We had to write an imaginary story based around one of Bill Sullivan’s Turnstile Photography Project pictures. (You can see more of his works at http://www.3situations.com/BillSullivanWorks/MT%20MASTER%20pre%20.html). Below is the picture I chose and the short story I wrote to accompany it. (Note: all names and places are fictional).
Subway Story
Justin Ripley
It was a less than pleasant start for a Monday morning for M. Stanislaus, as he was not accustomed to buying groceries. But, alas, he had forgotten that his son had his birthday that night and his wife had already left early for a meeting, leaving M. with a small post-it on the kitchen table that specified his specific duties: 10 cupcakes and a stack of paper paper plates and napkins. This aggravated M., as he was a traditional man, a man of business, and did not want to be even around a grocery store. Picking up a cloth sack on the way out with a "Paper or Plastic? Neither" written on it, he headed out with a long inward breath.
M. Stanislaus was the chief accountant for the New York division of Hanly and Sons, an insurance company. He had been working in the firm for over 20 years, slowly working his way up the accountants carrier ladder, until he had reached the highest position he could without having to move from New York. M. liked money, and incidentally enough, he had a lot of it. From 8 AM to 6 PM, five days a week, 46 weeks a year, he worked with, in, around, and for money. M. could not escape from thinking about money, and his mind always seemed to wander to the topic as he daydreamed. As M. slided through the subway terminal, he realized that he still had his wallet in his left hand, and had been holding it since he left the store. Quietly reprimanding himself for his absent-mindedness, he put if back into his pocket.
M. didn't know why he took the subway. As he wedged himself into the subway car, he wondered, for the second time that day why he didn't just take a cab. Subways were more greasy and less dignified than the I, M. thought. Subways did not fit into the aura he wanted to create around himself. They did not fit into the picture of who he was. He sighed. It was less than a pleasant Monday morning for M. Stanislaus.
Justin Ripley
It was a less than pleasant start for a Monday morning for M. Stanislaus, as he was not accustomed to buying groceries. But, alas, he had forgotten that his son had his birthday that night and his wife had already left early for a meeting, leaving M. with a small post-it on the kitchen table that specified his specific duties: 10 cupcakes and a stack of paper paper plates and napkins. This aggravated M., as he was a traditional man, a man of business, and did not want to be even around a grocery store. Picking up a cloth sack on the way out with a "Paper or Plastic? Neither" written on it, he headed out with a long inward breath.M. Stanislaus was the chief accountant for the New York division of Hanly and Sons, an insurance company. He had been working in the firm for over 20 years, slowly working his way up the accountants carrier ladder, until he had reached the highest position he could without having to move from New York. M. liked money, and incidentally enough, he had a lot of it. From 8 AM to 6 PM, five days a week, 46 weeks a year, he worked with, in, around, and for money. M. could not escape from thinking about money, and his mind always seemed to wander to the topic as he daydreamed. As M. slided through the subway terminal, he realized that he still had his wallet in his left hand, and had been holding it since he left the store. Quietly reprimanding himself for his absent-mindedness, he put if back into his pocket.
M. didn't know why he took the subway. As he wedged himself into the subway car, he wondered, for the second time that day why he didn't just take a cab. Subways were more greasy and less dignified than the I, M. thought. Subways did not fit into the aura he wanted to create around himself. They did not fit into the picture of who he was. He sighed. It was less than a pleasant Monday morning for M. Stanislaus.
No comments:
Post a Comment