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picture_prompt_funTitle: No escape
Fandom: Jeremiah (TV)
Characters: Mr. Smith
Words: 285
Rating: PG13
Disclaimer: Of course, I don't own Jeremiah nor the characters
Smith couldn't take his eyes from the picture he had developed only some moments before. He knew Kurdy would shrug and tell him that the film probably was too old and it was not a surprise that the photos were only blurred and strangely lighted. But this one picture was different from the others.
He had taken it yesterday, on their way to Clearfield, in the early morning hours. For whatever reason he had asked Kurdy to stop the jeep, only to take a picture of the small path leading through the woods. The first sunbeams tried to break through dense tree-corpse, fog was still lying in the air. No wind was blowing; no sound was to hear.
He stood there for a while, clutching the old camera with both hands, barely able to fight a strange feeling of uneasiness. Until Kurdy had impatiently remembered him on their task.
Smith looked back to the photo, and he knew he had been right. Half of the picture was dark green and sunlit, the other half gray and misty. He could see himself standing on the way, the camera in his hands to take this photo. The way which vanished somewhere between the trees, in the nowhere.
And it was his fate to follow this way, torn between light and darkness, between the beginning day and the neverending desert. Hope and despair. Heaven and purgatory. He had no choice. No matter what would wait for him at the end of the way, he was God's messenger, and he had to follow his command.
Smith put the picture back onto the table, grabbed for his backpack and left the Mountain; not knowing if he would ever come back.
Fandom: Jeremiah (TV)
Characters: Mr. Smith
Words: 285
Rating: PG13
Disclaimer: Of course, I don't own Jeremiah nor the characters
Smith couldn't take his eyes from the picture he had developed only some moments before. He knew Kurdy would shrug and tell him that the film probably was too old and it was not a surprise that the photos were only blurred and strangely lighted. But this one picture was different from the others.
He had taken it yesterday, on their way to Clearfield, in the early morning hours. For whatever reason he had asked Kurdy to stop the jeep, only to take a picture of the small path leading through the woods. The first sunbeams tried to break through dense tree-corpse, fog was still lying in the air. No wind was blowing; no sound was to hear.
He stood there for a while, clutching the old camera with both hands, barely able to fight a strange feeling of uneasiness. Until Kurdy had impatiently remembered him on their task.
Smith looked back to the photo, and he knew he had been right. Half of the picture was dark green and sunlit, the other half gray and misty. He could see himself standing on the way, the camera in his hands to take this photo. The way which vanished somewhere between the trees, in the nowhere.
And it was his fate to follow this way, torn between light and darkness, between the beginning day and the neverending desert. Hope and despair. Heaven and purgatory. He had no choice. No matter what would wait for him at the end of the way, he was God's messenger, and he had to follow his command.
Smith put the picture back onto the table, grabbed for his backpack and left the Mountain; not knowing if he would ever come back.
