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500 X 06 The Tunnel

 
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shadowlight
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Joined: 16 Jan 2006
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PostPosted: Sun Feb 19, 2006 9:18 am    Post subject: 500 X 06 The Tunnel Reply with quote



Wall Mural : woman in a tunnel, looking at a man. I got the artwork from this site:

http://fantasyartdesign.com/3d-fine-art-surrealists/modern-surrealism01.htm

The artist is Eric Grohe. You can see more of his work at:
http://www.ericgrohemurals.com/

Have fun. I can't wait to see what everyone does with this one.

shadowlight Smile

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DaveR
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PostPosted: Sun Feb 19, 2006 10:32 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

You can't see me who sees the woman in a tunnel looking at a man. I am real and they are not real, but you see them and you don't see me. So they are more real than I.

They are not an illusion, although I am, and even if you were not reading this now they would still be there. Look. Look at the picture of a woman in a tunnel looking at a man.

You see a picture and you read these words. It you didn't see the picture--- if you read only these words --- you would not "see" the picture, for I could not describe the picture completely.

This picture teaches us a lesson. The picture is more real than the writer who has written what you are reading. The woman in the tunnel is as real as the man who the woman looks at. The woman is more real than I. The woman looks at me and you. You are more real than I.

I do not exist. As you look at these words, I may be dead, nonexistant, yet the picture of a woman in a tunnel looking at a man remains there for all to see.
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Jolanta
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Joined: 14 Oct 2005
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PostPosted: Sun Feb 19, 2006 2:28 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Laura left her boyfriend under the pretext of going to the ladies’ room. She was tired of Paul’s company though he did his best to satisfy her in many ways; he invited her to the most elegant restaurant in the city, and he ordered luxury dishes, and he tried to be very nice. She expected to receive an engagement ring at a proper moment tonight. But Laura was not sure at all whether she would accept the very obliging gift. She was sure of nothing.
She dreamed to be left alone, so she passed the door to the toilet, and she found the other door leading to the basement of the restaurant.
She couldn’t leave Paul and the restaurant – she was not so courageous...
“I’ll spend some time here, and I’ll come back soon” – she decided. She liked the nice chill in the sultry, summer evening.
Suddenly she heard a man in the tunnel. He was one of cooks working here. She heaved a sigh of relief.
“May I help you, madam?” He asked.
“No-one can help me.” Laura murmured and turned away to come back.
“Hey, hey, lady! I don’t want to force myself upon you, but a little cup of good coffee always can help everything.” And he beckoned her to come to the kitchen. He didn’t have to urge her.
She sat down at the table and burst into tears. “I can’t come back to him. I can’t...”
The cook asked no questions. He seemed to understand everything – he had been working here for long enough time to see different behavior of guests…
“You needn’t come back anywhere. I’ll call taxi in a minute, but first drink the coffee, please.” His voice was calm, but firm.
Without demur, Laura finished off the coffee with a swallow.
The taxi driver opened the car door. Laura smiled to him. “Flower street, please.”
“It’s high time to come back home,” she thought. She still felt the strong odor of coffee…



Jolanta
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shadowlight
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PostPosted: Sun Feb 19, 2006 4:10 pm    Post subject: Scavenger Hunt (WC 500) Reply with quote


Scavenger Hunt
© Marlicia Fernandez 2-19-06 (WC 500)



Sarah’s shoes squeaked as she walked. She glanced at her directions.

Walk down two flights of stairs, take a right and continue to the end of the hall.

Grasping the banister, Sarah took the stairs two at a time. This was the strangest scavenger hunt she’d ever been on. Not an item on the list, only a series of directions. She looked at the paper again.

Take the last left and continue straight. Look for the man in an apron carrying a clipboard. He will give you your next set of instructions.

The corridor seemed to go on forever, but Sarah finally reached the end. She turned left. It looked like any other basement hallway, except for the fire-hose curled on the metal spool in plain sight. Had she somehow gotten beneath the fire station? She’d walked a long time; she could have crossed town.

