Scraps (2) Daydreams

You may remember that I posted an example of 'unfinished writing attempts' entitled Black Widow sometime ago. These mini-episodes were made to let out some pent-up creative steam and to put to paper some products of imagination that are constantly running around in my mind. 

Now, I'd like to share one more.


I picked up the framed photograph from atop the marble mantelpiece.  I squinted thoughtfully at the sepia-toned picture, making out a cobble-stoned wall, reminiscent of old, castle walls, a flight of stairs and the subject in profile – a girl.

For it was a girl.  She was around ten or eleven years of age with waist-length, reddish brown hair glinting in the light coming from above her.  She was wearing this poufy dress with rose knot sleeves and a big skirt covered with a thick tulle that was knotted at the back with three more roses.  Her head was posed just so and a Madonna-like smile graced her lips – a knowing smile – as if she knew that she was being watched and that the person, carefully hidden, was taking her picture.

Her back was to the covert photographer and I could not see her face clearly, yet, there was something familiar about her, something the way she held her head or the stubbiness of her fingers.  I knew her somehow…

A low, gentle voice sounded from the doorway, “That’s my second favorite picture of you.” 



  1. And was the first favorite picture the one the owner of the low, gentle voice took right after the first character turned around to see who spoke?

  2. No. His favorite picture was of the girl under a cherry tree.


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