and Santa Fe? or Naples in the Five finger Lake district (NY-State)? Wonderful photo subject!!!

  14. I love the pictures (especially the barn) but I’m sorry that I won’t have time to come up with a story today. I unfortunately have to get ready for a family wedding tomorrow… LOL Great pictures though! 😀

  15. how is it to be lost
    amidst barren trees
    where they go screaming
    “Leaves grow back
    and make me green!”
    while the moon looks on
    and night befalls
    railing them in darkness

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  17. It has been three days since we started the stakeout. So far, we don’t have anything. If nothing comes out of this then we will have to re-investigate from zero. I can’t do that, not after everything that I did for this. I have to get him, I know he’s guilty.
    I sigh tiredly and look behind me to see Allan Page messing with his laptop. I don’t even want to know what he does with it. You must be thinking “Why on Earth are you with that annoying kid!”.. Actually I’m still confused about it myself. “Hey, Tyler! He’s moving, grab your things, we’re following him.” He said with a serious face (the one I know that really means business), closing his laptop and grabbing a bag, his laptop in his hands. “Wait, how do you- no, I don’t need to know.” I take everything I need and follow him out into his car. We drive off to only God, and probably Page, knows where. I see a grey car not far in front of us. “The grey one’s the target.” He said, making sure that we aren’t obvious.
    Our target stopped near some abandoned buildings. Page stopped the car behind some trees to stay out of sight. I look at him and ask, “We’re not following him?” “We don’t need to.” He said it with an arrogant and knowing look. “The person he is supposed to see isn’t going to come. He can’t come anymore.” I see a dangerous gleam in his eyes. I’ve only seen it a handful of times and luckily they were never directed at me, the people it has been directed to were never seen again. This man is dangerous, I have figured that out long ago, but I know I wouldn’t have to worry. I cut that train of thought on instead say, “Okay, now I want to know what you did.” He looked at me and grinned, the gleam in his eyes are gone he looked kind of happy and proud for some reason, “It’s not me this time, I let Thatcher and Gav do the work.” That explains a lot. “Oh, then that means that guy is one of those? So you brought those two in on the ‘fun’..” “Yup! And well, three actually, Gil is in too.” Great, at least Gilbert is the most sane slash normal person in their group. He can provide some damage control.
    After some time, it’s dark now, our target storms out and into his car, driving off. We follow him into a town. We’ve got him now. We can see Gilbert, dressed as a policeman, stop his car and ask him out. He went out of the car and we stop behind it. “This is the end of your journey, sir.” Gilbert said with a polite, if sarcastic, smile. He couldn’t run.

    Oh no!! Why did I just tell you about Thatch, Gav, and Gil!! They’re from a different (but related) story! O well, you’re probably the only one that reads this so I’ll just spill some beans. ;D
    1. I now have a title and a plot for Tyler’s story (but the contents in here and there would be different but the same 😛 )
    2. Allan Page, Thatcher Hemsley, Gav Cloy, and Gilbert Milloy are actually from a slightly older, different story.
    4. Allan is not an officer of the law of any kind.. He’s a businessman. The richest (in the story), so he can do almost anything he wants to.. 😛
    So, if you want to ask anything (and I mean anything) just ask, since you know this much I’ll tell you anyhow. Forgive any error and thanks a lot. 🙂

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