It’s time again for the AW Blog Chain. I’ve chosen to go with the second option listed below. My predecessors on the chain have done such a beautiful job with Nighthawks that I’d like to move on to another painting by Hopper, while still attempting to retain the noir feel of their responses. I’ve selected Compartment C, Car 193 (1938) by Edward Hopper.
Please click on the links to other participants’ posts to read more Hopper-inspired stories. I’ll be updating the links as more writers join the chain.
This month’s prompt: A Picture’s Worth a Thousand Words
Option 1: Respond to the default picture.
Write a brief response to this picture: Nighthawks (1942) by Edward Hopper.
Option 2: Respond to your own picture.
The default not doing anything for you? Choose your own picture!
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Participants and posts:
orion_mk3 - http://nonexistentbooks.wordpress.com (link to this month’s post)
BigWords - http://bigwords88.wordpress.com/ (link to this month’s post)
robeiae - http://thepondsofhappenstance.blogspot.com/ (link to this month’s post)
pezie - http://www.erinbrambilla.com/ (link to this month’s post)
Ralph Pines - http://ralfast.wordpress.com/ (link to this month’s post)
AbielleRose - http://stainedglassinthenight.wordpress.com/ (link to this month’s post)
Darkshore - http://dustinbishop.wordpress.com/ (link to this month’s post)
You are here
Alynza - http://www.alynzasmith.blogspot.com/ (link to this month’s post)
pyrosama - http://matrix-hole.blogspot.com/ (link to this month’s post)
lufftocraft - http://charactertherapy.blogspot.com/ (link to this month’s post)
Cath - http://blog.cathsmith.com (link to this month’s post)
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Marjorie read the final lines then tossed the document aside, yawning. Only someone as pompous and long-winded as Eugene could have written an eight page suicide note full of such petulant complaints.
She leaned back into the seat, listening to the rhythmic clatter of wheels on tracks as she allowed herself a smile. Eugene was dead at last and she couldn’t be happier. No more entertaining his dull colleagues. No more submitting to his clumsy fumblings. No more small town gossip to defend herself from. He was dead. And he’d even had the decency to hang himself, saving her the trouble of continuing to slip the arsenic into his evening meal.
She closed her eyes, the side-to-side swaying of the train inviting her favorite daydream. Marjorie Mitchell – star of the silver screen. Should she change her name? No, she’d keep it. She imagined how lovely those double ‘M’s would look when she autographed photographs for her devoted fans.
She giggled. She had the money from the sale of the house and the first thing she was going to do when she got to Los Angeles was check into a fancy hotel, then buy herself a beautiful new dress. She should probably go to the sleeping car and get some rest. Tomorrow she’d reach her destination. The sun would be shining. It would be the first day of her wonderful new life.
And if it didn’t work out? She was prepared. The arsenic was tucked safely way in her suitcase and if she needed to use it, she would. Marjorie rose and started swaying her way to her sleeping berth. One thing was certain; she would be a star or die trying.
She arranged herself in her berth and thought about her suicide note. It would be short, succinct, tragic, beautiful, and signed with those gloriously looping M’s. But it was silly to think of failure. Tomorrow she would reach her destination. Tomorrow the sun would be shining.