Photography: Rural Decay
One Of Us ~ A 100-word essay
I have you entwined in my vines. I told you not to invade my space. We are all natural in these woods. Your metal body does not belong here. It's taken some time, but I have draped myself all over you. I will take you down. Your kind will not ever find you. We shall mask your rustiness with green. They were warned, but did not listen. Now, you will pay the ultimate price for their resistance. Soon. Twenty years or so. One of us, you will become. Disappearing in the mist. Scream no more. One of us. You have become.
Private Property ~ A 100-word essay
The sign warns of private property. I can just make out the words. I'm not here to hunt or trap. I trespass nonetheless. I step lightly to inspect the decay. The wind has wrinkled the paper. The rain has dulled the words. I can barely make out 'private', but those who spy it should know. I don't belong here, in these woods. Sign or no sign. My gun isn't loaded. It is no gun at all. Strapped to my right arm? What I always shoot with. Not loaded with bullets. I stand back. I aim. My weapon? A digital camera.
Knock. Knock. No One There ~ A 100-word essay
No children running in and out. No laughter from within. Silence screams through glass-less windows. Floorboards warp in the sun. No paint on the walls. All brown now. A family had once chosen the colors, but that was long ago. They hosted relatives at Christmas. Had a birthday party for young Sally. A baby was born in one of those rooms. Perhaps. No one around to tell the story of the rotting house near the road. Empty for years. Ignored by all. Maybe a ghost or two floating around. Wondering why no one visits. I step up lightly and knock.