idea #3 - the photographer.

Again, this is just an idea that popped into my head late one night.

Lucille Burgess loved photography. Ever since she’d received her first camera on a white Christmas morning ten years ago, she couldn’t leave home without it. Day after day Lucille would stuff the Nikon into a maroon-colored case, throw it over her shoulder, and out the door she’d go. The camera was like her soul mate; it was the love of her life.

      No one could understand why this prized possession was always by her side. Did it represent something special? Was it something to distract her in her spare time? Did she want to be prepared to capture a perfect moment? Whenever someone asked Lucille about the Nikon, she would simply say, “Because it keeps me company.”

       How would a camera entertain an average 16-year-old girl? Despite the fact that it could take beautiful photographs, there wasn’t much more you could do with it. Share secrets with it? No. Laugh with it? Negative. Hold it when you were in tears? Certainly this could not be the case.

       Lucille was never made fun of for having such an affinity for her sleek black camera. In fact, people envied her not caring of what others thought. Her outfits were strange, her hairstyle was different, and she wore little makeup. All in all, Lucille was satisfied with herself. No one could change her; she was who she was.

     One chilly October morning, Lucille woke up to the sun shining down on her pretty face. She blinked a couple times, her blue eyes slowly adjusting to the penetrating light. If only every morning could be like this, she thought to herself as she sat upright. She took a good look around her small bedroom; it was the same as always: the china dolls side by side on that dusty bookshelf, the chandelier hanging loosely on the tall ceiling, the blue alarm clock ticking rhythmically, the flowery curtains swaying back and forth, back and forth. Lucille had always loved the decorations in her room. It showed off her personality perfectly. If only everyone would express their true colors instead of worrying what other people might think of them, Lucille thought.

      She sat there for a long time, admiring the blueness of the sky, the beautiful views of the distant mountains. Finally her 11-year-old sister, Michelle, stumbled into the room breathless.

      “Lucy!” Michelle gasped, struggling for air after running up all those stairs. “Come downstairs for breakfast. Mom made your favorite today.” Lucille nodded, though she was not paying any attention. 

What did you think of it so far? Like the previous story, this probably won't turn into a real book with a legitimate conflict and solution. 

♥ Abigail ♥