DISCLAIMER: nope, not mine, never have been, never will be. just playing around.
Last Shot: Seeing
by kaydee falls
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He had an image in his head. He could picture it with absolute clarity: the small crowd of pigeons pecking at invisible crumbs on the sidewalk, the sudden noise that startled them into flight, until you focus on one lone pigeon, diverging from the path of the flock, soaring higher and higher until it disappears into the grey clouds. It would be a small freedom, a solitary rejoicing, so drab in color and yet so vibrant in life. It was the perfect, all-ending shot, and he wouldn't stop until he captured it with his camera. He couldn't stop.
* * * * *
Mark slammed the kitchen cupboard closed in frustration. It was empty, of course. When wasn't it? No one around here bothered to do grocery shopping except him, and nowadays he was too preoccupied to take a trip to the Food Emporium two blocks away. Until his stomach began begging him for mercy, that is. Like now.
Ducking into the bedroom, he grabbed a jacket and his ever-present camera. It's sad, he thought, emerging into the living room. I'm sad. I really do live in my work. And my work never seems to end.
Roger and Mimi were on the couch, completely engrossed with each other. Mark doubted that they had noticed anything BUT each other since Mimi's little brush with death -- was it two months ago? Already? Two months since Mark had finished his film, only to realize that it wasn't truly finished. Two months he had spent filming new footage, new concepts. And he was almost done. Just one last shot remained, provided he would ever find it.
I'm going to the supermarket for some cash and food, Mark announced to the two lovers. They didn't even look up. He sighed. I'll be back in ten minutes or so. Then I'll force feed Cap'n Crunch to you two so that you don't starve. He paused. No response. Thank you Mark! See you later, Mark! Hope you find your perfect shot, Mark! Still nothing. Shaking his head, he walked out and slammed the door behind him.
Roger and Mimi heard the door slam, but they opted to ignore it. Mark would come back before too long. He always did, even when sulking. Right now, all they cared about each other. It was hardly an unusual sentiment, but one they allowed themselves to indulge in. Today, they weren't talking much, merely content to sit close together and listen to the sounds of the city coming from outside the little loft.
A few minutes later, the door opened and Collins breezed in. Morning, sunshines, he announced, dumping a bag of groceries on the table.
Roger and Mimi stood up quickly. Ignoring the fact that you somehow got in without the key, Roger started, why are you here?
Collins shrugged. I haven't heard from any of you for weeks, he said accusingly, and that's a sure sign that you've all been too wrapped up in your little personal lives to bother eating. So, he gestured to the bag of food, lunch. And as to getting inside, I do have the key. He tossed it to Roger. I bumped into Mark on my way down the block; he gave it to me. Just as well, because somehow I get the feeling that no one would have answered the phone.
Mimi laughed. But I thought that Mark was going to Food Emporium himself. Why--
Oh, he still had some things to pick up there, Collins interrupted her. These are all relatively perishable items, you see. He wanted to get some stuff that would -- what was the phrasing he used? -- last in the cupboard for a few months.' Plus, he had his camera in hand. He probably couldn't force himself to return without getting a few candid shots of strangers.
Sounds like Mark to me, Roger said, sticking his hand into the bag and pulling out a package of soup crackers. Let's eat.
Some minutes later, they all heard the loud screech of tires coming from down the block. Mimi practically dropped her spoonful of chicken noodle soup. Roger laughed. That was probably Mark, he said, jokingly. Lately he's been so wrapped up in finding his perfect shot that he pays no attention to his surroundings.
What perfect shot would that be? Collins asked.
Something about birds, I think. An ending for his film or something, I'm not sure. Anyway, I'll bet that was his third near-miss this month. I keep telling him that if he isn't more careful, he won't last any longer than the rest of us, in spite of his survivor shpiel. If we listen carefully, we'll probably hear the driver's curses and Mark's shouted apologies.
Chuckling, they listened. I'm not hearing any shouted apologies, Mimi teased. So much for Mister Psychic here. Roger, you're about as perceptive as-- She cut herself off, suddenly. Her eyes widened. Faintly at first, but gradually growing louder, all three heard the sound of sirens.
Oh, no, Roger whispered, and bolted out the door.
Mimi and Collins just looked at each other. He's probably wrong, you know, Collins said hurriedly. It probably has nothing to do with Mark.
Yeah, probably, Mimi agreed, but neither of them were surprised to realize that they had followed Roger out of the loft and down the stairs.
A block away, they saw the ambulance's flashing lights. A cab driver was talking to a policeman, babbling, He just came outta nowhere -- I never see him, he just appeared -- stupid jerk, what was he doing crossing the street in front of me?
Mimi couldn't see the person who had been hit. But Roger, several yards ahead of her, could see something more than she. He stopped dead in his tracks, just standing limply in the middle of the sidewalk. Collins and Mimi jogged up beside him, shivering a little in the February wind. He wasn't even looking toward the accident victim, who was too surrounded by bystanders and amulance workers to be visible. Mimi followed his hollow gaze, and gave a sharp cry, turning to bury her face in Roger's shoulder. But Collins walked forward, and ignoring the scattered groceries, gently picked up the camera, lying lonely and broken on the cold pavement.
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....not finished yet, please tell me how I'm doing thus far....R&R or feedback to HPTFalien@aol.com