She searched the corridor for the man in the apron. Doors and bulletin boards lined the walls, but no man. Sarah tried knocking on the doors, no one answered. She turned every knob, to no avail. When she finished she faced the blank wall. What kind of meaningless prank was this? Probably Buster’s idea of an April fool’s joke. She frowned. April was two months away. Maybe payback for her last trick. Sarah giggled. She’d really got him that time.

“Two, three, four… Hey Pauley, check the stock we’re missing a couple of casks.”

“Yeah, alright. Keep your shirt on Nicky. I’ll check the invoices too.”

Prickles ran along her spine. Voices? She’d checked every inch of the hallway and she was alone. Sarah forced herself to relax. There had to be a reasonable explanation. Somebody had to be behind one of the doors. Maybe they hadn’t heard her knock. She’d try again.

She turned and started back the way she’d come. Halfway along the passageway she stopped. The paper she carried fluttered to the floor. There, across from the coiled hose was an archway that hadn’t been there before. Sarah rubbed her eyes and looked again. Through the archway ran another corridor and in the corridor stood a man in a white apron. Carrying a clipboard. She reached out. The wall stopped her hand. A mural. She pulled back and tried to gather her muddled thoughts.

The man looked at her. “You’re late.”

“I beg your pardon.” Sarah stammered.

He wiped his hand on his apron. “Do you want the rest of your instructions or not? People are depending on you.”

“Depending on me?”

“Are you going to repeat everything I say or come through?”

“I can’t.”

“Destroy the paper.”

Sarah looked down. Was the paper the key? Did she want to find out?

Curiosity getting the better of her, Sarah retrieved the sheet and ripped it into tiny shreds.

“Eat it.”

She hesitated, and then complied.

“Come in.”

Sarah walked toward him and reached out her hand. It went through the wall, into the corridor. After a moment, Sarah followed.

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Last edited by shadowlight on Sun Feb 19, 2006 5:12 pm; edited 1 time in total
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shadowlight
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PostPosted: Sun Feb 19, 2006 4:19 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Dave,

I love this take on the prompt. It's very imaginative. Reminds me of the old question, if a tree falls in a forest and no one is there to hear, does it make any noise? (Take it a little further...did the tree actually fall, does it really exist or does the forest even exist...interesting, no?) Anyway, I found this very intriguing and a bit deep. Wonderful. Smile

Jolanta,

You are a true romantic. Such a sad story. Didn't she want what was coming, or did she get cold feet at the last minute? I feel sorry for her boyfriend. I wonder if he has any clue of what is coming. I wonder why she feels compelled to flee? The cook is like a guarian angel of sorts. Very nice.

Marlicia Smile

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Harry
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PostPosted: Mon Feb 20, 2006 7:46 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Crossover

Harry Buschman


Whenever we had a spare moment we would sneak out in the corridor to look at the trompe l'oeil again. The illusion was so real that some of us thought we could, if we dared, step into it and meet the man in the white apron.

The painter was Lydia Comeau. She taught here at the university many years ago and in her final year, just before she retired she painted this illusion on the basement wall as a farewell to her students. It looked exactly like another corridor, so real in fact that the school had to hang a rope across it to keep people from walking into it.

A man in a white apron stood in this magic corridor, and in his hand he held a large envelope. If you looked closely you could read the name Lydia -- and a date. The date, strangely enough was the date of her death - many years after she painted the picture.

We puzzled over the identity of the man in the apron and the corridor itself with its many doors and corridors. Could the place be a hospital, and could the man with the envelope be a doctor, perhaps the very doctor coming to bring her body to the mortuary?

Unlike me, my friend Sylvia is susceptible to the occult. She brooded constantly over this painting in the corridor. She could never pass it by without stopping, and I knew her fixation would lead to no good.

“I’m going to find out what’s in there,” she would confide to me.

“Don’t be silly, it’s a painting on the wall. There’s nothing IN there, Sylvia.”

“You’ll see. You’ll see,” she would answer. Then we would go on to our next class or the library.

