Weekly Writing Challenge: A Picture Is Worth 1,000 Words

Angsty short fic just because.
Prompt taken from here, which is to write something based on a picture shown in the prompt.
Enjoy. Or not.


The unknown old man standing behind the huge black box grinned at me.
I frowned, silently hating him. He must had had no respect at all, to flash those yellow teeth at me. A bit hound-like, he was, with that greying black coat of his. Even coyote-like.

I didn’t like him, but Papa said it was customary to preserve this kind of moment for a token of remembrance. Why he would want to remember this moment at all, I’ve got no idea why.

It was sad.

My little sister cried when she was forced to wear the pink dress Mama made her. She cried the whole morning, and she cried for the rest of the evening. Papa made us a horrible French toast and pretended to act like nothing happened, but I knew better. He thought I was too young to understand. I wasn’t, but I played along anyway.

That old man behind the big black box pondered for a bit and decided to tug at my clothes before he went back to where he was. ‘Smile,’ he repeated, now hiding under a cloth right behind the box. ‘Look at the camera,’ – ah, so the big black box was called a camera – ‘and one, two, three.’


There wasn’t much to remember from that day beside a dusty picture the hound-like man made. A picture of the three of us, unable to smile even just for show.

It was, after all, the day we watched Mama gone six feet under.


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