Now she’s gone, and we’ve looked everywhere. But strangest of all ... the man in the corridor is no longer there.

the end
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shadowlight
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PostPosted: Mon Feb 20, 2006 8:22 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Harry,

I enjoyed reading this little piece. I wonder if Sylvia met Sarah when she disappeared? LOL I loved the idea of the artist's name and date of death being on the envelope, even though it was years before her death. Maybe he was her guardian angel and he'd given her a head's up?

Nicely done, sir.

shadowlight Smile

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Jolanta
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PostPosted: Mon Feb 20, 2006 1:08 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

I like your stories very much. And I like the idea of writing the flash fiction, having little time to do it.
Currently I have very little time becaue I am about to change my job, and I have a cold these days.
But I like very much the pictures posted by Marlicia, though I have the most little time to write on Sunday due to the time difference Smile .
I like both writing and reading your flash fiction. Each of you has a unique style of writing. I think that I could recognize your works even if you didn't sign your names.

Jolanta Smile
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Paul Grimsley
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Joined: 22 Feb 2006
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PostPosted: Sat Feb 25, 2006 5:46 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

A life spent in corridors hadn't prepared her for the sensation she got when she came across the mural. It froze her in her tracks, feeling momentarily like Alice faced with a looking glass that was a bit behind with its presentation of reflections. Who was the owner of the image?

This painting, located between the two galleries that the main exhibition was situated in, had touched her more than any of the post-modern posturing she had witnessed. There was a lyrical simplicity in its framing -- it was anchored to the real world: it had a presence in her world. And for a moment ... just for a moment, she wondered whether she might leave this place and walk into some mirror reality where life was artful and not mundane like hers seemed to be at the moment.

But no, she had to return to the gallery - that cul-de-sac of thought where no one created, but only found their art. So she would leave the corridor - truly, she thought, her habitat - and she would leave behind this transitional place and go to a place of terminus, where process ended. She would leave behind that figure fossilised in paint who whispered truths to her that the people in the gallery would forever be deaf to.
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dkneip
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Joined: 01 Jul 2004
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Location: California

PostPosted: Sun Feb 26, 2006 12:15 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

THE CULPRITS

Billi Jo Harmer steamed over the painting, the third in the past month.

When the first was discovered in the tunnel, appearing suddenly one morning, she demanded the entire wall be repainted and whoever was behind the creation should come forward and pay the bill. While she appreciated the work on some level, she did NOT appreciate it being done on her walls!

"These walls are private property!" she screamed.

The offending party made not a peep.

When the second painting appeared, marvelously depicting a Roman battle, Billi Jo fumed and, once again, ordered the entire tunnel be repainted and resolved to install a set of security cameras throughout the hall.

"I will catch the rat behind this!"

Clearly, when this third painting arrived, Billi Jo, ever so wise, went directly to the surveillance tapes and was aghast at the revelation!

Working between the hours of 2am and 5am, five tiny white mice, obviously a magnificent breed, were thoroughly engaged, inconceivably, in the creation of the mural!

Her jaw dropped as she witnessed countless strips of twine unravelling from somewhere off screen, (closer scrutiny of the ceiling pipes revealed enough droppings to suggest an army of mice were involved) and the five artists, brushes tautly held by tails, rappelled to their predetermined locations.

The mice would hop from line to line and hustle up and down, busily coating the canvas with their collective masterpiece.

When a brush was dry or needed a color change, a second mouse raced down the line with a fresh wand, took the old, and scaled back up! Their tactics were incredible and Billi Jo awed at the productivity and teamwork.

Impressive work indeed had a human been behind the brush. But mice?? Astounding in every sense of the word.

Still, she ruled with an iron fist and insisted the entire hallway be painted over and traps baited and set.

"This is a business office and I will not stand for such flagarant disrespect to my property, be it by man or mouse. Mouse indeed!" she shouted knowing full well the mice would never allow themselves to be caught and that the battle of wills was only just beginning.
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